Seduction (3 page)

What I saw took my breath away. The voices I could hear were indeed those of a man and a woman who were beautiful beyond all belief—and they were fucking on a bed ten feet below where I lay crouched on my own wooden floor. It took a while for me to tell where she ended and he began, but despite my initial thoughts of respecting their privacy, I endeavored to work it out regardless. They both had dark hair and lightly bronzed bodies, both were toned and petite, and together they moved so quickly that the scene looked like a pit of writhing snakes.

As I watched, they pulled apart from their embrace, and the woman got on her knees, ready to go down on her lover. Her tidy little ass jutted into the air, and her legs were spread, revealing a shock of dark, neatly trimmed, glossy pubic hair and a sliver of glistening pinky-brown pussy. The man lay on his back, his dick astonishingly large for such a small man. It was darker than the rest of him and bouncy and upright in the way that only young men’s dicks are. The noise of her lips sucking on his cock and his moans of ecstasy in response were nearly as exciting as the visual show they were putting on before me. In about fifteen seconds, I went from mildly annoyed about the smoke to unbelievably aroused by the strangers’ lovemaking.

I couldn’t help it, but I started to touch myself. First of all I circled my nipples through the shot-silk of my negligee, surprised and delighted at how hard they got and how quickly. Dropping the spaghetti straps over my shoulders, I slid first one then the other breast out and let them trail along the floor, the cold wooden planks arousing my tits more effectively than any lover’s caress. I was prostrate now, my ass in the air. Automatically, I slid my hand between my legs and held my palm flat against my pussy. A warm, dry hand against a pulsing, moistening cunt. I slid four fingers inside myself, and my grateful hole twitched around them.

The scene on the bed below me developed. He climaxed, pushing his dick farther into her face as his own features contorted with pleasure. She pulled her mouth away from him, a thin silver trail of come and saliva from her lips to the tip of his penis linked the lovers for a few seconds before dispersing. Confident he would return the favor, she sank back into the messy pillows and stretched herself out, lithe and relaxed as a little cat. Her body was perky and petite like a young girl’s, but her sophistication and confident demeanor showed that she was very much a woman. She wore dark, dramatic makeup, which had been only slightly smeared by her lovemaking, and tiny diamonds glittered at her ears. She sighed with pleasure as the man knelt between her legs, forced her knees apart with his hands, and went to work, devouring her pussy with the insatiable hunger of a man who hadn’t eaten in days. Her facial features softened despite the harsh makeup as she melted under his tongue, shaking and shivering with pleasure. Mesmerized by her tiny, triangular tits, I found the contrast with my own round, pendulous breasts very exciting. I pressed the whole of my body harder against the cold, unyielding floor, gently rocking back and forth, more turned on by what I was seeing and feeling than I had ever been by anything before. As I watched her come, a soft pink blush crept across her cheeks and chest, warming up that pale olive skin, I quickly held my thumb against my own clitoris. My own orgasm, which arrived in seconds, was as wordless as hers was noisy. Exhausted, I crawled into bed and drifted off to sleep to the sound of two voices chatting, jazz records playing, and occasionally the odd wisp of smoke. Now that I knew what it signified, I really didn’t mind it at all.

I slept fitfully the next night, half waiting for the smell to wake me up. When it did, I was ready. This time I pulled off my negligee right away so that I could achieve maximum friction between my bare skin and the floor of my apartment. I lay down on the floor, my legs cold and bony on the waxed wooden surface, my top half teased and tickled by the old rug, an empty wine half-bottle to double up as a dildo clutched in my hand. I wanted to know how it felt to have something inside me while I played with my clit. Below me the lovers, unaware of my spying, lay on their sides, lips and legs locked together. When she parted her legs, I could see his dick sliding in and out of her dark little pussy. With my fingers inside me, I fucked the floor, pushing my hips down into my knuckles, using all my body weight to intensify the sensation. The quicker they fucked, the faster I rubbed my clitoris and, at the last minute, penetrated myself with the neck of the bottle, a cold, slippery rod that filled me up inside. Again, their own orgasms were so beautiful and powerful to watch that they triggered my own. My pussy gripped the cool solid glass of the bottle neck in sweet, painful spasms. Once I’d had my climax, I could experience the deep oblivious slumber that comes after the release of huge tension.

When I rose at noon I expected to see the lovers slumbering in each other’s arms, but they weren’t there. They never were. They seemed to inhabit an intense, passionate, private little world, existing for each other and only between the hours of midnight and five a.m. Who were they? What did they do with the rest of their lives when they weren’t making love in this sleazy little room?

That day I wrote thousands of words. It was some of the best work I’ve ever produced. I’d been struggling with a couple of characters in my novel, but after last night’s private floorshow and the long, satisfying sleep that followed, they came to life and the words flowed out. The story was becoming a little more highly sexed than my usual stuff, the result, no doubt of my being inspired by my midnight lovers. I pounded my laptop late into the night, leaving my studio only for steak and red wine at a little bistro around eleven p.m. When I crept back in, I saw that the light under their door was on.

By then just the smell of those cigarettes was enough to get me horny. At the first wisp of smoke, I was in my usual position. This time the couple lay on their backs with their hands between each other’s legs. She had his dick in her fist and was jerking him off fast and furious while he stroked her clit and pussy slowly and tenderly. It was as if they were putting on a performance just for me, but how could they know that they had an audience? My pubic bone was still bruised from grinding against the floor the night before, so this time I put my pillow between my legs and rocked myself to a slow, tender orgasm. The irony was that these nighttime neighbors were providing me with orgasms that were far more intense and frequent than any of those my lovers or attentive ex-boyfriends ever had. I was having my best sexual relationship to date with a pair of perfect strangers who were unaware of the fact. It was working for me, at least.

The next evening, I didn’t even bother going to bed but just waited up for them. I passed the time writing but barely concentrated on my novel as the whole time I listened in anticipation for the door below mine. Every few minutes I inhaled deeply, hoping to catch a whiff of that distinctive smoke, but all I could detect was my own tuberose perfume. I fell asleep at my desk and awoke at two a.m. to the sound of giggles and scuffles. It was then, only then, when the dry aroma of cigarettes began seeping through the crack in the floorboards, that I knew they had arrived.

I peeled back the rug, and the two of them were there. They disrobed slowly, revealing their toned, olive flesh inch by tantalizing inch. Up till now they’d always been naked when I spied on them, so I found this slow, deliberate unveiling of their bodies even more erotic than my first glimpse of their naked flesh. She wore elegant matching underwear beneath a scarlet shift dress. He was naked beneath his white shirt and black trousers. I figured that he was a waiter, but her clothes, other than a small gold band on her left hand, which she removed and placed on the bedside table, gave no clue to her identity. He wore no ring . . . Ah ha! These were illicit lovers who hired this room exclusively for their secret, dangerous liaisons.

This time they made love on the bed more tenderly and conservatively than before. He lay on top, kissing her tenderly, his tight, toned buttocks and the muscles of his back rippling as he propped himself up on his forearms. I saw the V-shaped muscle at the base of his spine contract with pleasure as he drove his dick inside her, while she pinned his calves with her sharp heels and dug her nails into his ass as she tried to take him in deeper and deeper. I was on all fours this time, my forefinger frantically pulling at my clitoris, my middle finger probing the entrance to my slit, drawing moisture from my pussy to lubricate the furious rubbing action. I knew their rhythms so well by now I could recognize the signs that she was about to come. When she did so it was with a ladylike sigh, but the deep glow on her face betrayed the real passion she felt. As he let out a deep masculine groan I took my clitoris between my thumb and forefinger and gave it a little twist to push myself over the edge into my climax. As I did so, the woman turned her beautiful face up toward mine and made direct eye contact. Unable to control my orgasm, I came so forcefully that my legs buckled beneath me and my upper body fell to the floor with a thud. At this point, the expression on her face changed to one of horror. I hadn’t had any idea that she could see me through the crack in the floor, but she knew someone was watching her. She knew someone knew her secret. Hurriedly I replaced the carpet, crawled into bed, and hoped that she wouldn’t knock on the door demanding to know why I had been spying on her.

I wasn’t surprised when they never came back, and a couple of evenings later, I sealed the hole with newspaper. Within the week I found my own Parisian waiter, who was more than willing to make my ancient bed-springs creak for the remainder of my stay in France. But the memories of their bodies, the sight I’d seen, kept me in sexual fantasies for years, and I believe the erotic inspiration they gave my writing is the reason my last novel sold as well as it did. In fact, I dedicated my book to them, even though I didn’t know their names.

THE END OF THE PIER SHOW

I love that feeling you have when you walk into a club or bar or even down the street with a gorgeous guy on your arm. The other girls are jealous and the other guys are intimidated. Whenever Rick and I hit the town together, we turn every head. We look like the perfect couple; I’m slim, blonde, and curvy, but he’s dark and has that classic inverted-triangle build. With his tall, good looks and sharp, flamboyant style, together with my long blond hair and penchant for miniskirts, we attract a great many envious glances, and we both love it. Well, what’s the point of a gay best friend if you can’t enjoy a little attention when you go out together?

Rick and I have been friends since our first week of college four years ago. My immediate thought when I saw him dressed in a tight, sparkling white T-shirt and designer jeans that clung perfectly to his strong, sculpted thighs, was who is that gorgeous man and how do I make him mine? So I marched right over and started a conversation with him. Within five minutes it was clear that I wasn’t going to be his type. The penny dropped when he asked me if I knew who the “cute” black guy on the other side of the room was and if he was single. But we had such an instant rapport that I knew we would always be best friends. We shared an apartment at the university, and while we both had various boyfriends through the years, we saved the real emotional bond for each other. The joke was that if neither of us met anyone by the time we were thirty-five, we’d have to get married.

Last summer, Rick met someone he finally wanted to get serious about. By that time, we’d both moved to different areas and begun our “real” lives. When I got the call from Rick telling me that there was someone he wanted me to meet, I was instantly intrigued.

“You’ll love Sam, Kyra,” gushed Rick. “He’s just amazing. So funny and gorgeous and, my God, what a fuck—I’m having the best sex of my life. So when can you come and meet him? What are you doing this weekend?”

I laughed and teased Rick that Sam had better be as good as he made him out to be because never mind any overbearing prospective mother-in-law, meeting me was the real test. But joking apart, there was a twinge of jealousy mixed in with my excitement at meeting this boy wonder. I pushed it to the back of my mind. Of course Sam would be lovely. I’m not losing a gay best friend, I reasoned, but gaining another.

“Prepare a wild time for me,” I said. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

On Friday night, an uncharacteristically nervous Rick, leading a stunningly good-looking guy by the hand, met me at the station. Sam had the same tall, Hollywood-hunk body as Rick did, but he shared my coloring. Nordic good looks with a light tan, dark blond hair, and piercing blue eyes.

“It’s so good to meet you!” I said. I liked the twinkle in Sam’s eye; it told me he would be fun and easy-going, just like Rick was.

“You, too, Kyra,” said Sam, landing a peck on my cheek. “I’ve heard so much about you.” A trace of stubble brushed against my own soft skin, making me shiver.

“So,” I said, linking one arm with Sam and the other with Rick, as the three of us set off for the bars and clubs of the seafront. “What wild adventure have you got planned for me this weekend?”

Actually, we didn’t have a wild time that evening at all but a lovely reunion over dinner at a great little Italian place. We chatted for hours over pizza and a bottle of wine that turned into two, then three, served by a very cute waiter who was decent enough to flirt equally with all three of us. It didn’t take long for me to realize that Sam was perfect for Rick. He was attentive and funny, and he obviously really cared for my friend.

Plus, the sexual tension between them was hot. Whenever they thought I wasn’t looking, they’d steal a kiss, and under the table they were constantly reaching for each other. After my umpteenth glass of wine I excused myself and visited the bathroom. When I approached our table on my return Sam was idly stroking Rick’s erect nipple. A sudden, vivid image of the two of them fucking, their perfect bodies bathed in sweat and their beautiful, long limbs entangled, popped into my mind. It thrilled me unexpectedly and made me shiver with desire. For some reason, when he was up close with Sam, I remembered how sexy I’d found Rick the first time I laid eyes on him. Watching these two together I realized what men saw in girl-on-girl porn. There was something intensely arousing about these two men, who were the ultimate in unattainable sex. Well, what woman wouldn’t be turned on by the sexual power implicit in turning a gay man straight? And as for two of them . . .