Boys: Alphas of 2017 - Vol 1 Page 6

  “Oh, my God!” I heard Vanessa giggle, after what felt like forever. I realized she’d stopped fucking me with her fingers and had sat back up as I was coming back down to Earth. I felt so light, so relieved, like a wonderfully soft blanket was cuddling me. I couldn’t do anything except giggle along with her.

  Chapter Six

  “Wow,” I gasped, “do you mean to say most people do that every day?” I couldn’t help slipping my own hand back between my legs, under the fabric of my panties. A few final electric pulses radiated out as I touched myself, pulling another tiny gasp from my lips.

  “If they’re lucky,” she smiled. I was in total bliss, finally satisfied. However, something in her tone didn’t sound quite right. “Stay just like that,” she told me, her eyes traveling up and down my body. My shirt pulled up over my still heaving breasts, and my hand still inside my underwear.

  I watched her, looking her right in the eye as she hiked her skirt up even higher so she could raise one leg up on the bed. She pulled her tiny thong aside, baring her open, slick and shaved pussy before me and began touching herself. I was mesmerized watching her. Her free hand played over her stunning tits, fondling herself, before she began sucking on her own fingers, deep moans coming from her throat so she could push them inside herself.

  I felt my clit begin to twitch again, in spite of the intense pleasure I’d just felt. I could see she was getting close and, before I knew it, I was on her. I grabbed and sucked at her tits, reveling in the soft, hot feel of them. I knew I wasn’t going to make this a habit. It was wonderful, but I knew I would never let another girl touch me as Vanessa had. I was straight. And so, I didn’t feel comfortable touching her more intimately. But I wanted to thank her for sharing with me something so amazing.

  “Just put your hand on mine,” she said, as though she read my mind, “and kiss me.”

  I did as she asked, cupping the hand she touched herself with, pressing her fingers a little harder against herself. My touch brought a loud moan from her, which I silenced with my lips on hers. Our tongues entwined again and it was like I could feel the orgasm building within her. She sighed urgently into my mouth as I felt her hand moving faster and faster. She tasted so good, and the feel of her hot skin on mine as our breasts pressed together, along with the way she writhed harder and harder as she pleasured herself, was bringing back that familiar, erotic tingle in my own twitching sex. I wondered, for a second, if it would be the worst thing in the world if we just locked ourselves in this room and just kept bringing each other off, right until the end of time.

  Vanessa snapped me back to reality, as she suddenly broke our mouths apart to cry out, “Oh, fuck!” Her body lifted off the bed, her hips shaking wildly as she came, before she shoved my hand away and landed back down, her legs trembling as she rolled around like a cat purring in a sun spot. “Oh, my God!” she panted over and over, repeating it like a mantra.

  “So?” asked Vanessa. We’d made ourselves decent, so far as I’d pulled my undershirt back down to cover myself while Vanessa had replaced her bra and blouse and straightened out her skirt. We now sat facing each other with the tray of food she’d brought up between us. It was actually a selection of cold cuts – ham, turkey, beef, and pastrami – with some slices of homemade bread, mayo and mustard, and a bowl of reheated scotch broth. I guessed Warren wasn’t in the mood to cook tonight, after all. Regardless, we were both suddenly ravenous and began tearing into what we had.

  “So, what?” I asked in return. I felt like things should have been awkward between us, but we both just seemed to be relaxed and at ease in each other’s company.

  “Do you think you’re in a better place to go and make your intentions clear to Warren now?” she said, taking a big bite of the sandwich she’d made.

  “Watch out,” I smiled, indicating the clock on my wall, “it’s after six-thirty.”

  “Don’t change the subject!” she laughed, covering her full mouth with her hand.

  “I guess. I feel like I might be a little more in control of my urges now,” I told her.

  “But not too in control.”

  She still seemed so cool and together, like what we’d just done was no cause for concern. I knew it wasn’t as life changing an event for her as it was for me, but nothing seemed to disrupt her calm self-assuredness. I hoped I could soon become as emotionally in charge as her. And I hoped I could spend the rest of my life being as kind and caring.

  “Cheeky!” I kicked her foot playfully. “I don’t know, though. Honestly, I think I’m starting to get cold feet again.”

  “Well, stop it,” she nearly snapped, even though her kind smile stayed unflinching. “You, Mary-Jane, are a powerful, beautiful young woman who can have – strike that – is entitled to anything she wants. You’re old enough and mature enough that you don’t have to apologize to anyone anymore. Do you hear me?”

  I was a little taken aback by the conviction in her words and my heart sped up a little to confirm my surprise. “Yes, ma’am,” I told her.

  “Good girl. Now, you shouldn’t leave it too long before you turn in. Warren wants you in the studio tomorrow, bright and early.”

  We finished up the food pretty quickly while Vanessa entertained me with stories of some of her more unusual sexual encounters. I was grateful she’d brought some wine. We were able to relax and just have a girly chat for an hour or so, before she kissed me once more and disappeared, so I could finish my essay.

  It wasn’t that early anymore by the time I was satisfied with my work, and I was exhausted when my head hit the pillow with the lights off. And, of course, I couldn’t sleep. Not for a while. All I could think of, now that I’d finally had an orgasm, was how it might feel different with Warren. I couldn’t wait to see him. Vanessa was right; I could have anything I wanted. And I knew he wanted me as well. I knew he did. I’d felt how much I turned him on. I had to get to see me as who I was, not as Clive’s niece. And I had to get him to let his past go.

  “This is good,” said Warren. He was reading my paper as we sat drinking coffee in the kitchen the following morning. He was acting as though nothing had happened the day before, but I could still feel him keeping his distance. There was no way he’d be stripping off for my camera anymore, or even getting me to ‘accidentally’ develop porn.

  “I hope you mean the essay, not just the coffee,” I joked. Come on, I snapped inside my head, you sound like a nervous ditz. Get it together!

  “In that case, I’m talking about both,” he chuckled lightly. “But I do like the paper. I like the way you are able to really single out the impact points. Good work.”

  “Thank you,” I smiled, an involuntary flush of warm pride filling me. You can be such a girl sometimes! “What are we doing today?”

  “Well, your first mission, should you choose to accept it,” he instructed with mock seriousness, “is to set us up a tableau in the studio for us to photograph. Any theme you like. You’ll find a whole bunch of props and shit in the closet in there.”

  “And what will you be doing?”

  “I’ll be chilling in here with some more coffee, waiting for my intern to stop asking me questions and get on with things.”

  “I see.”

  I took my cue and went to see what I could find. The actual photo stage of the studio was exactly what I’d always dreamed of having for myself. It was vast, with the three walls opposite the door painted stark, brilliant white, with a vinyl screen that could be pulled down to cover the back wall for projections or to make editing easier. The high ceiling made me realize that it must have been the house’s formal drawing room before Warren had it remodeled. And, up in the rafters, he had maybe ten thousand dollars’ worth of lights; probably capable of creating any effect he could dream up.

  I got to work. I decided I wanted to make use of the perfect whiteness of the room, so I set up a gruesome little scene. It involved a table and chairs, two mannequins I dressed up in formal evening wear before I pushed the male on
e over, spilled a pot of red paint beside him and jammed a carving knife into his torso. It didn’t make much sense but, from the way his eyes sparkled when he came into the room, I could tell Warren appreciated the stark beauty of it.

  “Awesome,” he smiled. “I don’t even care that I’m going to have to get this room repainted. Again.”

  “You think it’ll work?”

  “I do,” he grinned at me. “Especially if we set the ISOs so that…”

  “… so that the red looks nearly black,” I finished the sentence. “The shot will look almost black and white. Very neo-noir.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  We got to work and started adjusting the lighting, working things out so everything would look slightly unreal. We played with it for hours, taking shots from different angles, re-lighting the scene, adding props and taking them away. I was having great fun and I could tell Warren was too.

  We took a break for some lunch and, as we ate, I took a deep breath and spoke to him.

  “Did I really make things that difficult for you yesterday?”

  He stopped chewing and looked straight at me. It was the same look from the day before that was crossing over his face again; the one he’d had as he pushed me away from him. “Difficult is not really the word I would use,” he said. “From the moment I saw you the other day, I’ve been struggling with how attracted to you I am.” My mind cast back to him saying something similar the day before as I straddled him naked and my clit throbbed at the memory. “But with my reputation and the age gap between us… I just don’t want your family looking at me as the guy who deflowered their youngest daughter.”

  “And I told you yesterday,” I said, putting my hand on his arm so he’d look back at me. I needed to follow the advice I got yesterday. “I’m twenty-two. I’m old enough to make my own choices. Plus, Vanessa told me yesterday how much you’ve cleaned up your act in the last few years. I think it’s okay for us to see where this could go.”

  He kept looking at me. We stared into deep each other’s eyes for a long moment. I felt like he might finally relent, until he spoke. “I’m sorry Mary-Jane,” he whispered.

  My heart sank. He’s really going to throw me away thanks to some ridiculous sense of what’s right? I said inside my head, nearly despairing. After his years of banging every woman on the planet, now he gets an attack of conscience? “We should get back to work,” I said.

  “That’s my line,” he tried to joke, but I could hear that his heart wasn’t in it.

  “It’s okay, I have an idea for another scene. I want to see what you think.”

  “Okay. I’m intrigued.”

  “Give me a couple of minutes,” I told him, getting up and leaving the big table.

  This is it, I told myself as I set up the new scene, last chance. If he refuses me this time, it's just not meant to be. I’m not putting myself out there anymore. I called out to Warren, to come and join me in the studio.

  “Holy shit, Mary-Jane!” he gasped, as he stepped through the door. “What do you think you you’re doing?”

  I looked up at him, a small smile on my face from where I lay on the floor. The scene I’d created wasn’t so different from the one we’d left behind. The key difference was the female mannequin; she was now standing over her bleeding lover, her evening dress ripped to display one perfect, plastic breast. I’d angled her into a more aggressive pose. Oh, and I was naked on the floor, by the male, having rolled around in the great pool of crimson paint I’d spilled around our ‘dead body’ so I had streaks of red splattered haphazardly over me. Except on my left breast, where I’d dipped my hand in the paint and placed a small, perfect handprint on myself.

  “Hey, I’m expressing myself artistically!” I chided him. For a second he looked angry, before his face lit up and he burst out laughing. “Come on,” I urged him, “Don’t just stand there, start shooting.”

  Warren picked up his camera and pointed it at me. In no time he was posing me, trying to find that fine line between provocative, erotic art, and pornography. I kept slipping about in the paint and falling on my ass, causing an undignified amount of hilarity for both of us. He kept coming over to me, showing me the sexy shots he was getting. I smiled with every picture. I looked fucking amazing; sexy enough to feel myself getting turned on again.

  I looked over at Warren, standing at the edge of the studio, messing with the settings on his Nikon. The man was an artistic genius, a rebel, a rogue, and he was utterly gorgeous. I wanted him so bad. Even after I’d finally had all that pent up sexual frustration teased out of me, I could still feel my pussy getting wet again, getting ready for him, almost willing him to put down the camera and do me.

  “Okay, baby,” Warren smiled, “over to our stunning murderess, please.” I crawled over to the standing mannequin, getting a fresh coat of wet paint on the palms of my hands.

  “Like this?” I asked.

  “Kneel with your thighs on either side of her leg,” he told me. “That’s it. Now look at me and reach up for her breast.”

  I looked up, wondering what possessed the dummy manufacturers to start putting nipples on their model women. Sure, I knew they were useful for giving a more accurate portrayal of how a thin blouse might look when worn, but only on a really cold day. Do they get off making them so realistic? I wondered. Still, I reached up and fondled her, leaving a nice red imprint on the plastic tit. I turned to the camera and gave my best sexy pout, placing my other hand high on the dummy’s thigh, just up under her skirt. “Like this?”

  “Yeah, beautiful,” he grinned and started shooting. “Now, hump her leg!” he ordered.

  “What am I, a dog?” I protested. Art was all very well, but I was starting to feel like he was messing with me.

  “Come on, don’t pussy out now!” he kept on snapping. “I thought you wanted to be a fearless artist.”

  “Fuck you!” I replied angrily, but still doing what he told me. I started grinding my hips against my unwilling accomplice’s shapely leg. “Like this?” I snapped.

  “Yeah, but like you mean it. Come on Mary-Jane! I shouldn’t have to tell you any of this!”

  He was making me mad now. How would he like it, kneeling naked in a cold studio, being told to fuck some plastic bitch’s leg? I started really grinding on her, actually rubbing my bare pussy hard against the plastic and giving him my best sex face, although I knew it was edged with anger.

  “That’s better, good,” he encouraged me, taking picture after picture. “Hold on a second,” he put the camera down and strode over to me, pulling off his wool sweater and discarding it. He was suddenly naked from the waist up and heading my way. “I’m just not feeling it from you. I don’t believe you’re getting off.”

  “That’s because I’m not--” I started to snap at him, only for my heart to leap into my mouth as he suddenly kneeled down close behind me. “What are you doing?” I gasped.

  “You need some help,” he whispered, his fingertips brushing along my waist and immediately sending tremors throughout my body. A soft sigh escaped my lips. My eyes closed and my head fell back onto his shoulder. Warren’s hands ventured further, circling around the smooth skin of my stomach, forcing my breathing to deepen as his touch sent tingles straight down to my pussy. He followed them. I could hear his breath quicken with mine as his fingers traced their way over my soft mound.

  Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I moaned inside my head. Please, please let this mean he’s changed his mind. Don’t let him just be teasing me or just trying to get a better fucking shot! “Oh, fuck!” I groaned, as his fingertips slid delicately over my clit to touch my slick lips.

  “Damn, you’re wet,” he breathed, sliding himself just a fraction deeper into me.

  “I know,” I sighed, as his left hand came up to my breast, squeezing and gently tweaking my hardening nipple through the still-drying paint that covered it.

  “Maybe you didn’t need me to come over here and rev you up after all,” he said, his hand retre
ating from my aching sex.

  “Don’t stop, Warren,” I pleaded. “I’m begging you, please don’t stop touching me.” I covered his hand with mine; similar to the way I’d done with Vanessa’s, and guided him back to where his touch made me shiver. I place my other hand on his, on the one that fondled my breast, and pressed him harder against me.

  I could feel him, long, hard and throbbing in his slacks, pressed firm against my ass, the tip of him touching the small of my back. I edged his finger back past my waiting lips, my slippery juices allowing him to slide easily inside me.

  “Okay, Mary-Jane,” he hissed, “I think this has gone far enough.”

  “Please,” I moaned again. He wouldn’t push his finger any deeper inside me. So, in frustration, I started flexing my hips, trying to increase the ecstatic sensations I was feeling from pressing his hand against my pussy.

  “Oh shit!” I heard him gasp, his cock twitching against me, and I realized I was grinding my firm butt against him, jerking him with my ass cheeks. I increased my pace. “Mary-Jane!” he hissed again, his breathing growing even more ragged. “Stop it. Don’t.”

  I pulled his hands tighter over me, forcing him harder against my back, and rubbed my ass against him with even more vigor. His fingers pushed deeper inside me as I thrust, my clit throbbing against the paint-covered palm of his hand, pushing breathy groans from my mouth and sending electric shock-like sensations through me.

  “Oh, fuck! Oh, baby!” I heard him groan. His dick felt like a bar of iron against my ass, throbbing and twitching, seeming to keep growing with every movement of my butt until he cried out. “Oh, Christ!” he yelled, and suddenly started humping me intently. A second later he froze and I felt his cock pulsing violently, an unexpected hot and wet patch appearing in the fabric of his pants, right at the small of my back.

  All of a sudden, we were still. The rapid rising and falling of my chest, and Warren panting against my back, were the only movement. I let him take his hand from between my legs.