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king at them as they cleaned off, I felt warmth begin to pool low and tight in my belly again. Damn! This is a hell of a time to discover I’m an insatiable freak, I thought to myself. But it appeared to be so because without warning I heard myself say, “Your day of enslavement will be over as soon as you clean me off. So, boys…to the bath!”
Running to my bathroom, I giggled like a sex-crazed schoolgirl as they ran behind me with a chorus of “Yes, Professor Susanna!”
Devil’s Worship
Rachel Kramer Bussel
“Have you ever had your ass properly worshipped?” I asked, staring at the proud, thick, tight curves before me, the luscious mocha color of Dana’s booty straining as she bounced gently up and down. Her bottom was the perfect reward for my months of celibacy, of waiting to kneel down in front of her, to taste and touch and take of her rich, beautiful body. I pinched the tender underside of one cheek, then the other, pulling them apart to see everything in between, a moan escaping my lips as I saw just how wet she was. There’s really nothing like a woman’s ass spread out before you, waiting to be taken, to humble a man. Girls’ butts are so majestic, strong, and powerful, yet so tender. I simply held her there in my hands, letting my thumbs rest along the edges of her lips, pacing myself before diving in for a delicious treat, one that already had my cock hard, strong, and ready.
Before you get the wrong idea, let me tell you that this wasn’t our first date, or even our fourth. I’d been courting Dana Thompson for months. Yes, me, Nicky “the Devil” Anderson. I hadn’t earned my nickname for nothing, and plenty of women around town wouldn’t hesitate to shoot me a dirty look or the finger after the way I’d treated them. I knew what they said about me, and for the most part they were right. For most of my twenties, I’d been a hound dog, a player, a pussy magnet. I’d rarely said no and rarely let women into more than my bedroom. I was young and selfish, greedy and horny, too full of myself to appreciate the true joy a woman could bring me on all levels. Could I help it if women threw themselves at me left and right? Back then, I didn’t know any better. Now I do, and I plan to spend my days and nights making up for my reckless ways by worshipping at the altar of Dana’s body.
Let me back up a minute. I hadn’t started out like that. I’d been a one-woman guy until Melody Kingston broke my heart in college by leaving me for the head of the debate team, a nerdy white guy with glasses and a goatee who looked like he was still a virgin. I would picture his mug as I pumped iron, telling myself that even though she’d left me for his scrawny ass, I’d get back at her by getting as many women as I could, by being the hottest, smoothest, most in-demand brother on campus. And it worked, for a while. I was up to my eyeballs in pussy for most of junior year. I’d roll out of one girl’s bed and stumble to class, brushing sleep out of my eyes as my lips still tingled from the taste of her. I pulled many all-nighters sliding between the sheets with one fine woman or another, our bodies and mouths blocking out the loud dorm noise surrounding us. It was an education par excellence, and the confidence I later showed during business school, then striking out on my own to open my PR agency, can all be attributed to the way they guided my cock and my tongue all around their bodies.
I know what people said, that I discarded one girl as soon as another so much as looked my way, but that wasn’t really how it felt at the time. When I was with them, sliding hot and nasty against their sweaty bodies, watching them arch and stretch as I pulled my cock almost all the way out of their gorgeous, slick pussies, then slamming it back in and making them scream, I felt like I was in heaven. It wasn’t just about the way I felt as my orgasm approached, it was seeing them surrender to bliss, seeing them lose the battle to be anything close to a good girl and just give it up, give in to the lust that had surely been bubbling up inside them for a lifetime. Girls and guys aren’t so different that way. Treat a woman right, not by wining and dining her, but by letting her know that you appreciate every little thing about her, from the way she yawns to the curve of her hip to the little noises she makes when you suck on her nipples, and she’s an insatiable sex-mad creature like none other.
But even though I do believe that men and women are equal-opportunity fuck sluts, I like a girl who’s a bit of a challenge, one who doesn’t wear her pussy power on her sleeve. Not church girls exactly, but ones who’ll play mouse to my sharp-clawed cat. And Dana was a challenge if ever I’d met one. She’d come to my firm as a struggling actress, making the rounds of auditions, trying to move beyond the black-bitch or white-girl’s-best-friend roles being offered to her, teetering just between discovery and disappointment, wanting us to tip her over the edge.
I took a personal interest in her, but knew that if I was to maintain any hopes of getting her into my bed and protecting my professional reputation, I had to build her up in the media and then seduce her. Business first; pleasure later. Otherwise, my judgment might get skewed and I’d be promoting her not on her merits but on my cock’s needs. I decided not to date any other women while I waited for Dana, and as I got to know her, she became more and more beautiful to me. I’ve seen so many flashes in the proverbial pan, girls who want me to get them headlines but then want to retreat from the spotlight the minute they’ve made it, or who get so full of themselves they forget what got them into the business in the first place.
Dana had hired me because her first love was acting; it was the only thing she’d ever wanted to do, and she was in it for the long haul. She’d turned down some parts that she felt didn’t fit whom she wanted to be, hoochie-mama types where she’d have to bare all, which she was willing to do, if the role was right. She took the same care with her interviews, refusing any shoots where the only thing they wanted to know was how big her breasts were or what size cock she preferred. Media hype wasn’t something she wanted, but something she needed if she was going to take things to the next level. She wasn’t content to simply let me run the show, plugging her name into some equation of “famous rapper plus hot new girl equals instant couple.” She wanted to keep it real, a challenge if ever there was one, but as I got to know her, I realized that this wholesomeness made her a delight to work with. I’d find myself grinning when she called, closing the door to my office so my smiles wouldn’t give away my true feelings to my staff. What Dana and I had was special, even then, and I savored every minute of it.
I found my thoughts lingering on her pretty face even after I’d gotten home from the office, picturing her standing behind me in the kitchen, arms wrapped around my waist, her face nuzzled into the small of my back. Okay, that wasn’t all (I pictured me bending her over, her hands flat on the linoleum floor, while I plunged my cock inside her, making her cum almost instantly. I pictured her losing some of the calm control she exerted over every other aspect of her being, trusting me to be there to catch her as she trembled her way to ecstasy. I knew from our talks that she was single, not a virgin, but close enough. Dana Thompson wasn’t the girl who let her pussy leap ahead of her heart; they were one and the same, and the truth was, I didn’t want one without the other. I’d have been disappointed if she saw me as one step up on the casting couch, one more person to please to get herself plastered onto every magazine cover around.
Waiting for Dana’s star to rise gave me time to check out more than her ass. She was a diligent worker, treating our work like a student who’ll do anything to get the A…well, almost anything. That she wasn’t ready to strip down was so hot, and the more I thought about her, wondering what those breasts looked like, the ones she kept locked away beneath discreet suit jackets, making the rest of us hope we’d be so lucky as to find out what they felt like in our hands, the more I realized that would be her marketing strategy.
“The Good Girl” started to find its way into our pitches, and it seemed as if the media was ready for someone to come along and wipe the smirks off the faces of the “bad girls” like Britney and Paris. Unlike the photos of girls in barely there bikinis we usually shopped around, Dana’s photos showed her like a librarian, complete with glasses, an elegant blouse, and a big fat encyclopedia. I did another with her as a doctor, then as an astronaut, in keeping with a role she was gunning for. Maybe the hype could even help her get a few parts, if we played it right.
My brainstorm took off overnight, and we were soon getting calls from magazines we hadn’t even contacted. Dana’s combination of understated sexiness, sass, and down-home roots seemed to be what everyone wanted, to the point that I had to limit access to her lest she become too ubiquitous before making her mark on the industry. We talked on the phone late into the night, first about strategy, then other things. She told me how homesick she sometimes was, but how she’d walk from her Harlem apartment all the way down to the Village, taking it all in. I wanted to take those walks with her, see everything she saw, hold her hand and remember what it was like to have all of the Big Apple waiting to be discovered. She’d get quiet as the clock ticked into the wee hours and even fell asleep on me once, but I didn’t mind. I hoped one day I’d get to tuck her in for real, but until then I had her sweet voice to keep me company.
We started going out after work, first drinks, then real dinners, ones we lingered over, feeding each other delicate bites, lingering long after our plates had been cleaned. Sometimes our hands would touch, but I was always the first to pull away, too fearful of mixing business and pleasure, of losing both if something went awry. I’d never been in a situation where I wasn’t in a hurry to get a girl naked, to figure out who she was by the way she writhed, the way she moaned, the way she came. But Dana was different. She didn’t talk about sex the way the other girls had, didn’t flirt carelessly with anyone who passed. Her eyes didn’t flutter at the waiter or the coat-check guy, or even at me, though I sensed something brimming beneath the surface. I, in turn, waited until I got home, alone, naked in bed, to fantasize about her, rather than undressing her there at the dinner table, mentally fondling her nipples, sliding her onto my lap as waiters rushed by all around us.
The day I called to tell her she’d landed the cover of Rolling Stone, hot on the heels of her new deal to star in an action flick alongside Brad Pitt, was a milestone.
“Hello?” Her vo
ice was breathless, and I pictured her standing at the window of her building, looking down on the street twenty-five floors below, cars zooming by, racing to be somewhere important.
“Are you sitting down, Dana?” I asked, having to do so myself. My cock was already half-hard from the sound of her voice, husky without even meaning to be.
“Yes,” she said quietly, going solemn as I took a deep breath.
“Good. Because I want to be the first to tell you that you’re about to be a cover girl. Rolling Stone! All by yourself. They want to profile you and your breakout role,” I said, letting my own excitement show in my voice. This was big, even by my standards.
“Oh my God, Nicky. Oh, wow,” she said, before I heard the sniffling start.
“Are you crying? Dana, this is good news!” I said, wanting to wrap her in my arms.
“Of course it is! This is great news. They’re happy tears.”
“Are you alone?” I asked, shifting our conversation to another level. “I hope so. I’m booking you a room at the SoHo Grand. Meet me there in an hour.”
“Really?” she asked, taking a deep breath, then sighing. I thought she might refuse and my heart skipped a beat. If she turned me away now, I didn’t know what I’d do. “Nicky, you’re so sweet. I’ll be there. Let me go get ready.”
I didn’t know if that meant she’d let me stay, but I hoped so. I’d been about to hop in a cab up to her place, but that might be too forward, too much, too soon. I wanted those anonymous walls there to absorb her moans of pleasure. I hopped in the shower, my cock hard as the hot water splashed over me, and I pictured Dana peeling herself out of one of her pin-striped suits. I wondered what else her closet held, whether there were any skimpy dresses or sheer nighties, what kind of underwear she wore. My hand found its way to my dick and I took my time stroking myself. The last girl had been months ago, so far back I could barely remember her name, I’m a little ashamed to say. The only girl’s name I’d been whispering to myself had been Dana, Dana, Dana. I said it as I watched my hand pump the cum out of me, picturing Dana in a way that belied everything she’d told me about herself: down on her knees, lapping it up. The forbidden image stayed in my head as I finished myself off. On my way to meet her, I wondered which was the real Dana, the good girl with the heart of gold, or the one who liked to get it from behind…or maybe both? Maybe she was just waiting for the right man to unlock her secret doors, find the right combination of trust and lust to allow her to let go.
As it turned out, Dana was the one to come on to me. Well, she started things off with a skintight, red dress and black heels that made every head turn to look at her, though it was her eyes that shone brightest. She gave me a hug that almost made me stagger.
“Nicky!” she said, planting a red-lipsticked kiss on my cheek.
