Gagged (12 page)

Jasmine laughs again. “Aurora, you are
toast!
I’ve never seen you drunk!”
 

Probably because I’ve never been drunk. Just like I’ve never been laid. I’ll graduate with honors, but there’s no question I failed college.

“If I’m drunk, it’s only because you drove me to it. I was worried about you.” I try to make my voice hectoring, but it’s all so hilarious. I’m sitting at a table near the edge of the dance floor, alone with like five empty glasses in front of me. Jasmine and James are standing, and James suddenly doesn’t strike me as threatening at all. For some reason I look from his pretty smiling face to his dress slacks, wondering what it was like for Jasmine to drag him off and whip it out. Sometimes I wish I was bold. Sometimes I wonder if life is passing me by.
 

“Come on, Aurora.” James holds out a hand for me to stand. I realize he’s got this boyish look, and now I think he’s perfect for Jasmine, and I wonder what my problem was, trying to keep them apart. I’m such a pain in the ass. I never have any fun — and worse, I never let the people around me have any fun.
Hey, Aurora, let’s see if we can sneak into the club with our fake IDs!
But I never wanted to go. I didn’t have a fake ID, and even when my friend Monica’s brother was working the door to Mr. Mustard’s and we all could have got in anyway, I still wouldn’t leave the house. I was sure I’d be caught, and wasn’t that kind of girl.

“Come on where?”
 

“Let’s dance!”

I try to protest, but James pulls me to my feet and drags me on to the dance floor. It’s loud, and the music is thrumming the floor underfoot. When I try to get away, Jasmine is behind me, pushing me forward. She’s grinding against me like a man, and I can feel her hips on me, breasts pressing against my back. James is in front of me, smiling and dancing. He’s lost his jacket and tie, and I can see his collarbones. I want to touch them. I want to stop being the dead weight for once.
 

So I move a little. And then I move more.
 

When Jasmine starts to hoot, I feel encouraged and dance a bit harder. I’m usually too reserved, though I do like dancing. Somehow I don’t care. Jasmine is all over the place and so I figure I might as well be too, and then I see a few other people who are all sort of watching me, watching us, so I let my hair down and really start thrashing about, trying on my new club girl persona. And when that goes over well, I rub my hands down my front like Jasmine keeps doing, like a full-body caress, and that makes the room cheer even harder.
 

The crowd parts a little. I see Caspian, at the floor’s edge, sitting in a chair with one leg crossed over the other, his suit still fully composed and immaculate, a drink in his hand. As my eye goes to him, suddenly fearless, I scan the line of people who’ve stepped aside between us. Who are they? Are these people really in my classes? I look around, but now I’d swear I only know Jasmine.
 

Shit, I must really be drunk.
 

But I don’t care.
 

People are cheering. There’s a dance circle forming, and Jasmine glides into its center. She does the hands-down-the-body maneuver, and everyone whistles. Then James joins her, and she’s rubbing herself against his crotch, where clearly something has grown larger, and then he’s behind her, doing the same with his hands that Jasmine was doing with hers: long, slow strokes from top to bottom. Caressing her breasts. Running down between her legs, pressing fabric into the gap, the fingers of his big hands trailing down her bare inner thighs.

Fuck it. Fuck it all.
 

I reach toward my table, grab my latest drink, and down it. Like a bad girl would, drinking hard like a man. And then, before I can stop myself, I’m out there with Jasmine and James, everyone pumping their fists to the beat.
 

Another long, slow pass of hands, James’s down Jasmine’s front. His finger must snag something because the top edge of her dress folds down, and suddenly her tit is out, the nipple hard.
 

I want to say something. I want to tell her to cover up. But instead I laugh. The force of it folds me in half, and for seconds I’m breathless. I look up, and Jasmine is touching the exposed breast, laughing back at me, making no effort to cover herself. And then James laughs too and moves to Jasmine’s side, bends down, and takes her nipple between his lips.
 

That’s when I notice that half the people around us are making out. Full on. Groping. Rubbing. Tongues intermingling. In half a second, I’m incredibly turned on. I watch James’s lips on Jasmine’s nipple, now licking, teasing, both of them laughing, but it’s clear to all of us that nothing is funny.
 

Jasmine’s hand moving to James’s erection. Rubbing it, laughing, letting it go. Then their faces move together, and they’re kissing hard, James pawing at Jasmine’s exposed breast, her hand on and off between his legs. It’s still somewhat subtle, as are the actions of everyone around me. Nobody’s doing anything too overt, but the air is stuffed with sex.
 

Suddenly I’m alone in the circle. James and Jasmine are to the side, watching me, James’s hand still on her breast, rubbing the nipple. I wish I had my vibrator. I’m going to give it such a workout tonight, the way I feel right now.
 

And the way I feel is:
free.
 

The way I feel is:
the me I’ve always wished I could be
.
 

And Jasmine starts chanting, “Dance! Dance! Dance!”

The circle picks it up. I stand there for a while, wondering what I should do, then surprise myself by moving into a stripper’s gyrations, rubbing my hands across every part of me, squatting down, writhing, sticking my ass out. Puckering my lips, putting my finger between my lips and sliding it out slicked with spit, then running the finger along my bare shoulders. I make what I imagine are bedroom eyes. Both hands meet near my crotch, close to my throbbing clit, and it’s all I can do to not sneak a finger up and relieve the tension.
 

Someone I don’t know yells, “Take it off!”
 

I writhe. I stick my ass out. My hands stay close to the source of my tension, trying to subtly make something happen. I’m suddenly struck with a certainty: that without even touching myself, I’m going to have an orgasm here on this dance floor with everyone watching. I’ll just kind of buckle and fall then let the waves take me, but it will be fine, and welcome. I’m twenty-three years old: old enough that decisions are mine, young enough that I’m allowed to be stupid.
 

When I keep dancing without protest, the chant percolates through the crowd.
 

Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!

My hand moves to the hem of my dress. The other follows. I’m dizzy. Anything to stop this torture between my legs.
 

But while I stand there in indecision, Jasmine must come to her senses because suddenly there’s a freckled arm on my shoulder and I’m being led from the circle. Shockingly, my first reaction is anger. How dare she stop me when I was having such a great time?

“Baby,” she says to me, “you need to take a break.”
 

“No I don’t,” I say. But all I can think is how near the end, as the chants were ramping up and my arms were seriously considered countermanding my brain and slipping the dress over my head, I caught a glimpse of Caspian watching. Feeling him want me, yet not moving. Wanting to arouse him as revenge. He wants to make me uncomfortable, sending me sexual gifts? He wants to impose himself on me? Well,
fuck him.
I’ll torture him
right the fuck
back.

His blue eyes grazing my body. Imagining me nude. Thinking of my small tits with their firm nipples, my pussy with its small patch of pale blonde hair. His cock hard, wanting me the way I’ve wanted him in my dreams. He wants to infect my brain and make me think of him? Well, fuck Caspian White. Let him think of me in
his
dreams, too.
 

“Aurora,” Jasmine says, seeming sober, “you
do.”

James meets my eyes. “At least go into the bathroom and splash some water on your face, okay? I’ll take care of Jasmine.”
 

And I think,
Like you took care of her earlier, when you vanished to scratch your itch?
Because she’s allowed to have fun but Always Responsible Aurora Henley is not?

But I nod. And, barely able to walk for all the stimulation between my legs, I head to the restroom.

But it must be the men’s room because I find Caspian inside. I look down as I move toward him by the sink, no longer afraid of his bullshit, still hating him, wanting to make him pay. I see that I’ve done what I wanted. His cock is hard and stiff, halfway visible in pants he must have just been re-zipping.

He looks down, and from here I can see the root of his hard shaft. He moves his hands away as I look at him in the open V of his trousers. His asshole’s smirk returns, and in an instant he turns the moment to his advantage, apparently planning to embarrass me with his nakedness the way he meant to embarrass me with the vibrator on my doorstep.
 

“You sure don’t move like a girl afraid of lust. I mean, look what you’ve done to me.”
 

I’m supposed to be embarrassed. I’m supposed to blush and run away.
 

But instead I sink to my knees, pull out his cock, and open my mouth.
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A
URORA

I
DON
’
T
REALLY
KNOW
WHO
I am right now. I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve always been a good girl, and feeling like I never really had a choice doesn’t change that truth. My fingers are wrapped around a man’s hot, pulsing cock, and it’s right there in front of my lips. I wonder at my own actions. I wonder if I’ll cross that final few inches and lean forward to put part of him inside part of me. But I don’t wonder much.
 

Mostly, there is only the need.
 

The need to show him that he doesn’t control me.
 

The need to show him that I’m not exactly what he’s presumed I am.

But most of all there’s the burning, throbbing need between my legs.
 

I part my knees. My inner thighs feel warm from the intense heat of my pussy. I want to raise my dress like I did on the dance floor, to slip my hand inside as I’ve done every night while thinking of this man. Instead I look up at him and see surprise.
 

I see lust, and just how badly he wants me, as much as he feigns to be above it all.
 

I lean forward. I let his cock glide across my tongue, starting at the tip. Then I wrap my lips around him, and he’s filling me completely, my inexperienced jaw unsure what to do with a presence inside that it can’t close around. Caspian is thick and long, his tip seeming to pulse, his hips involuntarily moving toward me. I’m not sure what to do. I’m not supposed to take it all in, am I?
 

I’m so woefully unprepared.
 

Until recently, I never even touched myself, let alone a man in his most indecent of places. I don’t watch porn like Jasmine. What would be the point? Desire has always felt like a curse. Lust always leads to an uncomfortable situation I’m unwilling to address. Until Caspian White entered my mind.
 

So I pretend his cock is a popsicle. I want only to consume him. I want only to take him deeper, to do this better. I’m lost in a lust-filled haze. I have a disease, and he is the cure.
 

I take it out. I run my hands up and down it while Caspian moans satisfyingly above me, shocked and humbled by my actions. He’s not so cool and calm and collected now.
 

I run my tongue along the underside, from root to belled tip, stopping to flick my tongue beneath the head when he vents a deep sigh. The more I follow my instincts, the more I affect him. The more I become this other person my desire tell me to be, the more I’m in charge and he’s at my whim.
 

I don’t want to stop. Not even a little. Behind me, the door is unlocked and anyone could enter, but for some strange reason that makes me hotter. I’m soaking my panties. I part my knees more as if something might fill my pussy the way Caspian’s filling my mouth, like his gift filled me last night when I came thinking of him on top of me.
 

With Caspian’s cock between my wet lips, I roll my eyes up to look at his blue eyes meeting mine, and in them I see only greed. Him wanting to possess me.
 

I wonder if I can make him come.
 

I wonder what it would taste like if he did it in my mouth. I imagine it’s salty. I wonder if I could swallow.
 

“Use your hand,” Caspian says in a low mumble. “Use your hand and your mouth to fuck me.”
 

I put my right hand around the base of his cock — slick from my spit — and keep my lips wrapped around him, feeling like I never want to take them away. Then my head moves back and forth and back and forth, taking him in long, slow strokes. I grip him in my fist, firm but not too tight, and suck my breath while taking his length. The sounds are erotically wet. I’m so hot, a breeze might make me come.

I use my other hand to lower a strap on my dress. My breast feels good in the air, as if it’s been yearning for freedom. I caress it, palming its small weight, rubbing the nipple against my palm. A line of saliva falls from my lips and lubricates the hand, making it slide, and my body electric.
 

“You suck cock like a virgin.” He’s trying to insult me, but his eyes say he’s my slave.
 

I move my hand to his stomach, finding it firm and taut. I push him backward, and he collides with the wall. His cock is still in my hand, and I’m still working it in slow strokes, but my mouth feels cool and empty. More than anything I want his hot length back inside me. So this time, to prove I’m not the priss he thinks I am, I devour him. Suck him with abandon. Watch his eyes while tonguing his shaft, my hand making him throb in response, channeling Jasmine, doing the worst of what I think she might do. My other hand reaches into his pants to fondle his balls. And then, too lost in the moment to do anything else, I use both hands to raise my dress, both hands to slip my panties lower as I rise up from a low kneel to a higher one.