Getting closer to Olette

The silence that followed Seifer’s retreat was heavy, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was electric. Olette stood in the center of the Usual Spot, the bottle of sea-salt soda clutched in her hand like a lifeline. She was staring at the empty alley entrance, then she turned her gaze back to me. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her breathing shallow from the adrenaline of the confrontation.

"He's going to be angry," she whispered, though she didn't sound scared anymore. She sounded thrilled. "Seifer holds grudges. He's going to try to get back at you."

"Let him try," I said, leaning back against the wooden cable spool, crossing my arms. "He's a boy with a foam bat. I'm not worried about him, Olette. I'm worried about you."

She blinked, surprised. "Me? Why?"

"Because you're still shaking."

I nodded at the bottle in her hand. "Finish it. You need the sugar. And the cold."

Olette nodded obediently, the good girl habit kicking in. She lifted the blue bottle to her lips. She took a long, **** pull of the soda. I watched her closely. I traced the smooth, pale column of her throat with my eyes, a small, mesmerizing ripple slid down her neck with every gulp, a **** and incredibly sexy movement that betrayed just how thirsty she really was.

She lowered the bottle with a soft gasp of satisfaction, wiping a drop of blue liquid from her lip with the back of her hand. "Better?" I asked.

"Yeah," she breathed, her voice a little huskier. "Much."

I pushed off the spool and walked toward her. The space under the tracks was dim, lit only by the shafts of golden light cutting through the wooden slats of the train rails above. Dust motes danced in the beams. It felt secluded. Private. A place where the rules of the outside world didn't apply.

I stopped in front of her. I reached out and took the empty bottle from her hand, setting it aside on the table without breaking eye contact. "You spend all your time here taking care of them," I murmured, stepping into her personal space. "Cleaning up their trash. Breaking up their fights. Buying their food."

Olette looked up at me, her emerald eyes wide and shimmering in the low light. She couldn't retreat; the heavy floral sofa was right behind her leg. "It's... it's what friends do," she said weakly.

"Is it?" I reached out and placed my hands on her waist. Her body tensed, then melted instantly into my touch. The fabric of her cargo capris was rough, but the skin of her waist above the waistband was soft and warm. "It looks to me like you're the only grown-up in a playground," I said. "And grown-ups get tired, Olette. They get tense. They need release."

"I... I don't know what you mean," she lied. Her breath hitched as my thumbs brushed the bottom hem of her orange camisole.

"You do." I moved my hand up, tracing the line of the zipper that ran down the front of her top. It was a functional zipper, but on her, it looked like an invitation. "You're bored, Olette. You're bored of being the responsible one. You're bored of being the 'good girl' who never asks for anything." I gripped the zipper pull, a small, silver tab resting right between the swell of her breasts. "You want someone to take charge so you don't have to."

Olette’s lips parted. She looked at the zipper, then at my eyes. She didn't stop me. "Ray..." she whispered, my name sounding like a plea on her lips. "Someone might come."

"The boys probably went for the trainstation," I assured her. "Seifer is licking his wounds. It's just us."

Above us, a low rumble began. The tracks vibrated. A train was approaching the station. The sound grew louder, a rhythmic clack-clack-clack that filled the small hideout. "Do you hear that?" I asked, leaning down, my face inches from hers. "The train. It's loud."

I pulled the zipper. Zzzzzzip. The sound was lost under the noise of the train, but the sensation was unmistakable. The orange fabric parted. Olette gasped, her hands flying up to cover herself, but I caught her wrists gently and pinned them to her sides. "Don't hide," I commanded. "Let me see the girl underneath the chores."

She wasn't wearing a bra. The camisole had a built-in support, but now that it was open, she was exposed. Her breasts were pale, soft, and perfect, creamy skin flushed pink with heat, tipped with perky, rose-colored nipples that hardened instantly in the cool air of the underpass. She was curvier than her baggy clothes let on, lush and feminine.

"Beautiful," I groaned, my voice rough.

Olette squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head to the side, her face burning. "I... I've never..." she stammered. "Not here. Not like this."

"That's why we're doing it," I whispered.

I didn't give her time to overthink it. I leaned down and captured her lips. She tasted of sea-salt soda and sweetness. She stiffened for a split second, surprised by the boldness of the kiss, and then she surrendered. She softened against me, her lips parting, her tongue tentatively meeting mine. It was a shy, inexperienced kiss, but eager. She kissed like she worked - with dedication.

The train roared overhead now, a deafening thunder that shook dust from the ceiling. The world outside ceased to exist. I broke the kiss and moved down. I kissed her jaw. I traced the delicate muscle in her neck with my tongue. Olette threw her head back, a small, soundless cry escaping her throat, lost in the roar of the wheels above. I moved lower. I buried my face in her cleavage. "Ray!" she gasped, her hands finding their way into my hair, gripping tight.

I licked the swell of her breast, tasting the salt of her skin. Then I captured one pink nipple in my mouth. I sucked hard. Olette’s knees buckled. I caught her, swinging her around and pressing her back against the graffiti-covered wall. The rough brick was cool against her skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of my mouth. She writhed against the wall, her hips moving instinctively. The 'Good Girl' was gone, replaced by a young woman **** for sensation.

"You like that," I murmured against her skin, the vibrations of the train masking my words so only she could feel them. "You like being the focus. You like being rewarded."

"Yes," she sobbed, looking down at me with glazed, lust-filled eyes. "Yes, please... Ray."

She said it. Whatever barrier she had left crumbled. She didn't want to be in charge. She wanted to be owned.

I dropped to my knees in the dust. Olette looked down, panic and anticipation warring in her expression. "What... what are you doing?"

"Giving you what you deserve."

I grabbed the waistband of her cargo capris. I pulled them down, along with her simple white panties. They pooled around her ankles. She stood there against the wall, completely exposed to me, her legs trembling. Her pussy was neat, pale, and already glistening with moisture. The scent of her arousal, peachy and musky at the same time, hit me hard.

I didn't wait. I pressed my face between her thighs. I licked her. From bottom to top, one long, wet stroke right over her clit. Olette screamed. If the train hadn't been passing right at that moment, the entire town would have heard her. "Oh god! Oh god!" She grabbed my head, her fingers tangling in my hair, trying to hold herself up as her legs gave way.

I worked her with my tongue. I was relentless. I treated her pussy with the same focus she gave her chores. I was thorough. I licked, I sucked, I nipped at her inner thighs. She was so sensitive. Every touch made her jump. She wasn't used to pleasure. She was used to work. "It's too much!" she wailed, bucking her hips, though she didn't push me away. She pushed herself onto my mouth. "Ray! I'm going to... I'm going to...!"

"Do it," I growled against her wetness. "Let go, Olette. Be a bad girl for once and make a mess."

The train began to pass, the noise fading slightly, but Olette was past the point of caring about volume. She stiffened, her heels digging into the dirt floor. "Ray!" She climaxed. It was a violent, full-body shudder. She clamped her thighs around my head, sobbing, her body jerking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. She came hard, soaking my face, her knees finally giving out completely.

I caught her as she slid down the wall. I held her there in the dust, her half-naked body pressed against my chest, her orange top open, her pants around her ankles. She was panting, her skin flushed, her eyes unfocused. She looked wrecked. And absolutely happy.

The train was gone. Silence returned to the hideout. "Wow," she whispered, her voice cracking.

I brushed the hair out of her sweaty face. "That," I said softly, kissing her forehead, "is what happens when you stop carrying everyone else's baggage and let someone carry you."