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© 2000 by Helena Settimana

Erotic FictionPlease Nona, please Nona, please Nona, please."

Shit.  I hate that kinda talk.  Beggin' for it; whining, wheedling, like the world's gonna end if the bastard doesn't get him some.  Not from me, no way.  That isn't my style.  I'd never be rid of a guy like that.  Give him some an' he'd be making wedding plans.  Shit.

‘Dru was like that; always steppin' to me, never mind where it was, pushing up, testing my patience, wheezing like an asthmatic dog.  Little beads of sweat were on his upper lip, and he kept wiping his hands on his clothes.  He looked like Jiminy Cricket, too, or like one of them candy Easter bunnies you get in Wal-mart, but with the ears bit off.

"Gimme some.  I won't tell." "Tell who?" "I dunno...whoever he is...  I'll love you to death." (Yeah, that's what I am afraid of.)

Crap like this gets my blood up; raises my ire.  I can't help myself.  Shit.  I like what I like, I like things my way, and I can't abide a dude who's whinin' over his blue balls, especially if I got nothing to do with it.  To me it shows no confidence.  No self-respect.  I can't even think about laying down with that.

I got a theory about confidence.  I never met a guy with sexual confidence who didn't have a cock like a mule.  I think it is a sort of natural selection thinga display like the puffing of a pigeon.  Even if we can't see it straight off, he knows it's there and he walks like a gunslinger on account of it.  I bet ‘Dru had a dick like a cocktail shrimp.

Andre wasn't like Dru.  Andre knew his own score, which is why he was so easy to get with and why he messed with me so.  Andre walked like John Wayne, with a six shooter on each hip.  He wasn't so handsome, but looked like a prince all the same; something in his bearing did that.  He'd stand in a room and hold his own court, mostly; like he expected the world to come to him.  I like that in a man.  Always had a circle of admirers; some men, but mostly women hanging on to what he said.

I think he intimidated men.  A lot of them didn't much like him ‘cause he topped them without working at it.  Andre acted like it was a given that I or anyone else would just want to take him home, and it didn't matter who suggested it, so long as he liked what he saw.  He could smoke me with his eyes and take all my shit out of me so that I didn't even think of bein' a bitch except for him, not to himyou know what I'm saying? He'd push up, too - but not to beg.  He had balls.

He'd go, "You know I like you, Nona, so why haven't we done it? You ‘fraid of me?"

It hung out there like a red flag in front of a bull. ‘Afraid'.  Christ, I got like I was eight years old or something, and all red and hot, first time he did that.  I figured that the smoke was rising offa my face.  I didn't feel like walking all over him like I did with most guys.  I knew I couldn't.  FactI was a bit scared, and that tripped me up, but I'd never admit it.  Not to him.

He told me to come by him and check out his place, and maybe have a beer or something.  I figured I knew what the ‘something' was going to be and went anyway, a little messed about not having control over myself, or him.  That drove me nuts, deep down, all the while he was ‘having his way', as the saying goes.  I just lost my cool.  I ‘let' him.  I kept telling myself that I really hadn't lost my hold on the situation, but I had.

He was like, savage; like nothing I had ever crashed into before.  Letting go like that, the way he made me do, is easy with guys who have some art in their loving, the ones who'd come to worship me with their cocks and tongues, and hands.  Worshipping is different from begging.  You go to church.  You don't necessarily want to live there; know what I mean? Anyway, he didn't come to worship.  He was the idol.  The MAN.

First thing I know is that he had his hands all twisted in my hair and his stump in my face, and there's this sweaty, balls-y smell taking up air in the place, but it shouted of nothing but sex, and lots of it.  Motherfucker was making me choke on it, and was pinching my nipples and slapping my tits; none too gently either.

Hell if I could understand it, but I was just full of want.  The insides of my thighs were greased with juice.  We were stinking up his couch, the fucking thing was covered in plastic and it made farting sounds as we slipped on it.  I had figured him for a guy with better taste.

He messed me up.  Jesus, with all that twisting and slapping, I was hotter than I had been in my whole life and in my mind I was begging him to put his mouth on me.  I finally got fed up and started to holler, "Fucker, EAT ME!" but he just kept right on like he was deaf, until he pulled me offa his dick by my hair and pushed me around so he could have a go at me like ‘Rover'. I didn't recognize myself asking for it like that.  My damn face was stuck to the plastic wrap on the sofa seat.

He was gonna split me in two.  I felt like I was stuck like a dog and I kept pulling away as he was jamming it in, trying to save myself some of my insides, but he kept at it, and in a bit it wasn't hurting no more.  Motherfucker made me scream with just his cock.  The neighbours started banging a broomstick or something on the floor overhead.

I cried that night, but not ‘cause I was hurt.

This sort of shit went on for months, I felt like a baby.  Weak.  No power.

Then one time he had a friend, Leon, come visit and crash on that stupid sofa for the night.  Leon was, like, almost a brother, who lived outta town.  The two of them were tight, and when Leon was there, they drank and smoked together, and I got made to take the back seat.  I even got to fetch the beers - lucky me.  So, late, Leon finally crashed, and Andre and I went to bed and started fooling around a bit.  We lay in his room, and he began to cajole me to go and make sweet with Lee.  Said the scene would turn him on.

"Nona, it's not fair I have my friend to visit and he has to sleep on the couch...go get him."

It surprised me a bit, that kind of reasoning.  He had this sort of weird look in his eye.  I wondered if Andre'd be sharing his bed with this dude if I wasn't there; if he would think it was so unjust, but it made me kinda hot, all the same.  went.

God, that Leon was gorgeoustall and smooth.  I stared down for a while at his face while he slept and thought about what it would be like to scene with him.  Very fine.  So I woke him and without telling him what was up, asked him to come with me.  I figured he could sus it out since I was butt naked.  He had a hardon before we reached the bedroom.

Leon was the kinda guy I used to go for, gentle, sensual, with a soft, full mouth that loved to commune with a body.  Big, kinda sad eyes.  I could handle him, and whisper what I wanted.  He'd give it to me.  Andre's biggest defect was that the wouldn't eat pussy or use his hands to get me off.  Not that I usually missed it, you understand but Leon ate my face, chewed my tits and my pussy until his damn fine mug was soaked.  He had a soft touch.

Leon had me wrapped around his head, screaming while Andre slid ‘it' between my teeth.  He really seemed to get off on watching while I twisted on his friend's tongue and babbled like I had a bad fever.  He was just staring, like he had gone nuts; staring mostly at Lee, at what he was doing to me.  I had a hold on one of Andre's legs and could touch his balls and the sensitive ridge of flesh between them and his asshole.  I figured he'd bust my face if I ever touched him there, but when Leon pushed my legs back over his shoulders and started fucking me, my middle finger found Andre's ass and I heard him moan out loud for the first time, ever.  I could work it in a bit at a time, slicked up with my own wet, until the palm of my hand was wedged between the hemispheres of his butt.  It surprised the hell outta me.  Then a light kinda went in my head.

I swear to God he was thinking about Leon's cock being in him instead.  Something about the look on his face telegraphed that.  He'd stare at my mouth stretched open to take him, and then down to where he'd catch a glimpse of his friend's wood smacking into me, and rest there, transfixed, and his asshole relaxed even more.

Leon's breath got ragged.  He was rocking on me really tight and deep and hard; up close, up tight, up inside of me.  I don't know if he ever came, though, funny as it sounds.

But Andre came like that, with my hand wedged in his ass.  He pulled outta my mouth which I didn't expect, cause that was his favourite party trick.  That's when I knew for sure that there was a bit more to this than I had allowed myself to see.  He started cussing him, talking dirty, like he was talking to me, but he wasn't.  He was gonna top-dog Leon same as he did everyone else.  He took aim - swear to God - and his ass tightened round my hand like a steel band.  Damned if he didn't shoot a wad like Silly String into Leon's pretty brown face.  It hung in opalescent gobs off of his cheek and the wedge of his beard, like tinsel.  Leon didn't even blink.  Stuff was falling on my tits.  Next thing I know is those two were sleeping like babies.  When I woke up, Andre was touching Leon's shoulder, like by accident.

After that, I looked at Andre differently and the balance of our relationship changed.  This ‘latent' thing bugged my ass; not because fag stuff bothered me per se, but because it felt sneaky, and my vision of Andre was not like that.  I realized I had some kinda big power over him.  I could be the key that allowed him to unlock this desire he held in so tightly.  Through me, he could make it alright; let it slip out like no one would notice - except me with my hand in his butt.

Leon came to visit a few times, but I wouldn't always play.  That pissed Andre royally.  He wasn't used to not getting his way.  He got really chill for a long time.  I wasn't impressed.

When Andre started begging me to do Leon, I knew for sure that I had been mistaken about him knowing his own score.  I told him to fuck Lee himself.  He lost all my respect.

Fucking whiner. Shit.

"Balance" © 2000C by Helena Settimana  All rights reserved.
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