Billy Wilson (P.I.) Part 1 (oral, MF, dubcon)

(Author’s note: I wanted something with a sense of humor today. Thinking about making this a series. Please leave notes in the comments as to whether or not you would like to see more).

I have three rules:

1) Never date a woman whose brothers have knife scars
2) Never chase women or buses; you’ll always get left behind
and
3) Never attend a party where you have to have an alias

Tonight, I was going to break all three. It’s murder at Howard’s house and I, Billy Wilson (P.I.), was in attendance.

It was a dark and stormy night, ok. Yeah, cliche, but it actually was; get over it. Old man Howard had finally kicked the bucket. The greedy little bastard choked on a chicken wing and literally kicked over his KFC.

Tonight was the designated reading of his will. I was there as muscle for one of his former mistresses, Aliba Pine. Since their last encounter, Ms. Pine was worried about Mrs. Howard something about being beaten with a cucumber.

Tormented

You sit atop your gilded throne, surveying the new arrivals. Each damned soul bearing the same bewildered expression of loss and fear. All except one.

He stands erect, defiantly poised against the flames of your Hell. His eyes scour the infinite hellscape to come to rest on you.

You feel his gaze appraise the value of you, weighing and measuring your body as if considering you as an equal. You steel yourself against his gaze and peer back into his eyes. For a moment, the desolate backdrop falls away and you are lifted, buoyed by his unyielding attention.

Bound as he is, he still carries himself a free soul, unbroken by the torment. His gaze roams your body, giving every inch of you a longing pause of contemplation. He does not flinch or shy away from your scars, the badges you wear from your suffering. Instead, he nods and seems to accept them as part of the whole.

As the rest of the souls are shuffled off to their individual torments, he remains, positioned near the entrance to the Pit of Carnal Lust. It seems his sin was his sexual appetite.

Rubbing One Out

Black thigh-high stockings run lazily against your legs; the cream of your skin turned dark. Deep blue satin panties cling to you, pre-moistened with anticipation. A purple and black satin and lace corset bustier cup tightly to your breasts, your ample cleavage bare to the chill in the air.

Your hair, braided to a single rope, spills over your shoulder. Your eyes hunger, glowing with fire’s light. Your chest, rising and falling in shallow bursts, desire burning in your heart. Fingers draw teasingly across your body, sending shivers and goosebumps with each pass. Lips painted in cherry, part as your tongue glides along, tasting the lust in the air.

Visions of him rise in your mind, his easy smile that lights up his eyes, the faint trace of aftershave, the musk of a man in his prime, his body firm and strong. You can see him as you close your eyes and drift, eyes piercing the dim light of your room to gaze longingly into yours.

You guide your hands along your body, displaying all that you have to offer for the phantom man. Your mind’s eye sees him cup your chin and draw you in for a kiss. You can almost taste him, the passion, his tongue wrestling against yours for domination, his breath entering your lungs as you inhale him.

Whiskey Chick

They say some women are worth killing and dying for. I used to believe only fools felt that way. Then I met her. She wasn’t worth killing and dying for, though; she was worth lighting the world on fire just to watch the flames dance in her eyes.

A vision of pure beauty, long, athletic legs with thighs that reminded me of a sculpted caress, eyes like brilliant emeralds, breasts so supple and pouty, lips full and perfect, skin smooth as freshly fallen snow, and a posterior that a man could cup with both hands and still never fill his lust.

I took a draw off my whiskey, reminiscing about our last kiss. She was a bonfire of passion, and buildings have burned to the ground with less intensity than her lips poured out. I tasted her lipstick as it stained my lips, felt her tongue pulse alongside mine, and felt the sharp jolt of pain and pleasure as her teeth bit my lips teasingly.

The Lovers

The slow rhythm of two hearts beating in near unison as the lovers entwined crushed all other sounds. Their lips met in the spark of lustful electricity. A haze covered their eyes and darkness closed in about their vision. In their mind’s eye, they could see themselves, naked, bared to the soul.

She carried his breath into hers as his kiss threatened to devour her. Their tongues touched and teased, playfully and skillfully tasting with the full bud of taste. He smelled her natural perfume, its heady vapor adding to the intoxication of her taste.

She broke the kiss, tangling his curly hair around her fingers, twisting and pulling, running satin-smooth nails the color of night along his scalp and tracing patterns along his cheek.

Their eyes pierced each other, searching the depths for hidden secrets, drinking the very essence of their lust. She arched an eyebrow coyly as he smiled with a crooked, mischievous grin.

There was a moment’s pause, two breaths of mutual caress with their hearts. Then, he moved behind her, slowly placing a blindfold over her eyes. Darkness settled into her vision and she could feel the heat of his breath as it tickled her shoulder and ear.

Peeping Tom

I see you, closed in the window, your body shimmering in the aftermath of his glow. I see your breath catch between the thrills of his dominance.

I see you; I have watched you tamed, docile, and meek. I know you toy with him. I know you play his game to control him, to dominate him. You own him, meek, docile, and tamed; you might pretend, but deep down, you know he belongs to you and no other.

Even with the curtains thrown open, bare to the world, you keep that secret. It is the passion that burns inside you, revealed in your eyes as they glow when he commands. Defiance is for the outside world, but here, here, you are compliant, so long as he knows who is really in control.

So you draw your breath, bend your knees, and put on the look of the perfect supplicant. Inside you burn, the fires lit by the wanton lust in your heart. With every command, you bind him tighter to you as you play into your role. He believes he is in control; how naive.

Wants

I want you. I want all of you. I want to taste your lips after the first bite of a cherry. I want to smell the summer breeze across your neck. I want to see your eyes consume my soul. I want to hear your heartbeat when the music stops and the dancing is done. I want to touch your soul with a whisper, talk to your heart with my eyes, and converse with your mind.

I want you. I want all of you. I want to taste the jagged edge of your tongue as it plays along my neck. I want to feel the torrential rains flow from you as I touch you deep inside. I want to lift you up to the heavens as I impale you to the depths of Hell.

I want you. I want all of you. I want to shatter your calm and rewrite your definition of ecstasy. I want to teach you the meaning of Master. I want to show you a world of pleasure balanced at the tip of a pin by pain. I want to bind you to give you the freedom you long for.

Lost Keys (MF)

Tropical depression Wanda was set to make landfall in Miami in about 5 hours. I was working late on a “vacation” (euphemism for a business trip). I was held up in a meeting that ran late, and we all filed out at nearly a quarter past ten at night.

I took a quick cab back to my hotel, on the beach, of course, and got undressed for the night. With the district supervisor riding everyone to improve sales performances, I was still burning the midnight oil when a knock came at my door.

I quickly threw on some slacks and went to the door. I figured it was probably hotel management coming to warn everyone about the storm, so I wasn’t prepared for when a thirty-something woman dressed down in ripped jeans and a white blouse greeted me on the other end.

She was stunning to look at, athletic but still had a bit of “mom” weight on her. Her tan skin contrasted against the cream of her blouse. Long locks of dark brown hair fell against her face, nearly covering her aqua-green eyes. Her chest protruded in two teardrop-shaped globes that strained against the buttons on her blouse. Her lips, twisted with a cool-aid smile, were lush and full.

The Secret (MF Rough)

Sherri put her keys away as she opened the door to the spare room. It was her drawing-room, her sanctuary. Here she would crank the music, melt into her art, and forget about the troubles of her life.

Tonight was an especially troubling night. Today was her brother’s funeral. David was four years younger than her and her only sibling. She lost her kid brother. Tonight there would be whiskey.
She turned on the music, its loud rock ‘n roll playing through the Bluetooth speaker. She poured herself a double shot of whiskey and kicked it back with a fit of almost vicious anger.

As the whiskey settled into her mind, Sherri’s thoughts wandered to the secrets David and she kept for each other. He was the only one who knew all of hers, her dark secrets. And now, he was gone and with him, someone whom she could rely on.

The night slowly drifted as she drank; her lids grew heavy, and soon she fell into a drunken slumber. Dreams were fitful as she tossed in the wooden chair next to her desk. Some came from fear, others from hope, all blending into a nightmarish hellscape.

Rooftop Scene (MF 2nd person)

The rooftop of our hotel, 17 stories up, whistles as a gust of wind blows across it. Various pipes and mechanical appliances jut out as we dodge, laughing and teasing each other in the night. The ledge we sit on offers a beautiful view of the city below us; lights dazzle from windows and rooftops almost as far as the eye can see, stars brought to earth for tonight’s attractions.

The moonlight, full and magnificent, glows around us, our eyes luminescent in its pale luster. We drink in the world below us. Cars drive past, people walking along the city streets, life, full and beautiful, pulsing out before us. From our perch, the city is calm and quiet in its bustle.

I lean over to kiss you. The night’s drinks have softened our resolve and left us both with a heady feeling of lighthearted desire. Your eyes find mine, haunting in their spark of lust. We both paused, momentarily feeding off the images of fancy flashing through our minds.

I kiss you, deep, firm, yet soft and tender. Our heads spin as one. Your hands reach out and playfully begin undoing your dress, a tease you watch as I eagerly drink in the sight of you in the moonlight.