For You

There are a couple of awkward moments while I pack up my stuff, but I at least keep it professional. Melanie, not so much. Understandable, since cracking like this is a major blow to her ego and also what she imagines her self image is. She agrees to the next appointment, and runs like her tail is on fire and her ass is catching from the room in as ladylike a manner as possible.

That night she ends up masturbating for a couple hours before falling into a fitful sleep unsatisfied. Sadly I haven’t been able to bug her law office so there’s no way for me to know what she’s doing at work, but from the hot mess she is when she gets home I can only assume that my discussion with her has taken root.

That night and the next day are a repeat, and she comes home on Friday afternoon with a **** look in her eye. I use her cloned phone to track her that night when she goes out clubbing. It takes a few minutes for me to decide whether to show up as ‘Jeff’ or to go completely incognito. If I go as Jeff, I get to fuck her again. If I go as my Everyman persona I can just observe her and step in if she deviates from plan.

Meanwhile Valerie’s progress has been quite simply astounding. She’s now at the point where her prior personality is more of an overlay than a reality. An uncrackable veneer that allows her to navigate her day to day life without showing that her core, her very being, is now dedicated to me and the goal of utterly destroying Melanie. I once more toy with the idea of keeping her, making her the Harley Quinn to my Joker. It’s her that inspires me to go as Jeff.

“Jack, I wanna watch you fuck her.”

“Well, since you’ve been such a good girl-“ mind shattering orgasm, “you deserve a reward. Help me dress.”

“Thank you Jack.” Her voice is breathless, and I know I’m not getting out of the hotel room without another blowjob.

Which is how I find myself walking into the dingy converted SoHo warehouse. The interior of the club, not a super fancy one by NYC standards, is spacious and dimly lit, with the usual accoutrement of disco lights and colored gels. I’m dressed to match my alleged budget of a freelance outcall masseur, which is to say well but not ostentatious. Hugo Boss is replaced by Kenneth Cole and Prada by Nike. Everything in my wardrobe could have been purchased from Macy’s.

It takes a moment to spot Melanie; she’s dancing with a couple other women, female coworkers. I watch from the shadows cast by the flashing lights as she moves, awkward but sensual. It’s clear that something is off. Of course I know that the truth of the matter is that she hasn’t cum in two days and has been edging the entire time. When the song (DJs from Mars’ ‘Enter Telephone’, one of the better club remix mashups; it’s hard to go wrong with Lady Gaga singing over Metallica) comes to a close, her party does a strategic rear advance to a table by the bar.

One of the most difficult hunts is to isolate a single specific prey animal from a protective herd, and there is no more protective herd than a flock of legal associates. What the predator has to do is either stalk and bide his time or somehow infiltrate the protective circle. My plan involves a mixture of the two. I wait until Melanie makes her way to the bar with another woman, then contrive to lightly jostle her from behind.

As on tightly wound as she is right now, she spins, coiled like a spring or a venomous snake ready to strike. The look of trepidation in her eyes, makeup almost completely hiding the dark circles, changes to one of relief and recognition. I can almost see the wheels turning as she decides whether to deign to acknowledge me. I’m a subordinate, the hired help. Recognizing me as an equal will change the dynamic. But she’s about as horny as she’s ever been and I’ve already proven I can relieve that for her. Plus, I’m the ‘safe’ option; she can have me fired, which gives her the illusion of control.

“Jeff!” She throws her arms around me and pulls me into a very un-Melanielike hug.

I meet the group of rather forgettable associates, and don’t bother with recalling their names. Melanie is mostly honest about our relationship, that I’m her masseur. As the sole male in the group it quickly becomes my responsibility to ward off other predators, and run to the bar for the gaggle of ever more intoxicated legal associates. I ensure that most of the ladies are getting doubles, while at the same time seeing to it that Melanie’s drinks get progressively weaker as the night goes on.

When I join them on the dance floor I take turns with giving my attention to all of them, but the moment one of them begins to enjoy my attention, Melanie swoops in possessively and quickly boxes them out. After about an hour she seems to decide to mark her territory and goes from her swaying and sliding dance steps to actively grinding against me.

She’s rubbing her ass on my crotch , one hand draped around my neck when I hear the initial piano tinkling of a song that is all too appropriate to our situation and decide to take a risk. While the intro plays I wrap an arm around her waist and lean in close to whisper into her ear, uttering words rapid fire to make sure that I get all of it out in time.

“Flip the coin. Deep asleep… keep dancing… when the chorus starts you’ll have an undeniable urge to kiss me. When you do you will have a powerful orgasm. Throughout the night any time you kiss me you will cum. Now awaken without memory of me telling you any of this on 3…2…1..awake!”

The song starts off slow. The younger people drift from the dance floor, but those that recognize it stay, some pairing off to dance sensually to Manfred Mann’s rendition of Springsteen’s lyrics about pain and dedication over the slightly muted club beat from the Disco Boys remix.

Princess cards she sends me
With her regards
Oh, bar-room eyes shine vacancy
To see her you gotta look hard
Wounded deep in battle
I stand stuffed like some soldier undaunted
To her Cheshire smile I'll stand on file
She's all I ever wanted

Throughout the soft lyrical rhapsody Melanie grinds sensually against me, unaware of her brief trance, enjoying the sensation of both the power that she believes she wields over me and the simple pleasure of losing herself to the music.

You let your blue walls get in the way of these facts, honey
Get your carpet baggers off my back
Girl, give me time to cover my tracks, you said
"Here's your mirror and your ball and jacks"

As the bridge builds tempo she sinuously rubs her shoulders against my chest, tilting her head to the side to expose her neck, eyes closed languidly, and to all appearances thoroughly enjoying herself.

But they're not what I came for
Oh, I came for so much more
And I know you know that too
And I know you know that's true

The remix becomes more and more obvious and some of those who earlier left the floor are coming back, but my eyes are only for Melanie. Her grip on the back of my head becomes more insistent and she pulls me down until our lips meet.

I CAME FOR YOU!
I CAME FOR YOU!
I CAME FOR YOU!

It’s only my arm around her that keeps her from crumbling to the floor. She clutches to me like a limpet as her body spasms under the weight of the orgasm. And then she’s on me, spinning around and clutching at me while she mashes her lips hungrily to mine. Tongues explore and wrestle, tremors wracking her body as she cums over and over again.

We both pull away simultaneously. Sweat beads on her brow, and she holds my face with both her hands as she draws up to touch her forehead to mine. Over the throbbing beat I hear her hiss, “you’re taking me home. Now.”

Sure I am. Just have to make a little stop on the way.