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Subject: {Kangas}JDR"Control (Out of)"( MF )[1/1]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
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================
Control (Out of)
by Kevin Kangas
miraco12@aol.com
Mick saw her as soon as she stepped out of the car, not dressed up,
but managing to look dignified and aloof nevertheless.
Her red hair fell gently to below her ears, and the ocean breeze
lightly streamed the strands out of her face.
He couldn't make out all the details from across the street in his
summer home, so he picked up the binoculars from the table next to him and
continued his observation.
She wore a low-cut, loose-fitting shirt that did nothing to hide the
fact that nature had left her well-endowed. If anything, the view of her
cleavage accentuated it. She wore a long dress--odd for the beach but not
out of the ordinary--that was slit high in the front, but just low enough
to make you want to see more.
He panned up to her face, and blinked in surprise. She was gorgeous.
Mick got out of the chair he'd been sitting in on his second-story
porch, making sure to keep the binoculars trained on the stunning woman. He
let his elbows rest on the wooden railing to steady his sight.
Too quickly in Mick's opinion, she pulled a suitcase out of her car
and strolled into her vacation home.
Mick let out a breath, raised his eyebrows as he realized he'd been
holding it the whole time.
"Wow," he whispered. He couldn't get her out of his mind.
That had been about noon.
It was now approaching six, and Mick had put on a tight T-shirt, a
pair of jeans, and his most-worn docksiders, and he was ready to ask the
mystery lady out. As ready as he was gonna be, he thought.
The day was beginning to cool down, but it was still pretty warm. A
gentle breeze blew in off the ocean, coming directly from the lady's house,
since she had an ocean-front view.
The slamming of the waves on the shore made Mick feel good. Maybe the
familiarity, maybe just the knowledge that he had nothing he had to do.
Just lay around at the beach until he ran out of money, which didn't look
to be too soon.
He stood on his open wooden porch and let the breeze caress his face,
run its current through his hair. He closed his eyes and stood like that
for a moment.
He looked toward her house. He could see her through a large second-
story window, one that looked into her living room/kitchen. She was in the
kitchen part putting groceries away in a cabinet.
A feeling crept over him. He wanted to do something wildly romantic;
walk with her on the beach at midnight while the waves rolled noisily onto
the shore, share a candle-lit dinner with her on his porch as the moonlight
made her glow beautifully.
Bitterness intruded on his thoughts. Romance. Was there any left? he
wondered. Or is it all about sex? Was that what he wanted from the woman
across the street? A meeting, a short dinner, then torrid sex followed by
uncomfortable sleep. Like always, he'd leave before she'd gotten up, then
probably never see her again except for the occasional hi-how-ya-doin
bullshit.
The whole thing made him sick. For once, it just didn't sound
appealing at all. Rather, he meets her, takes her out to a lovely dinner,
followed by that walk on the beach, a little kissing, a little flirting.
End of evening. Maybe go to a night club the next night.
Postpone the sex, let the anticipation of the act arise.
Then, when they were both ready, take a blanket and some wine out onto
the beach and let the romantic fires kindle.
He smiled. What would his thrust-hard, thrust-quick buddies say if
they knew what he was thinking? Who cares? he thought. It's just the two of
us, my mystery woman and me.
He left the house, headed for the store, and for a bottle of decent
wine.
He crossed the street, bottle of wine in hand. At her door, he rang
the bell and waited, tried to will his palms from sweating.
She answered the door in a bikini. From the way it held her, Mick
would have sworn it was designed not to cover her, but to simply take a
man's breath away.
Designed well, he thought.
"Hi," she said, all smile.
Oh my fucking God, he thought. He'd expected her to answer like some
elegant countess talking to a peasant, but she was as friendly as any woman
he'd ever met, and her smile made his breath come quicker.
"Hi," he responded, and had the hardest time keeping his eyes focused
on her face. "I...uh...just saw you pull in this afternoon and I was
wondering if maybe you wanted to go to dinner or something. I figured you
probably didn't know anyone around here yet."
She smiled even wider--like, what an unexpected surprise--and said,
"That's so nice, come in."
He stepped in past her, willing his heart to quit its incessant
fluttering. What in the hell was she doing to him?
"My name's Kris," she said. "It's short for Kristina."
He nodded, instantly thought Stupid, tried to talk so he wouldn't have
to think. "I'm Mick."
"Let me just put something on real quick, and we can go get a bite to
eat. Make yourself at home."
He smiled and watched her walk away, and if God had made a better
figure, Mick had never seen it. Strolling around the living room, he tried
to act like he hadn't seen it through his binoculars already. He wondered
what she'd say if she knew he'd been watching her.
He sat down and waited.
Dinner went incredibly.
He couldn't believe how much they had in common. He liked to write,
she liked to read and write poetry. He really enjoyed movies and Hollywood,
and they could have talked for hours about their favorite actors and
actresses, movies and directors.
The drinks flowed, and since there was no ice to break, they both dove
into each other with reckless abandon. Nothing held back. Like old best
friends reunited.
Somewhere in the midst of all of it, a little voice in the back of
Mick's head said, "You're falling buddy. Falling hard."
He ignored it and paid the check, for once not wondering whether he
was gonna get laid for it because he just wanted to spend more time with
her. Spend the next day--the next year--finding out everything about her.
Finding out whether she really was the one...
He drove her home and she asked if he wanted to take the bottle of
wine and go for a walk on the beach. She might as well have asked him if he
wanted to keep breathing.
As they cleared the reed-covered sand dunes and the beach lay below
them, he thought, My God, you've stepped into a fantasy.
The night air was warm, but she walked close to him anyway. The moon
was small but bright, casting its scintillating light into every wave,
every ripple of water as if daring one to capture its beauty.
None did for very long.
Kris pulled her shoes off and carried them, and he noticed how
delicate her feet looked. Well-trimmed toenails, perfectly...ladylike.
He knew he'd flipped out when he started spending so much time
thinking about a woman's feet.
"Why don't you pop that open?" she asked him.
He unwrapped it, aimed it away and with a little pressure, the cork
flew off with a pop.
"We forgot to bring glasses," he said, and she laughed and took the
bottle away from him, put the bottle to her lips and took a chug.
She pulled the bottle away as some trailed down her chin. She wiped at
it so daintily that he couldn't help but laugh, and then he was kissing her
and he couldn't stop kissing her, running his tongue over her chin, picking
up the wine taste and her taste at the same time. His erection pushed
painfully at his jeans, straining to get out, and his breath was coming
hard and fast, but not near as fast as hers--she was almost
hyperventilating--and he pushed her down in the cool sand, their lips
still locked together.
He pulled back. He had to; much more like that and he'd be coming in
his pants.
He stared at her, marveled that a woman as attractive as her could
take an interest in him. And a sudden fear hit him. He felt like they had
become such good friends so quickly...what would sex do to that? Would they
still be able to talk like they had, or would there be a barrier in the
way, some kind of unease?
But he wanted her so bad it felt like blood was pumping through every
vein and artery in his body, even though he knew where most of it was
going.
He bought himself some time.
He pushed her arms above her head and looked her hard in the eyes,
beautiful green eyes that were so full of will yet held a quiet
vulnerability.
"Close your eyes," he whispered.
"Why?" she asked, smiling a little.
"Just do it."
She closed them.
"Now keep them closed," he whispered. "Tight."
She squinched them tightly.
He watched her for a moment to see if she'd open them to see what he
was doing, but she didn't. How long would she keep them closed?
His hands reached to the bottom of her shirt, and he tugged upward
gently, but her eyes stayed closed.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Just keep them closed."
He pulled more firmly on her shirt and it slid upward slowly,
revealing her inch by inch. The slightest lip of a stomach, her navel, the
tiny blonde hairs leading up her sternum that looked silver in the moon's
glare.
And still she didn't open her eyes.
The shirt cleared her breasts and a small gasp escaped her lips.
He leaned closer to her and tried to see if she was peeking. No, her
eyes were still clamped shut.
He waited, staring at her eyelids, expecting them to burst open at any
moment. Why did she trust him so much? She had to be imagining that he was
staring at every inch of her body, her nipples, her breasts, her face. And
yet, still she kept her eyes closed.
He leaned down slowly. His tongue found a nipple and it hardened
immediately as she let out another gasp. Her stomach shuddered as she
exhaled forcefully.
Her eyes remained shut.
His teeth nibbled gently at her nipple and she moaned. His tongue
traced a path around her areola, then he moved up until he could kiss her
neck, taste her skin there.
He drew back again. "You can open your eyes now," he told her.
She opened them--the need, the want, naked in her eyes.
"Come on," she whispered. "Fuck me. Fuck me hard."
Half of him wanted to do it. Wanted to fuck her until she screamed,
then turn her over and do it again from behind.
And half of him wanted to make love to her gently, caressing every
part of her body. Memorize every curve, every nuance because it could all
be gone just like that.
"Wait," he said.
"Come on," she said a little more forcefully.
He smiled as he tried to memorize the scene. The sand felt good
between his toes, cool through his jeans. The muffled crash of the waves
against the beach. The salty smell of the ocean as the wind ruffled their
hair.
"What?" she asked him.
His smile turned mischievous.
"Nothing."
He ripped off her shorts with one hand, taking the underwear with it.
Even in the darkness, he could see the well-trimmed triangle of hair
between her thighs. Hell, he could feel the heat on his leg.
He pulled the rest of her shirt off, leaving her naked, and stood up.
She looked incredible. So wanton, yet scared. So powerless yet she had
him in her grip. Ready and wanting of anything he would give her.
He pulled off his shirt and felt the sea breeze stir his chest hair.
Slowly, so slowly because she was hanging on his every move, he hooked his
thumbs in the sides of his pants and pushed them down. Mid thigh, his dick
sprang out of its confinement like a caged animal.
Kris was up on her knees in an instant, pulling his jeans to the sand
and enveloping his cock in her mouth with one smooth motion.
All of a sudden, the cool night air on him, and then wet moistness all
around his dick. For a moment, he thought he was going to come right away,
the excitement and feel too much to bear. He closed his eyes to shut out
the visual; he always got too excited from watching.
She bobbed up and down like a starving bird, why, he didn't know. He
couldn't have gotten any harder without his skin exploding.
He pushed her head away from him and dropped to his knees. Pushed her
back into the sand and kissed his way to her bush.
She was already wet as his tongue parted her lips, seeking and
exploring. She tasted sweet, clean, like nothing he'd ever tasted before.
His tongue touched the upper V of her lips and he felt her clit harden
slightly. She bucked and cried out, pulling his head deeper into her groin.
He moved up and she tried to embrace him, but he grabbed her arms
roughly and pushed them above her head, pinning her. He grabbed both her
wrists with one hand and, still holding her captive, guided himself into
her with his other hand.
This time, he gasped. She was so tight, so warm and wet, it felt like
she was grasping him like a hand.
He thrust, pulled back, thrust again, driving himself deeper and
deeper, pushing as far into as he could, feeling his balls hit the sand
with every thrust.
She tried to pull her arms from his grasp, but he used both hands now
to pin her back, control her.
He kissed her and she attacked him with her mouth, her tongue
thrusting into his mouth like his dick into her. He pulled back his head
and she tried to pursue, but she was held firmly.
He leaned in again, and again she lunged her head at him, trying to
kiss him savagely. He pulled back and smiled at her, shook his head
slightly.
He leaned in, and she apparently understood, for she waited until he
was close, then his mouth met hers and they kissed, their tongues gently
exploring each other's, not savagely.
Her legs scissored around his butt, pulling him even farther into her,
wanting him to go harder, faster, so he did, his hardness parting her
softness, and then she moaned and shuddered, and he knew she was coming,
couldn't stop himself as he spasmed, shot again and again with every pump.
He collapsed on top of her, still inside her, both of them breathing
hard. She ran her fingers through his hair, then down his back, and
everything was so perfect he just wanted to stay there, in that position,
forever.
The waves washing onto the shore dared him to sleep, and for once, he
let his control go. Relaxed and drifted off to sleep, lulled by the peace.
The End
================
Control (Out of)
by Kevin Kangas
-30-
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