It’s true what they say about wedding nights.
I was thrilled, horny, and quaking with stage fright.
Baz was his usual urbane self. In fact, he was smug. This was because he’d talked me into spending the night at the Lair. He was renting it out immediately, he said, and since he would never get to stay there again he wanted to say goodbye to it.
His tux looked wildly out of place in that hellhole.
“Besides, you get to stay in five-star hotels all the time,” he said consolingly as we clanked up the metal stairway toward the sex demons’ sleeping quarters.
“Uh-huh.” I hated to walk on those awful stairs in my white satin pumps.
At the top of the stairs he stopped and took a big deep sniff. “Ahh! Home, sweet home!”
I sniffed cautiously. It didn’t smell any better than last time. A man-lair scents-o-rama wafted out of each room as we passed: moldy bathroom, stale beer (ex-roommate Lido, Baz informed me), hot candle wax (Veek’s room), incense (ex-roommate Kamadeva’s room), dried jizz and sweat socks (ex-roommate Archie’s room), bacon and sweaty leather furniture (the kitchen-slash-TV-slash-game room) and Baz’s bedroom at last.
I decided I would love the smell of his room. It was my wedding night, the last time we’d ever sleep here.
“Who’s buying the place so soon?”
“Renting. My old supervisor in the Regional Office has a team of succubi coming in. I get the idea it’ll be a training facility.”
“I don’t like the idea of girl sex demons living where I’m having my wedding night.”
In his room, the piles of sweat socks were gone, but the fur coverlet was still there. And, yes, candles. While he lit candles, he said, “You’re thinking of this all backwards, O my goddess.” He smirked. “What do you say we fuck up their program?”
“How?”
“Bless the joint.” He gestured grandly. “Your way.”
“Bless it?”
“Send them love, whether they want it or not.”
I started a long, slow smile, imagining how I might do that. “Come here, will you?”
We kissed. It was just as good as the first time. The smell of the candles and lingering sweatsockiness just made it realer to me. I unbuttoned his tux jacket and slid it off his shoulders. “I want you naked so bad.”
“Slow down,” he complained.
“Okay, one kiss, one garment each.”
“One kiss, one garment for one.” He bit my neck. “Next kiss, one garment for the other.”
We stood still and looked at one another in the candlelight. His big white bony face seemed lit from within, like a candy skull in love.
I reached both hands to the zipper in the back of my dress. The zipper went down a long, long way. I stepped out of it, absolutely naked except for my shoes.
He sucked in a long breath. “Cheater.”
Then I made him play his own game. He kissed me, completely hands off, slowly and thoroughly.
I took off his tie. “Now you can touch me, but only where you’re naked, too.”
“But I’m not naked anywhere yet!” he protested.
“Them’s the rules.”
He kissed me again, starting at my mouth and working around under my chin, behind my ear, over my temple to each eye. That got me hotter, especially behind the ear.
I took off his cummerbund.
“You’re mean,” he said, giving me a dark look. “This is war.”
He picked up my hand and laid it over his face, letting his eyes close as I touched them. He sniffed my hand—smelled each fingertip—the palm—the wrist—ran his nose up my wrist into my palm and back down again until it tickled. I whimpered. Then he put his tongue on my wrist.
My crotch went wet. “Fuck me,” I said faintly.
“Nuh-uh.” With just the tip of his tongue he licked up and down my wrist, across my palm, between each finger, tickling, sending a trickle of hot fire down into my body. Then he made eye contact again. Holding my gaze, he bit the fleshy place at the base of my thumb.
My knees started to give.
“This,” he said, making his lips buzz against my palm and sending shivers all over me, “is called the mound of Venus.”
My turn. I took the studs out of his white tux shirt and pushed the shirt down over his arms, trapping them at the elbow, exposing his shoulders, his collarbone, the tops of his pecs. He had a white tank on under it. Damn.
I leaned forward as if to kiss him.
He sputtered, “Dammit, it’s only half off! That doesn’t count!”
“How about two garments, half off?”
“Oh, no. I know just what you’ll do, and that isn’t fair at all.”
“No, you don’t,” I said sweetly, and yanked the tank straps down over his shirt. Now his wrists were behind his back, tangled up in the shirt and tank straps.
I took my time over his lovely, lovely muscles. They weren’t smooth and pretty like bodybuilder muscles. They looked as if he’d done something real with them for years. I kissed him front and back, making sure every bit of skin got some love.
“Not the nipples,” he groaned.
“Oh, really?” I gave one a lick. It perked right up. He stiffened and sucked air. “Nice. What’s your problem? They obviously like the attention.”
“My problem is,” he said in a tight voice, “I’m gonna spunk in my tux pants.”
I smiled. “I think I’ll make you come like this. It’ll be a feather in my coochie.” My crotch was slippery and hot already.
His eyes closed and he groaned, tipping his head back in surrender.
That made his nipples stick out even farther.
I went to work on them, licking and blowing on them to keep them perky, then grabbing each one in my teeth and pulling gently—just a little friction, just to make him groan. For extras, I rubbed my hair against them. My hair looked all smooth and wedding-shiny, but the texture was rough enough to get a gasp out of him.
“If you cheat,” he said between his teeth, “better lay back and spread ’em, ’cuz I’m comin’ in.”
“Promises, promises.” I unbuttoned his tux trousers and let them drop to his ankles.
“Knew you would,” he muttered. He wriggled his shoulders and the shirt slipped down past his elbows.
“Save your breath. And hold still.”
I wanted his bone, but rules were rules. I hadn’t had a chance to really get to know his thighs or his knees. I tried kissing behind his knee, and he almost fell over. I moved to the front, kissing as close to his briefs as I dared. He shuddered nicely.
Finally I was unable to ignore the big bulge in his briefs.
It certainly smelled good, sticking up through the white cotton. I leaned closer, sniffing.
My nose bumped him.
Oops.
His hands grabbed my shoulders, and the next moment he had thrown me on my back on the lynx-pelt coverlet. I watched him shuck the rest of his clothes. His shoes wouldn’t kick off, and his trousers got stuck on them, and he hopped on one foot, swearing and thrashing, and his bone waggled, and I giggled myself hysterical.
“That’s it,” he said.
The next instant I had a Baz blanket, and he was shoving my leg aside and prodding me in the crotch with that thing.
He hoisted my knees into the air.
Then he found his way in.
And still he wouldn’t bang me.
In he slid, thicker and harder than I remembered, but slowly, so slowly. “Beg me,” he panted, sliding in and out just an inch or two, making embarrassing squishy sounds. “C’mon.”
“Please,” I squeezed out. “Please fuck me, Baz. Don’t wait.”
“Aw, that’s not enough. After you just messed with me so bad?” He lay down over my torso and hooked his hands under my knees and pulled, making my trembly legs stretch, making muscles in my crotch stretch, and my back stretched under me and I arched upward, trying to get at that thing, trying to jam myself onto it.
“Beg!”
“Plee-ee-ee-ease!” I whined. He slid deeper. “Please!” He hit the back wall, his pubic bone bumping me just where I wanted it. “Oh! Please!”
“That’s,” he said, bump!
Yes! “Please!”
“More,” he said, bump!
Fireworks! “Please!”
“Like it,” he said, bump!
—Here came the beginning of the end—
“Beg, Yoni!”
So I begged and begged, and he banged and banged, until we both forgot the game and laughed and plunged and rolled on the fur coverlet.
When we were sweating and gasping for breath, I remembered about blessing this place. It ought to be blessed. I’d had such fun here.
And I remembered something I had thought of last time we were here, but I hadn’t had the energy for it.
“Baz?”