Wanderlust Part 4

Tomorrow is a big and busy day. I will try really hard to post part 5 before we're out and about. If not look for it Sunday or Monday. Have a super weekend. Behave. Well, don't do that. Just be safe instead. ;)

XOXO
Sommer


Wanderlust
Part 4
by Sommer Marsden

"That's a good girl," Johnny said and I felt ridiculously pleased. We'd known each other twenty minutes tops and he was guiding me in masturbation and calling me Snowflake.

But the bizarre nature of the whole thing only added to the sizzle of excitement that snaked down my backbone. I shoved my fingers a bit deeper while he locked one big arm across my chest. He didn't touch my breasts, he didn't palm them or even seek out a nipple with his fingertips. He anchored me like I might float away if he didn't. I felt like I might.

The other hand held my skirt up primly—proper lady style.

My mind gnawed at the door. What if it opened? What if someone walked in? A waiter, a manager. Dear God, my father? Or Jackson. Life was bad enough being Really Sealy (I'd kept my maiden name but some people still insisted on calling me that). Did I really need to have Jackson find me whacking off locked in the embrace of an oversized food service worker?

The whole thing served to short circuit my brain—mind and body at war but symbiotically seeking release. So when he said "Nice" in my ear, I came.

The force of it—the suddenness—reminded me of bottle rockets on summer nights. Loud, fast and explosive.

My breath ran away from me and I panted like a dog. Johnny, my new friend, chuckled and let me go. He dropped my skirt and nudged me so I turned around. One of my thigh highs had rolled down on my thigh. My face burned with heat, I had spots in my vision.

"Catch your breath, Snowflake," he said conversationally. He hiked up my skirt a few inches and smoothed my stocking back into place, running his hands on it to flatten it out so the rubber guard at the top could adhere to the skin of my shaking thigh. Then he smoothed out my skirt like my mother used to smooth out her tablecloth.

"I'm fine," I lied.

He gripped my fingers, the one that had just been inside my body. The fingers that were wet with the evidence of arousal. He pressed them under his nose, inhaled me while keeping his eyes pinned on mine. Those eyes of his made me feel like a bug pinned to a board.

"You sure you're fine?" He opened his mouth and pressed my fingers into the humid wetness. His tongue was velvet under my fingers as he sucked my fingers once and pulled them free.

"I'm fine," I lied again. I felt like I might fall down but he didn't have to know that.

"So that guy out there, talking to the tall, skinny boss man. The one with the red tie…"

He meant my father.

"What about him?"

"You belong to him, right? The smaller, stuffy guy with the glasses and the short blond hair. The one who laughs like a hyena."

I cringed. That was my Jackson alright.

"I'm married to him. But I don't belong to anyone," I snapped.

"Gotcha." He leaned back on the stone wall and waited.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just looking at you. You are a pretty one even though most of the time you look like you want to punch someone."

"Look who's talking," I snorted.

He shrugged. "So you're married but not his?"

"No. I'm more of in a business relationship with Jackson than anything."

He nodded again like that explained it all and pulled out a matchbook. "I'll be here after this shindig ends. I like to go blow off some steam after working these things. I don't like crowds or being a servant or monkey suits." He tugged at his tux like it was irritating him.

"And you think I'm going to meet you?" I made my voice caustic but inside my stomach was twisting itself in nervous knots. Remembering his promise that if I did this part right we could go for real.

What would for real be like with this guy? And why did I care? I could go out into that party and find anyone I wanted, get laid on the sly and call it a day.

But I wanted Johnny. I just didn't want Johnny to know that.

"You can meet me. You can not meet me. I'll be there, is all I'm saying. If you want to come. Again." He leaned in so we were face to face, so close I could count the tiny bits of stubble peeking through his skin. His lower lip was plump, biteable. I swallowed hard and clenched my fists as someone out in the party laughed way too loud. Probably too much to drink.

"It's totally up to you, Snowflake."

I tucked the matchbook in my bra.

"It was nice…meeting you," I said on my way out the door.

I heard him laugh and I just kept going. I was not going to meet him. I was going to chalk this up to a bizarre sexual experience and move on.

Out in the throng my father held court. Jackson turned from the bar, frowned at me, waved.

I went to him and accepted a glass of red from the server behind the counter.

"Where have you been?"

"Ladies room," I said, sipping my wine, swishing it around to cover any smells he might pick up on. Did men smell other men's kisses on their women?

"Yeah. I bet. So who was it?"

"Who was what?" I asked, playing dumb.

Jackson was stuffy, short tempered, a kiss ass and annoying, but he was no fool. "Who'd you fuck?"

I looked him in the eye and for the first time in about a month I told him the truth. "Myself," I said. "Just a small break from the party to masturbate."

I thought he'd spit out his beer, but after a moment of obvious panic, he swallowed.

I smiled.