HOLLY
A Club Coquette Tale
SmashWords
Edition
Copyright
2011 Cheyenne West
All rights reserved
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I pushed my key into the lock and twisted the doorknob.
The door swung open on the small unlit foyer. I stepped inside and threw the door closed, and for one moment I stood in the darkness, waiting. Almost expecting Desmond to lunge out of the shadows and force me up against the closed door with my back to him. For him to pin my body with his own, his heavy breath falling on the back of my neck as he dragged my arms around behind me to restrain my wrists. For him to yank my skirt up to my waist, and jerk my panties out of his way, and roughly shove my legs apart.
For him to plunge his endless cock into my scorching folds. For him to use my body for his own pleasure, and inevitably satisfy all of my aching desire along the way.
I sighed. Desmond had moved back to Edinburgh a year ago. He was a musician. Still is, as far as I know. He used to cook me dinner after he fucked me in the small unlit foyer. I think he felt guilty. But he was a competent chef, so I didn't stop him.
I reached for the wall to the left, found the switch next to the door, and turned on the overhead fixture. The shadows fled, leaving the small foyer empty. Desmond was not waiting to force himself deep into me and then cook for me. I smiled regretfully.
I think I might have been on the brink of falling in love with that man. I had surely been madly in love with his uncanny ability to exceed my body's threshold for pleasure. I shook my head. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past, no matter how incredible those nights had been. He had left, and I had stayed, and that was that.
I didn't bother turning on the lamps as I crossed the living room and stepped into the kitchen. I pulled the refrigerator door open, basking in the cool brightness that spilled out across the floor. A brisk chill swept across the soft flesh above my breasts. I sighed as my nipples tightened against the lace of my Agent Provocateur demi-cup.
My gaze dropped to my black suede shoes, and I reached into the fridge to grab a pair of Smirnoff Triple Blacks by the necks. I closed the door and looked to the clock on the microwave. Just 9:39. I still had twenty minutes to get myself ready.
So I twisted the cap off the first Smirnoff and tipped back the bottle, draining a mouthful of alcohol down my throat as I crossed back through the living room to the staircase across from the front door. I climbed to the second floor, flicked on the light at the landing. I glanced through the bathroom door across from the stairs and smirked.
I had been looking forward to a long, hot shower ever since Dahlia's interview earlier that afternoon. The redhead's unflinching intensity had lit a smoldering ember deep in my supple cleft, and I had intended to come home tonight and treat myself to a string of blinding orgasms under the unrelenting surge of my pulsing showerhead.
But then I got the text message. I had been closing up the store for the evening, and my phone had buzzed inside my purse. The message had read only: "10p - H."
At the top of the stairs, I turned through the door at my left into my office. I didn't bother turning the light on in the room. I just left the door open to let the light trickle in from the landing. My writing desk huddled in the far corner, and to the left of it a wide window looked out into the alley between my building and the one next door.
The view would have been entirely uninteresting if not for Holly Goddard. She was the daughter of the couple that lived across the alley, and her bedroom window faced my office window. She was 19, and already a senior at Rutgers; by this September, she'd be teaching history at Lincoln High School. She was a girl who knew exactly what she wanted, and she wouldn't hesitate to take it. It was quite an endearing quality.
Holly was home from school on Winter break. I had parked next to her red Chevy Cobalt when I pulled into the parking lot. I had not seen her mother's Cadillac Escalade, or her father's Aston Martin Rapide. She had her parents' house to herself tonight.
I drank from my open Smirnoff as I stepped into the shadows. I crossed to my desk and set my unopened bottle down next to my laptop, then rolled my ergonomic leather chair out from under the tabletop. I positioned the seat in front of the window, brushed back the drapes to optimize the view, and flipped my wrist to check my watch. Just 9:47. I glanced across the alley, and saw that Holly had left her bedroom light on.
She had tied her curtains open as well. The foot of her bed faced the window, giving me a view of the entire queen-sized mattress. Tacked to the wall above the headboard I saw a poster for a movie called Malice in Lalaland. I couldn't help grinning at that.
I drank another mouthful of alcohol, and set the open bottle down on the windowsill. Watching the lit and empty room across the alley, I picked at the buttons of my blouse and pried them apart. I took my time opening the four buttons, because I had no reason to hurry. I tugged the tail of the blouse out of the waist of my skirt and threw the shirt off my back, dragged the sleeves down my arms and letting the blouse fall to the floor.
A rush of goosebumps rippled across my newly exposed flesh, and I slipped my shoes off my feet as I reached for the zipper along the side of my pencil skirt. I tugged the pull tab down to the middle of my thigh, and dipped my fingers into the waistline and pushed it over my hips and down the length of my legs. I stepped out of the skirt, left it on the floor with the rest of my clothes, and eased myself down into my leather chair.
Holly had replaced her usual blue bedspread with a fresh black set. I had first met the girl three years when she had walked into the store. It had been the end of April, just at the beginning of prom season. She hadn't had an appointment, but she'd been carrying her mother's credit card, and she'd wandered the showroom briefly before gravitating toward a display of corsets. Chelsea's of New York. The girl had good taste.
She'd been wearing a pink short-sleeved hoodie, pink capri sweatpants with the word PRINCESS printed across her rounded ass in black letters, and a white pair of Skechers Shape Ups. I had approached her from behind, wearing just a violet halter babydoll and matching panties of my own, while she studied the curves of a silver satin corset.
"Were you looking for something in particular?" I had asked her. She had been so entranced by the corset that she hadn't even reacted at first. After a few seconds, she had turned to look at me with insatiable lust sparkling in her sapphire eyes.
"I want my boyfriend to beg for my body," she had told me with a grin.
Sitting in my office, I sucked in a cool breath as I thought back on that day, thought back to the silken glimmer of her skin, and the intoxicating combination of her shampoo and her perfume. The muscles inside my pussy tightened delightfully, and I arched my back to lift my ass off the chair, hooked my thumbs into the waist of my panties.
They glided easily over my knees, past my feet. I dropped them into the growing heap of garments on the floor. I lowered my bare ass back down onto the seat, savoring the sensation of my skin pressing against unforgiving leather. I propped the heel of one foot on the lip of the seat, slid my fingers over the fabric of my ecru thigh highs.
I decided on a whim to leave them on. I leaned forward to retrieve my drink from the windowsill, drained it, looked at the empty bottle for a long moment. I smirked. Maybe. I rested my right knee over the arm of the chair and leaned forward to set the Smirnoff down. As the glass hit the sill, I saw movement through the window.
I glanced at my watch. Just 9:54. She was starting early. Bitch. I smiled.
I eased myself back into my seat. A pair of bodies moved into the frame of Holly's window, and I drank in the spectacular sight of her body. Her long platinum hair was tied back in a high ponytail, exposing her delicate neck and shoulders. Her modest B-cups stood out proudly bare, fantastically perky and capped with nipples like bits of granite. She wore plain white boyshorts and a pair of black suede over-the-knee boots with four inch heels. The looked like Louboutins, but I tell from this distance.
I swept my fingertips across the skin below my navel, tracing the thin scar there that I almost never thought about, enjoying the feeling of my manicured nails inching closer to my neglected pussy. Dahlia had lit this blaze inside me; now Holly was going to help me put it out. I watched her from the shadows of my office as she groped against a kid who looked a little younger than her. He wore nothing at all as Holly worked the thick shaft of his rigid cock with her slender and talented fingers. She was a pianist.
The kid looked familiar, but I couldn't immediately think of his name. Carter or Carlisle or Carson, or some other surname his parents had given him for a first name. I had seen him at the Goddard's house before. He wore the trim physique of a swimmer, and I recalled that his visits tended to turn into early-morning marathon fucks.
The kid sucked at Holly's lips and she offered her tongue as she backed toward her bed. My own fingers drifted, skimming over the silky flesh of my shaved pussy. I laid my hand over my aching center and felt the throbbing of my lips against my palm for a moment. Then Holly sat back onto the edge of her mattress, and looked up at the kid she was going to let me watch her fuck. She grinned boldly, and dipped her head forward to wrap her wet lips around the head of his cock, and I squeezed my sensitive cunt.
I moaned right out loud, and didn't even care. Holly held the tip of the kid's cock in her mouth, and rested her hands on his hips as he rolled his head back. Then she slid her lips down the length of his shaft, swallowing it into her throat. My juices had moistened my lips magnificently, and I slapped my pussy once sharply. A bolt of electricity surged through me and I gasped, running a finger down the length of my tingling slit.
Holly worked the kid's cock deep into her throat, pumping it with her mouth, nearly pressing her nose into his belly. He reached for her head, meaning to take hold of her hair, but as soon as his fingers touched her, she grabbed his wrists and violently shoved them behind his back. She held them there without ever taking her mouth off of his beautiful cock, and she looked up at him with her eyes as she restrained him.
I dragged my finger back up my length, parting my lips to delve deeper and swirl maddening circles around my clit. I listened to my rasping breaths as I watched Holly suck the kid's dick. He struggled to break her hold on his wrists, but she held firm.
I reached my free hand to my bra, tugging down the lacy fabric. I kneaded my soft C-cup in my palm, rolling my stiff nipple between my fingers. I pinched, gasped. Then I pinched again, and closed my eyes, and held it hard until the balance of pleasure and pain became nearly equal. I bit down on my bottom lip, and flicked my clit with a manicured nail until I felt a scream bob up into the back of my throat. Then I released my nipple and groaned as the pain receded, heightening the pleasure that rushed in to replace it.
I drove that pleasure further, massaging my clit with increasing intensity, gasping and moaning until it spilled over. My pussy convulsed under my fingers. The ripples of my orgasm rolled out and mixed with the alcohol to make me feel giddy. My entire body buzzed. I opened my eyes to see Holly dragging her lips off the kid's twitching cock. His head was thrown back, and his expression was desperate. She had taken him to the edge of his own satisfaction, but she wasn't going to take him across the threshold.
"Good girl," I sighed, and giggled. Then I moaned, "So good."
Holly stood, still not releasing the kid's wrists. He looked at her pleadingly, and I felt my inner folds twitch. I brushed my fingertip over my clit again, and then again. I worked that firm nub in tight circles, flicked it with my overpriced French tips, fueling the buzzing that sizzled through my body. An excruciating tension built below my belly again, and I pressed a second fingertip between my lips along with the first.
Then I watched Holly nod toward the floor before push the kid to his knees in front of her. She looked down at him, running her fingers through his hair while he stared up at her like a disciple supplicating himself before a goddess. I squeezed my breast as I worked loops around my rigid clit, and gasped as Holly tightened her fingers to grip the kid's hair and pulled his face into her crotch. She lifted her right leg, perching the sole of her boot on the night-table beside her bed to open up her pristine young cunt.
The second orgasm hit quicker. My pussy tensed up all at once and I jerked in the chair as that electrical charge flashed out across my nerve endings again. I saw Holly grinding her hot pussy on the kid's face as he worked his tongue into her puffy lips. I watched him reach up for her hips, but when his fingers landed on her waist, she grabbed his hand and threw it off roughly with her free hand. Then she pulled his face away from her pussy and slapped him across the face hard with that free hand.
I tightened my grip on my breast, pinching my nipple between my knuckles as I dragged my fingertips away from my clit and delivered another sharp slap to my aching cunt. I squealed out loud, and the bolt of pain sent another orgasm crashing through me as I watched Holly drag the kid's face back to her crotch and crush his lips to hers. She threw her head back and rocked her hips against his lips and tongue, using his face to give herself pleasure. I slipped my fingertips down the full length of my slippery slit to set off another smaller orgasm that followed the last like an aftershock.
I saw the delicate features of Holly's face shifting as she neared the edge of her own orgasm, and I could see that tonight, it would be her only one. I saw her naked breasts heaving with her jagged breaths, and as I watched her squirm against the kid's face, I saw the light from Holly's bedroom sparkling off the empty glass bottle on my windowsill.
I rejected the thought for one brief moment. But I couldn't help myself. Not now. I let go of my breast and bent forward, picked up the bottle, sat back, opened my mouth. I thrust out my tongue, swirling it against the base of the bottle to coat the glass with my saliva. I felt vaguely repulsed by the thought I was entertaining, and of course that made it all the more irresistible. I dipped my fingers lower, snaking them into my trembling opening, stretched myself wide to set off another orgasm. I groaned into the silence.
Perhaps Holly sensed the mounting strength of my need, or perhaps she just had a frantic need all her own, but she jerked the kid's face away from her by his hair. She pulled him back to his feet and let go of his hair, and stepped toward her bedroom window. Toward me. She stood in front of the glass, flawlessly naked, looking back over her shoulder at the kid as she slipped her fingers into her boyshorts and shimmied them down. Not all the way. Not even halfway. Just to the tops of her boots, a couple of inches above her knees. Just enough to clear the way for the kid's magnificent cock.
Then she turned back to the window, back to me, and reached to the top of the window frame to brace herself. I groaned as she looked out across the alley toward my office window. Toward me. She was looking at me, knowing that I was watching her, wanting me to know that she knew, wanting me to watch her get fucked.
The kid moved in behind her, facing the window, facing me. I swiped my tongue across the unyielding glass one last time, then pressed the bottom of the bottle against my superheated pussy as I pried my lips apart with my fingers. The kid gripped Holly's hips across the alley, and she arched her back, thrusting her ass out to him, offering her body for his pleasure. She glanced back once more, and as the kid plunged all of his length all the way into her eager teenage cunt, I forced the bottle into my dripping pussy.
The rest of my orgasms tonight had only primed me for this one. I writhed in my seat, hearing it protest, not caring, feeling my slickness dripping down my thighs into the crack of my ass and not carrying about that either. I felt that cold glass violating my hot cunt, felt disgusted at the vulgarity of fucking myself with a bottle, and I didn't fucking care. All I cared about was cumming, and cumming hard. Cumming for her.
The kid fucked her brutally, and she enjoyed every lunge. She screamed against the glass, and I imagined that I could hear her screaming out as he forced his shaft deep into her. But it was only myself that I heard screaming as I worked that bottle deeper into my neglected pussy and cried out. I wanted to cum for her, and I wanted her to know.
My back arched and my body spasmed. I looked out the window and found Holly's eyes across the alley. She was looking at me, watching me cum for her. And I could see in her delicate features that even though she refused to close her sapphire eyes, she was cumming too. She was cumming for me, and the least I could do was return the favor.
I filled myself with that bottle and slapped my clit sharply, quickly, again, again with my free hand, hard, harder, hard enough to set off an eruption of dark sparks inside my brain. My pussy clenched around the glass, and I was sure that the bottle would shatter inside me and rip my abused pussy to pieces. And I didn't care. My entire body quaked against the unflinching leather, and I came so hard that time warped a little. A detonation of unthinking ecstasy ripped through me, crushing me under its euphoric weight.
Each breath came out in a short bursting scream. I rode the shock wave of my own pleasure all the way back down into my ergonomic writing chair in my office. I couldn't be sure how much time passed. Across the alley, I saw Holly and the kid in her bed now. He was on his back with her riding him, her gorgeous back to me as that high ponytail flailed. Just begging to be yanked by the right person. I could be the right person.
I panted in the delirious afterglow of that mind-bending orgasm. I watched Holly ride the kid. They were holding hands, palm-to-palm with their fingers intertwined so that she could balance herself while bucking on his cock. I gingerly drew the glass bottle out of my body, and felt my pussy contract again once the violator was gone. I set the bottle back on the windowsill and cuddled with myself in my chair, watching Holly.
I absently traced the thin scar below my navel, and I smiled. That girl really was absolutely incredible. After a few minutes, I reached to my writing desk and picked up my second Smirnoff, twisting off the cap and draining a mouthful. A few drops of alcohol dripped out of the mouth of the bottle and splattered against my breasts.
I watched the show, comfortable and content. Holly had helped me to achieve my own staggering satisfaction, and now she was concerned with achieving her own. She had earned it. So it wasn't long after that I saw her start to thrash on the kid's lap, and then collapse onto his chest, her ass still humping against his undimmed cock.
They dozed there like that with the lights still on. I sat in the darkness of my office for a while longer afterwards, nursing my Smirnoff until I heard the lock on the front door opening. I didn't move as the door swung open and then banged shut.
"Caroline!" the male voice called up the stairs. "You decent?"
I grinned. He knew me pretty well after all.
"Hey, Charlie!" I called back. I lifted the bottle to my lips, drank the last of my second Smirnoff Triple Black. "Be a doll and give me a couple of minutes."
Charlie just laughed from the bottom of the staircase.
FINIS
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About the Author
Cheyenne West is the daughter of a poet and an architect. She has a Doctorate of Philosophy in American Literature and Bachelors Degrees in Business and Accounting. She owns and manages Club Coquette in downtown Conshohocken, and writes by night.
Every time she's told what a dirty mind she has, she takes it as a compliment.