Wicked Games

So one of my assignments for my grad school was to write about a sexual experience in your genre. Guess what I'm non-fiction so I had to write about a sexual experience of my own. So I chose an event that happened at the end of the December. A note to  Apache's sister-- this about your brother. So read if you dare (and won't think I'm a skank by the end of it). Everyone else-- I'd appreciate your feedback on this!

**

The club was hot and dark. It smelled like alcohol and sweat and sex. Milton’s Pandæmonium—the palace of the fallen. Strobe lights flicker across the room, amplifying the trip so many of the fallen are on. Heavy metal fills the room—Drowning Pool drives out of the speakers, the rhythmic beat pounds into my flesh, becoming my pulse.


I grin, searching Apache’s face for a reaction. A smile plays across his lips as he notices the lingerie-clad girls on stage who look no more older than 16, though they are clad in bras, panties, and garter belts. I squeeze his hand and release as I head for the bathroom.

The song changes. Disturbed’s “Down with the Sickness” beats out. It is the club’s unofficial anthem—a song about the eternal struggle of the individual against the mother culture of society that is constantly trying to beat the child struggling for independence and individuality into submission. I get into line behind Miss Kitty, the transvestite host of the night.

Though I feel as home in this club as I did pre-gaming at the swank sea food restaurant that night, I am one of the few that does. The club is a cult of misfits and deviants who refused to deny their true identities for convention. I envy that freedom, though I could never totally give myself over to that side. I explore my masochism in private. Rape fantasies. A hidden tattoo with a veiled meaning. A strong desire to be treated like a whore in the bedroom, but a lady everywhere else.

It was my important to me for Apache to see that other side of me. I wondered if it would repulse him, the way it had Trevor, or if he would only think of me that way, the way Jau now did. I hope he’s comfortable here. Club Hell is an overwhelming the first time you step inside, and I had never brought a guy there with me. I wasn’t sure what to expect.

There is no turning back now, that you’ve woken up the daemon, in me…..

Once inside the open stall, with a door that has been missing since I began going to the club my sophomore year of college, I stoop to connect the garter to the tops of my thigh highs. I have trouble with the back—the tight black corset makes it impossible to bend backwards. A petite blond with obviously fake breasts kneels between my thighs, her breath hot against the back of my thigh as she fingers graze the sensitive skin there. Her long blonde ringlets cover her face, and I wonder what I would if she were to kiss up my leg and lick my clit? She’s not down there long enough for me to figure out the answer—and I decide that if something like were to happen, I’d want Apache there to see it anyway.



Apache is standing outside the door. He doesn’t see me as I slide my hands around his waist, laying my head against the thermal knit fabric of his back, breathing in the familiarity of his scent. It smelled like home, though that night was only the fifth time I had been physically near him.

At the bar, he stood behind me possessively. I liked that. I knew from his vantage point he could see how my breasts were only an inch from falling out of the corset. I wondered if he thought about ripping the corset off of me. If he did now, I was planning on doing everything in my power to illicit that reaction.

We had had sex already today. But that was a release—the physical culmination of over a month of text messages, phone calls, and web cam sessions. Tonight is about seduction.

I leaned forward to order drinks from the bartender, not-so-innocently pushing my ass into him. He was getting hard, like he had been at JC Penny’s earlier that afternoon, after I had picked up from the Armory.

Though we had spent so much time talking on web cam, I was shy with him at Penny’s. I wasn’t sure of his expectations and decided to follow his lead. In the men’s department, he kissed me, sweetly. Later, he came up behind me wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me into him. He was hard against back as he kissed my neck. It lasted for a moment, but his breath was ragged when he whispered into my ear, “I need to stop.”

We had joked on web cam, betted even, how long it would be before we had sex. Would we make it back to my house? I had bet that we wouldn’t make it onto the highway. But when Apache decided to visit his mom at work, I forced myself to disinfect my thoughts. I wanted his mom to like me. I was sure she would see in my eyes that I was thinking more about getting her son naked than making small talk. At JC Penny’s I flirted with the idea of suggesting a romp in a dressing room, but thought against it.



We made our way onto the dance floor. He winced as his drink burned his throat and he drank It like an enormous shot of tequila. I enjoyed dancing with him— he had a rhythm that surprised me, and I found myself getting wetter. Straddling his firm thigh, I knew I was leaving wet spots as I ground myself into him.

Grabbing his hand, I led him off the middle of the dance floor towards a more private spots, behind a column. He seemed more comfortable here, and he pressed up against me, his hands wandering across my breasts, down my sides, bare thighs, to trace the tops of my thigh highs. My breath caught in my throat as I hoped he would touch me. I wondered if he could feel how fast my heart beat in anticipation.

Reading my thoughts, Apache slid his hand under the plaid school girl skirt and white petticoat especially chosen for this occasion. He groaned in satisfaction as he realized my panties were soaked, and I gasped as he pushed them aside, thrusting a slim finger inside of me as his thumb found my clit.

“Good girl,” he whispered into my ear, and I felt his cock pulse through the fabric of my skirt.

My knees shook, and the fabric barrier irritated me. Grasping his wrist, I moved away from him, pushing him against the wall as I found his hot mouth, kissed him forcefully, before standing on tip toe to breathe into his ear.

“I’ll be right back.”

The surprise was impossible to misread when I returned from the whore’s room and handed him my panties. I flashed him an impish grin as I pressed my ass into him again. This time his movements were direct, confident—rubbing my clit hard. I circled my arm around his neck, his stubble seducing the sensitive skin on my neck.

I came hard for him then, not afraid to cry out in the noisy club. I turned around to face him, lifting his hands to my lips, sliding my mouth down his wet fingers, my eyes never leaving his as my sweetness played across my tongue. His eyes darkened with desire, and I closed my eyes in pleasure, flicking the fingertip with my tongue the way I wanted to tease the swollen head of his cock. I wondered, for not the first time, if it was me he saw—wonders if he transposes her face for mine. I decide I don’t want to know the answer I turn so I can’t see his face, slide my hand down his firm chest, and slide my fingers down his pants.

I want to fuck him, to fuck his self-satisfied smile away, to make him come and close those dark eyes. I want him so badly I can taste his sweat on my tongue and hear the sounds he is going to make, before I even touch him.

He’s surprised when I grip him, but not unpleasantly. His hips buck once against my hand, and I know he wants to fuck me too. I push him back against the wall, gasping as his fingers slide into me once again. He’s a master with them, because nothing feels this fucking sweet—because boys never do this right. They rub your clit as if it’s a spot that needs removing. But not him. He know exactly what how to graze the flat of a finger softly over my clit and down to the opening. There’s a river down there and it has a course; it tells you what path to take … that valley was made for fingers.

H.I.M.’s “Wicked Games” came on then, and I slide my hand up and down his cock to the rhythm wishing that he could take me right there. Lift my skirt up, tug the zipper down, petticoat to hide it. I almost suggest it to him, but am not sure if it’s too much too soon.

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do--I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you

His knee slips between my thighs and I think about him dragging me across his lap, ceremoniously pulling up the hem of my skirt bringing his big, flat palm down onto my right ass-cheek with a loud smack. The thought alone is enough to make me cum, harder, this time, and I know his fingers are soaked. His other hand grips the wrist now tightly jerking him. He’s close, and he wants to wait until he can cum in me. I know. I wonder if there’s a place where I can straddle him, ride him. I look around. The only available couch is behind the liquid dancers, their glow-sticks leaving trails of light in the darkness. An old flame runs that crew; I’d like to avoid confrontation.

I lead him the back bar instead and sit down on a bar stool, the vinyl cool against my ass. I pull him towards me, kiss him, and think about asking him to leave. The lights go up then, and we stumble out in the night. The cold December air caresses our fevered bodies, and Apache helps me through the snow to the parking lot.

He presses me up against the car, his full mouth devouring mine, kissing my breasts. His breath licks my ear.

“I can’t wait to fuck you. Get us the hell home.”

Yes sir.