Best Women's Erotica(36)
“Will you be wanting to make this a regular arrangement?” Stuart’s voice was raspy, breathless.
“Make him wear braces next time. I don’t want to see the belt again.” I sounded hoarse, too.
“Yes, ma’am,” Stuart said, with a smile. “That’s not a problem at all.”
I straightened myself out, picked up my bag and left without another word. But as I descended the metal stairs and strode out into the bustle of Camden on a busy afternoon, I felt like I owned the whole bloody world.
KING SLUT
Valerie Alexander
Scene I
The actor playing the king stands against a backdrop of palm trees, his sandaled feet motionless on a three-foot dais. His muscled arms are a golden bronze, his chiseled chest and abs taut. He wears only a kilt of white linen, banded just beneath his narrow hips, with gold snake bracelets twining round his biceps. In one hand he grips a staff. But his face is concealed beneath a golden King Tut mask, its famous noble face staring past the director, cameramen and waiting extras with the poise of a real pharaoh.
“This isn’t at all true to life,” says one of the grips. “That mask was a death mask they found in his sarcophagus. Tutankhamen never wore it in real life.”
“We’re shooting a porn movie called King Slut,” the director says. “You really think anybody gives a shit?”
A female PA says, “I think the mask is hot. Without it, he’s just another guy.”
“I’m sure our star really appreciates that,” the director says. “Come on now. Back to work.”
King Slut stands motionless on the dais as if deaf to their words.
Cecilia pauses the porn movie running in her head. It’s her own creation and she can return to it later, even if she’d prefer to be watching it right now instead of the movie currently broadcasting before her. But she has to be social. She’s at a party; next to her is her fiercest crush, and he and the sixteen other people here are silently absorbed in their hostess’s art-porn project, which Cecilia pretends to like to be polite. The film isn’t working for her, though. She knows it’s supposed to be better than typical porn fare, the kind with a lot of bleached hair, fake moans and mechanical fucking, because it’s shot in black and white and the actresses are just local art student goth girls. But watching the girls finger themselves and stare moodily into the camera leaves Cecilia cold. She looks around at the other guests, their faces rapt in the flickering light and feels like a freak. Even watching cable soft-core porn with her friend Shea is better than this, because they snark and make up fake dialogue for the actors.
She sneaks a look at Adam next to her. His hazel eyes look pensive, the profile of his full lips and sculpted cheekbones making her heart give a little jump. She’s wanted him for so long, obsessing over his remote beauty, his maddening aloofness, and now here he is at last. She can tell he’s hers if she wants him. He devoted enough time to her last weekend at a different party to convey that. But his absorption in the film makes her wonder how sexually predictable he is. He’s so quiet, it’s hard to read him.
She gets up and goes into the kitchen to find another beer. He comes after her and leans up against the counter, bracing his foot against a cabinet. “You seem kind of fidgety.”
She opens the beer. “The movie’s kind of boring.”
He laughs awkwardly. “Okay… So what would entertain you?”
She takes a long swallow of the beer and puts it on the counter without taking her eyes off his.
Now Adam looks surprised—but then he shakes back his long, dark hair with a studied cool, takes her hand and leads her outside. The backyard is bluish with moonlight. They look around—the ground is muddy and scattered with fallen leaves and looks cold—then at each other. And then he’s touching her, his hands sliding up her sides, his mouth hot on hers in the cold night. She feels something open up in her and swoon. A moment later they’re on the patio, the cold concrete going through her shirt as she hooks her legs around his. His cock is hard and pressing through his jeans.
She rubs her pussy up against him just before the back door bangs open, followed by a giggle.
“Oh…sorry, Cecilia. But we’re leaving.” It’s her best friend, Shea.
Adam pulls her to her feet and helps her brush off her jeans. “I can give you a ride,” he says with a loaded look.
It would be so easy to go home with him. She’s wanted it for months. Instead she declines. “No, I really should go. Sorry.”
On the way home, Shea expresses her approval. “Making him work for it, I like it,” she says. “I notice that Amy’s film got you all excited, though. You two were the first ones to go off together.”