Hardcore

Keywords: Enjoy, Stay, Hotel, at, Your, The, Ravish,

Ask. Ask nicely." She was teetering on the edge. He had driven her crazy.

"Please! Pleeeeeeeease! Please fuck me. Please fuck me with your fingers. Fuck me with your mouth. Please I need to cum!"

"That's a good start, Dr. Pretty. Now you'll tell me you are a bad girl. A bad girl with a wet pussy. It aches to be fucked. You're a bad girl whose pussy is soaking wet, so aroused, and you think of fucking and you are aching to be fucked so will I please fuck you."

She didn't care now. She did it. Said all the words he wanted to hear, a constant stream of wanting to be fucked, of being a bad girl. And as she spoke, and begged, and said what a bad girl she was, he continued to touch her, to drive her closer and closer. "Yes, a bad girl who wants to cum, a bad girl with a wet pussy who wants you to fuck her. Fuck me fuck me fuck me. Pleeeeeease!!!!!"

Then she came. Right in mid sentence. She came and came and came. Her body convulsed, and just when she thought her orgasm would be over it kept going, another spasm and then another spasm. Finally it subsided, and he stood up. He took out his hard cock. Her eyes drank it in, in a daze. It was long, and thick, and ridged, the head shining. He started stroking it. Then he stopped. He moved closer to her. She thought she knew what he was going to do, and her mouth had opened slightly, almost involuntarily. Instead he reached down and started fingering her tender slit again. She moaned. He knew exactly what to do. God. She was becoming aroused again. She snorted. She was an animal. She knew she was an animal. She wasn't Dr. Pretty any more.

He didn't need to ask this time. His cock was inches from her face. She could smell it, the warm, musky, sweaty man smell. The head was shiny and pink and purple. God she remembering the last time she had had sex. It was four years ago. The last time she had had a man's cock that close. "Please," she said. "I want to cum. I want you to fuck me with your fingers, your cock, your tongue."

He kept up the manipulation of her sex. "You want to suck my cock, Dr. Pretty, don't you? Tell me this bad girl wants to suck my cock."

"This bad girl wants to suck your cock. Please let me cum. Please let me suck your cock." His one hand stayed on her pussy, expertly arousing her, bringing her closer. She whimpered and moaned. She opened her mouth and he slowly moved his cock to her mouth, his hand around the hard shaft, guiding it. It was large. She had to open wide. She cautiously licked it inside her mouth, sucking it. He started moving it back and forth, every once in a while going deeper, making her gag.

"Suck, bad girl. And keep sucking. Suck every drop of cum from my cock. Swallow it all. I don't want to see a drop escape." He was demanding. As if she couldn't possibly question him. She just kept sucking. Soon she was so close herself. He was breathing harder. She could feel some moisture in her mouth, additional moisture. But he wasn't cumming. This was precum; she knew it, only slightly from experience, and more from reading. Her reading. God. Those books. Her body started to buck. He backed off. Her eyes widened, pleading. She sucked harder, more vigorously. She need to cum. Then it happened. He erupted in her mouth. Pumping hard, grabbing her head. She sucked hard. She sucked like her life depended on it. She swallowed. She didn't care what it tasted like, what it felt like. She didn't stop till he did. Then her own orgasm ripped through her. She screamed, she bucked, her body spasmed. Finally she sat limp. Sweating. Crying.

He put his cock away. He undid her wrists, then her feet, but she didn't move. He put his stuff away, then stood looking down at her. She had tried to pull her skirt down, but she hardly covered herself. Her pantyhose was half way down her calves. One shoe was off. Her eyes were red.

"Thank you, Doctor Pretty. You see I'm not so wrong about girls, am I? Underneath every lady, there is a bad girl. Isn't there, Doctor Pretty?"

She said nothing, just brought her fingers to her eyes to hide them. He held up the cassette tape. "And this is the proof, of course. I told my buddies what you would be like, and this is the proof." He looked at her proudly, cruelly. "But then again, maybe I won't let them listen. Maybe I will have other plans for you."

He left.

***

"How was your date last night?"

Joyce would not know anything had happened, on the surface. "Oh it was great. Dinner was fabulous. It is so nice to do that once in a while. So romantic." She smiled at her boss, and let images of her evening float up again in the pool of her memory. She didn't say too much more; she always thought it was such a pity that Doctor Pretty led such a quiet life. All those plays, and symphony concerts. All that work, all those conferences. So she didn't bother going into detail about her date. Besides, Doctor Pretty was wearing the maroon suit today. Joyce had noticed that she tended to be distracted on such days.

Once in her office, Jane Pretty closed the door and leaned back against it, inhaling deeply. She stared up at the ceiling, then over at the chairs, still angled toward the painting of the Irish coast.

She hadn't cried once after Alex had left. Still seated, she lifted her breasts back into the cups of her bra. She took off her ripped pantyhose, and threw them on the floor beside her torn panties. Later, she dropped them in a garbage bin outside the building. She did up her suit jacket, flattened out the wrinkles as well as she could, then put on her shoes. Finally she stood. She managed that pretty well. Her only shaking was in her fingers. Her mouth tasted of... of... what? Impossible to identify. She imagined a very very watery flour paste. That was what it felt like, too. At home in her condo that looked out over Lake Ontario, she picked at a pre-made salad. The early rounds of the US Open were on. Capriati defeated someone from eastern Europe. Pete Sampras struggled past a young Frenchman. She finally fell asleep at about one a.m.

Her first patient was due in ten minutes. And so on. Patient after patient. She didn't go out of the building at all. Certainly not out on the sidewalk past Starbucks. She made it through her day.

"Good-bye, Jane."

"Good-bye Joyce. No date tonight, huh?" Joyce rolled her eyes and smiled.

Jane Pretty closed her door. She breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing all day. Maybe that was the end of it.

Next day, same thing. Her usual patients, a routine day. And nothing by the end of the day. At home, at that night, more tennis.

Next day, by noon, still nothing. It was nagging at her. The things we imagine, she thought. Always worse than the reality. But the past two days of brooding were now moving to the forefront of her mind. This morning she had allowed herself to replay the events, for the first time. Certainly, she hadn't been able to prevent certain images, images that made her try to shudder away the sensations. But this morning she had played back the events in their entirety.

Then it arrived. A couriered envelope; a mini-cassette inside. Her entire body flushed. After Joyce left, she put it in her own machine. She listened to it stonily. Her body flushed deeper. He had done a very good job. Cutting and pasting her words and his, and the sound of whimpers and grunts and moans, till it sounded like an elegant erotic movie. "I want you to fuck me. Fuck me with your mouth, with your fingers, with your cock. Please I want to cum. I am a bad girl who wants to cum." She played it over. She searched inside the box for a note. An explanation or a threat. But there was nothing.

She bent her head and rested her forehead on her fingers. She rubbed her brow. She put the tape in her purse, and went home. She made herself stay away from her purse as long as she could. A test of her will, her ability to keep it in perspective, not to be overwhelmed.

The next day, nothing again. She played the tape once more, while Joyce was out for lunch. And again that night. She finished watching the tennis, and went to bed. She didn't need to play it back any more. She knew every word. Every word of the tape, and every word of the real scene. It took her about 30 seconds to cum; the ache was overwhelming.

Nothing the next day. It was now Friday. She went home. Lots of tennis on, a few more seeds going down to defeat. Monday was a new day.

"You okay?" Joyce asked half way through Monday morning. "Something bothering you these days?" Joyce rarely asked; she was not the doctor. She did have her theories about human beings, gleaned mainly from her mother, her grandmother, and her girlfriends.


Jane looked up sharply, and smiled, saying nothing. "Oh yeah. Just staying up too late to watch the tennis, most likely."

Joyce smiled weakly, warmly. "Oh I forgot you were such a keen tennis fan." She was about to leave but stopped at the door. "Oh I forgot. A call from that man you saw last week. Alex Kennedy. He said you would see him at the end of the day today, after your last patient. I said I would have to ask you. That you normally didn't do that."

Jane was looking down at her desk. "Oh him. Yes, that's all right."

Joyce looked at her boss, suddenly nervous, a little apprehensive. "Ummmm... I won't be able to stay tonight. I know you like... I mean when a patient is here... someone else around."

Jane cut her off. "Oh it's okay. This is no problem."

"Oh. Okay." Joyce breathed a sigh of relief.

***

Joyce just peeked her head in before she left. "Mr. Kennedy is here, Jane. Quite the hunk."

Jane was obliged to laugh at her assistant's comment. "Yes. That's part of his problem. Send him in."

She stood beside her chair, placed in exactly the same position as last time. "Good evening, Alex."

"Good evening, Doctor Pretty." He had his squash bag with him again. She bit her lip very slightly.

"Please, have a seat."

"Thanks, Doctor." He put his squash bag down, and lifted his hand to undo his tie.

Keywords: Enjoy, Stay, Hotel, at, Your, The, Ravish,

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