Stephanie Vaughan

Cruel to be Kind excerpt:

Steve flinched.

That didn't sound good. It was never a good sign when the woman
told the man, “We need to talk.” It usually turned out to be
something like she was the last of her high school gal-pal group still
not married and, gosh, wouldn't next month be perfect for a garden
wedding. Or that her old college roommate, who was neater than you
and an amazing cook, hadn't been ‘strictly platonic' after all and, not
only was he back in town, but she was moving in with him. Or she
was finally ready to try a threesome -- with another guy as the
third.

“Here's the deal, Steve. I don't think you have any idea whose table
you picked to sit down at.” Her arms as she leaned on the table were
slim but firm-looking and he wondered what she did to keep in shape.
He let his eyes take a surreptitious flick downward, trying to make
out the shape of her breasts. He was betting on smallish -- barely a
B cup -- with pert little nipples. Looking back up, Steve realized
she'd caught his every move.

Busted.

But instead of outrage, he would swear he read approval on her
face.

“No, that's okay. Don't be embarrassed. In fact, I want to hear what
you like. Especially in bed.”

Holy -- He couldn't have heard that right. “You want to hear what?”

“I want to hear what you like. What you don't like. What your
fantasies are. What you've never done but always wanted to … if
you found the right person.” Her voice had gone soft. Almost
hypnotic. Steve thought he could stare into those eyes and listen to
that voice all night long. Ideally they would both be naked as part of
the exercise.

“This is a pretty good fantasy right here. But I'd really like to be
having this conversation somewhere quieter. Maybe without the
audience.” Steve gestured toward the rest of the room.

She shook her head, her ponytail swaying with the motion, just
grazing the tops of her shoulders. “Not yet. Soon, maybe. But we
need to get some things straight first.”

Steve didn't believe conversations like this happened in real life. He'd
always figured those letters in the backs of men's magazines were
fake. “Dear Penthouse, I never thought these letters were real until
something happened to change my mind.” Yeah, right. How many
nymphomaniac blonde twins with fireman fantasies were there in real
life? But here he was, on the verge of living one. He was afraid to
open his mouth and screw things up.

“Like what? Your place or mine?” Jesus, talk about lame. This was
where she got up and walked out, disgusted by his clumsy attempt
at repartee. What the hell was wrong with him? Smooth was his
middle name.

Sliding her hands off the table, she placed them at the neckline of
her tank before smoothing them lightly down the shirt. The effect
was to bring those tiny but perfect tits into gorgeous relief. As he
watched, she brushed the tips of her fingers lightly back and forth
until the nipples began to crest.

“No, more like, what does that make you want to do?”

Suddenly Steve was choking on his tongue. Heat washed over him.
And his dick, already half-way to hard, completed the trip.

“Touch. Taste… suck on them,” He sputtered over the words. His
hands, he realized to his colossal embarrassment, were stroking the
table, as though those tempting peaks were beneath them.

“That sounds nice.” She nearly purred as she leaned back a little,
sizing him up through slitted eyes. “I think I'd like that, too. But first,
I'd like you to do something for me.”

Steve stiffly nodded his agreement.

“I need to hear the words, Steve. Say ‘Yes, Megan.'”

He was a parrot, reduced to repeating whatever was necessary.
Whatever she asked. But at least he knew her name now. “Yes,
Megan.”

And then she smiled at him and he felt like he'd done something
amazing. Steve realized he'd do a lot to earn that smile. “That's
perfect. See how easy that was? Now put your hand in your pocket
and stroke yourself. I want to see that pretty cock get harder.”

Whoa.

“I can't do that in public. I'd be arrested.”

“Well, then I guess you'll just have to be careful, so that no one
sees but you and me.”

He wanted to look around, see who might be watching. This was his
home turf. He knew people here, and people knew him. His arm shook
a little with the force of holding back the hand that seemed to have
a will of its own as it edged toward the pocket of his shorts.

“Steve. Do it now.” The steel beneath the velvet of Megan's voice
was close to the surface now and he gave up the fight, slipping his
hand beneath the table and into the loose pocket of his carpenter's
shorts.

The pants were just roomy enough for him to barely reach his cock,
where it now stood at attention beneath the baggy drape of the
material. He ran his fingers familiarly up its rigid length and saw her
eyes flare.

“Mmm, that's nice. I like the way you do that,” Megan murmured
approvingly. “I think you need to do that for me without the clothes,
though. I want to watch you stroke yourself ‘til you get so hard a
breeze would set you off. Until your balls tighten and you go off like
a rocket for me. I'd like that a lot.”

Here?

Her eyes felt like a physical touch. Everywhere her gaze moved,
Steve felt the tingle and the heat.

“Do it again. I didn't tell you you could stop.”

The table must be smaller than he realized if she could see that.

He drew a long, shuddering breath in through his nose as he let his
hand go back to making slow sweeps up and down. The barrier of the
material kept him from getting any kind of a real grip and the
tantalizing barely-there touches were maddening. Steve knew how
to touch himself. He'd jacked off hundreds of times. Pleasure,
comfort, boredom -- they were all good reasons. Knew to the exact
degree how much sensation he needed. But this was different.
Something about having her eyes on him while he did it made all the
difference, had never felt a fraction as good as it had just now. And
the thought of being naked in front of her, touching himself -- for her
-- pulled a groan out through his clenched teeth.

“Sssh. We don't want to draw a crowd,” Megan chided him softly. “In
fact, I think you'd better stop now. I want you to put both hands --
that's right -- up on the table where I can see them and keep them
there. Don't move again until I tell you.”

He wanted to rock his hips, push her down on top of his throbbing
cock, savor the feel of her tight little pussy for the first time. And he
knew just how it would feel. The thought of forcing his way inside
her, an inch at a time, danced at the edge of his consciousness.

Steve watched as Megan gathered her papers, putting them neatly
into a colored plastic folder. Calling himself ten kinds of dog, Steve
peered under the table as she bent to place her belongings next to
the wooden bar chair. He was rewarded when her shorts pulled taut
across her backside, revealing a heart-shaped ass he instantly
coveted.

Megan looked over her shoulder at him and smiled a little at the look
she intercepted.

She stood. “I have to go now.”

“What!?” His tortured libido screamed in protest. He was on fire for
her. “But what about --“

She turned back to him, as calm and collected as though this had
been a business consultation and not a… Steve didn't know what the
hell it had been. But to leave him in this condition was nothing short
of cruel.

“I want you to do two things for me, Steve.” Megan adjusted the
cap on her head with one hand, smoothing her ponytail with the
other. Again she gave him that look that shot straight to his soul. “I
want you to think it over tonight. If you liked this, and you think
you'd like more, then meet me back here tomorrow night. That's one.
Two is, if you do decide to meet me tomorrow, you may not touch
yourself between now and then. And don't think you can fool me,
because you can't. I'll know.”

Picking up her possessions, Megan straightened and her lack of
height finally sunk in for Steve. The top of her head probably
wouldn't even clear his shoulder.

“Have a good night.” And she turned and walked out of the bar.

***

© 2007, Stephanie Vaughan

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