BSC09 the Fall and Rise of Jared ReznikChapter 14 Jared s Kind Offer
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The Girl In The Red Dress free porn video
She held her glass as if it would break at any moment, dangling at her side, swaying with her hips, her eyes staring at the gold champagne. Every time she sipped it her eyes flitted outward like a security camera. It was almost as if she were afraid someone would see her drink it. When she let the glass fall back, she rotated it so she could drink the next sip from an edge that had not been smudged by her lip gloss.
She was always keeping to the edges of the room, tucking her knees together beneath the rim of her fluttering dress. Once, I saw a man approach her with conversation. She looked up from her glass, her dark hair falling in front of her face. She didn't bother to push it away, moving her lips at him quietly before he gave up and returned to the crowd.
Now she was adjusting herself, stepping towards the window and brushing her hands across her stomach and hips, smoothing out her dress. Her lips small and chapped below the curls of her hair and the bump of her nose, she sipped again. When she looked up this time, her searching eyes found mine. Her eyes flashed bizarre and blue, a shock beneath her mess of dark brown hair. I smiled a little as she turned quickly away.
She faced the window, sipping gently and finishing her drink. I saw her brush the drops of alcohol off her lip. There were her eyes again, prodding the room for information. She was looking for something, someone. I would have said it was a boyfriend if it weren't for how long she had been standing alone. No, I would say that she was worried about whomever she was looking for. She didn't want them to return.
I'm a writer. My curiosity is matched only by scientists and my drive to satiate it is worse than a reporter for the most notorious Hollywood stalker mags. I also happened to have no one better to talk to and was motivated by more than a little loneliness. I swiped another drink from the table and navigated my way through the crowd to find her.
"Hello," I said to her.
She looked up, her eyes fluttering a little as if surprised to be spoken to.
"Hello."
"My name is Nick," I said, offering her the drink.
"Thank you," she said, accepting it. Her eyes flashed back up at me. "I'm Chloe," she said, as if it were an afterthought.
I watched her take another drink, she looked away from me and her eyes flashed at someone else across the room.
"You seem nervous," I said.
She nodded at me, drinking again.
"If you don't mind me asking," I said, stepping in front of her, "who is it you're looking for?"
"How did you--never mind, it's obvious isn't it? My father. He's around here… somewhere."
"Oh, I see."
"Not that I expect him to come back."
I was about to walk away. I had the information I was looking for. Her father brought her here and he had left her. She was alone here, that was all. And then the words she was saying made sense to me. She was alone. I was alone. I was company. So I indulged her.
"Why don't you expect him to come back?"
"Oh, he left with some blonde. Went to the bathroom, he said. But I know the drill. He's been doing this since I was ten."
This father seemed like a colorful character. I would make sure to keep him for one of my novels.
"Divorced?" I asked without thinking. There was no stopping my intuitive and narcissistic nature from showing itself at every opportunity.
She was understandably taken aback. She took another sip and said, "Yes, obviously. I just wish he wouldn't take me to these things. When I was young it made sense but now it's just..."
"Right. Of course, sorry."
She was silent so I drank. Her eyes shifted as she shadowed me.
"Every time you drink you get more nervous," I said, the alcohol making me bold.
"Yes, so?"
"You aren't supposed to be drinking are you?"
"I'm 19."
Now I understood everything. While her father was out hitting on his new girlfriend, she had swiped a drink off a table. Now, she was afraid he would return, find her with alcohol, and flip out. He was a good father, but not good enough to know to hide his post-maritial affairs from the daughter who was still struggling with the end of her parents marriage -- even so many years later. Now I had everything. Yet, I was still invested in the conversation. It was something in her eyes.
"He'd hate to see you drinking, wouldn't he?"
"My dad? Oh God, he thinks I'm the same little girl I was when I was ten. If he saw me even looking at this glass he'd just freak."
I examined her face. The thought seemed to excite her. I let her talk.
"Not that I'd mind. I'd love him to see me for what I am."
"What are you?"
"Well, nothing bad," she said, "I'm just not his little girl anymore."
"No," I said, "you certainly are not."
Her lips paused on the rim of her glass. She looked at me, sensing a come-on. I hadn't meant it that way.
"I didn't mean it like that."
I looked down at her, a whole head shorter than me but only two years younger. Her hair, full and shiny and dark as anything, covered her shoulders and spilled onto her chest, resting gently against her breathing breasts. They were well shaped, round, the nipples gently covered by her dress. Her cleavage was tasteful, she clearly wasn't out looking for something tonight. Her back, laid bare by the open fabric of her dress, arched carefully towards her legs. They stemmed out from from beneath the flapping tails of her dress. I couldn't see anything else, but I suddenly felt the tug of a desire to know what was there. Perhaps I did mean it that way.
"That's okay, I understand."
She turned away. I saw her behind. The cut out part of her dress revealed a perfect furrowed back and below that...
"Don't go," I said, almost pathetically. She was on to me now, though I had only just realized my attraction to her.
She turned back around, smiling. Girls love the attention even if they themselves have no interest.
"I'm not going..." her eyes slid off of me. I turned around to see a tall gray haired man slipping out the front door with a young blonde. Her blue eyes turned dull. She was suddenly forcing herself to look back at me. Then she finished her sentence, "...anywhere. I'm not going anywhere."
"Really?"
"Actually, I could be persuaded to go somewhere," she said, her body inching closer to me. What changed? Her father. It was classic. Her father had disappointed her now she wanted to disappoint him.
I finished my drink, "My apartment is beautiful this time of night."
In the center of my studio apartment her dress slithered off of her like a soft rain gliding off forest leaves, leaving behind her dry white skin. She tossed back her hair and hooked her thumbs under the red straps on her shoulders, pulling them out over her arms. The rest fell away, leaving nothing behind but a gold chain around her neck, her short black heels, and the lacy pair of black panties that held together her waist. She looked at me again and stepped out of her heels and the puddle of her dress.
I was standing across the room, watching her with my finger frozen above the button on my stereo. Her sudden disrobing was not my doing.
She stood nearly bare in the middle of my apartment, thin bands of light trickling in through the windows to play on her pale skin. Her breasts were full, not large, but round and firm on her chest. The nipples, perfectly round, were set in the center of the quarter sized gray circles of her breasts. A hand slipped over the left one, skimming off the rim of her soft breasts. She was biting her lower lip, reaching down between her legs.
The dark color of her panties against her bare white skin was a shock of clashing opposites like the tangle of her hair that still danced on her shoulder blades. The fabric was made gray by the pricks of white skin showing through them and I could almost see through the darker fabric that protected the triangle between her legs. Her fingers pushed through that part, her face scrunching into one of sudden pleasure--eyes squinting, lips curling, nose wrinkling -- and the darkness lifted. When it was away from her skin, I could see the lips of her vagina parting at the approach of her finger.
Her hand retreated, replaced by her thumbs that hooked the cords of her panties and pulled them down, dropping them at her feet. She stepped away from them, moving again closer to me, and left behind the puddle of blood that was her dress and the broken body that was high heels and panties.
She walked on the tips of her toes, her heels kicking around in great circles as if avoiding broken glass. With every step she grew closer to me and I had not moved. My eyes were fixated on the slight shake of her breasts in the wake of her movement and the cross of her thighs across the thin strap of pubic hair as she stepped. I let my hand fall from my stereo.
She was upon me now, her hands reaching for my lapels and shrugging off my jacket. I felt the knot in my tie loosening and flying apart, now it and my shirt joined the jacket on the floor. I was making my own pile. Her faces was so close to mine, an eruption of feature in the white expanse of her beauty. I could hardly see her eyes below the visor of her hair until she looked up at me, hands creeping down my pants, with a look of electricity on her eyes. Our lips finally met.
Her hands went up and down my modest chest, tangling with the hair, twisting. They spilled across the muscles of my back and down, tugging at my pants from behind, while my tongue joined hers in her mouth.
My pants around my ankles, my feet kicking off shoes and through the pant legs, my whole body stumbling against hers, my chest pressing her breasts, my hands wrapped in her hair, her arms wrapped around me, our tongues wrapped around each other, we were lost in this war, fully nude, hands searching, engines pumping. I threw her back, holding her by the cavity between her back and her ass, landing her on the counter top that ringed the walls, pressing her back against the bookshelves.
My lips came to her breasts, spinning her nipples around in my mouth, dragging heavy breaths out of her lungs. They fell to her stomach, her sides, the landing strip of her pubic hair, all fostering greater and greater moans that hummed in her chest and twisted in her sides. Finally her thighs, finally her vagina, my tongue found clitoris and pulled out of her the greatest moan yet. Looking down she saw only my nose, my eyes, and tussled brown head before the long muscular backside and the arches of my ass. My tongue ate her, my hands reached for her breasts.
Her back arched in pleasure, her arms were thrown to her face, elbows knocking books off shelves. A copy of my greatest eroticas fell at my feet. Still my face was buried inside of her, her legs squeezing my skull. I could feel her fingers in my hair, hear her screaming at my ceiling. I pulled my head out from between her legs and took her off of her ledge.
Her long legs wrapped around my waist, her hair tumbling across our shoulders. We kissed, sucking each others' tongues
I felt one of her arms fall away from my shoulders, reaching for my growing cock. I adjusted my stance and thrust her onto my hips, letting my erect penis brush against her wetness. For a moment it fumbled, rubbing the length of her vagina and stimulating her clit.
"Put it in!" she gasped as the head slid back over her and pushed into it.
Holding her around the waist with her arms about my neck, I rocked her up and down on me, leaning against the bookshelves as support. She screamed at the pleasure of the first push, her head falling forward into me, teeth grasping at my shoulder to stifle her sounds. I turned around and slammed her again against the books, wondering if my neighbors could hear.
She was sitting on the counter, legs spread, pussy dripping on the oak, my cock thrusting into her. I looked into her eyes. We kissed, our tongues mirroring the battle of our loins. My lips found her breasts, my thrusts became shallower. Her fingers fell to her clit. She was facing pleasure from all sides, her breasts nipped by my teeth, her pussy pounded with short, quick blasts, and her clitoris attacked with her own rhythm.
I lifted her off the counter, her feet lightly finding the floor. Her hands were on my cock, mine again were buried inside of her. She released bursts of air from her mouth, breathing into my ear with hisses of pleasure.
I put her on the couch, face planted in the leather, legs spilling off the side of the armrest. Her ass was pointed towards the ceiling. She giggled. I pushed her legs together, tightening the gap between her legs, and pushed myself into the crease. Now I was fucking her hard. My penis thrust through her, squeezing against the closing walls of her vagina. She was screaming louder now, her voice lost in the leather.
She was begging me not to stop. I could feel my orgasm boiling inside of me as she let out her greatest moan yet, muffled like a tiger's growl. Her legs writhed beneath me, her back expelled itself upward as she took in air and felt her orgasm take her.
I pulled out. I emptied myself across her back, sprinkling her dark her with splatters of white.
Then I stumbled backwards, exhausted, and looked for my drink.
She was always keeping to the edges of the room, tucking her knees together beneath the rim of her fluttering dress. Once, I saw a man approach her with conversation. She looked up from her glass, her dark hair falling in front of her face. She didn't bother to push it away, moving her lips at him quietly before he gave up and returned to the crowd.
Now she was adjusting herself, stepping towards the window and brushing her hands across her stomach and hips, smoothing out her dress. Her lips small and chapped below the curls of her hair and the bump of her nose, she sipped again. When she looked up this time, her searching eyes found mine. Her eyes flashed bizarre and blue, a shock beneath her mess of dark brown hair. I smiled a little as she turned quickly away.
She faced the window, sipping gently and finishing her drink. I saw her brush the drops of alcohol off her lip. There were her eyes again, prodding the room for information. She was looking for something, someone. I would have said it was a boyfriend if it weren't for how long she had been standing alone. No, I would say that she was worried about whomever she was looking for. She didn't want them to return.
I'm a writer. My curiosity is matched only by scientists and my drive to satiate it is worse than a reporter for the most notorious Hollywood stalker mags. I also happened to have no one better to talk to and was motivated by more than a little loneliness. I swiped another drink from the table and navigated my way through the crowd to find her.
"Hello," I said to her.
She looked up, her eyes fluttering a little as if surprised to be spoken to.
"Hello."
"My name is Nick," I said, offering her the drink.
"Thank you," she said, accepting it. Her eyes flashed back up at me. "I'm Chloe," she said, as if it were an afterthought.
I watched her take another drink, she looked away from me and her eyes flashed at someone else across the room.
"You seem nervous," I said.
She nodded at me, drinking again.
"If you don't mind me asking," I said, stepping in front of her, "who is it you're looking for?"
"How did you--never mind, it's obvious isn't it? My father. He's around here… somewhere."
"Oh, I see."
"Not that I expect him to come back."
I was about to walk away. I had the information I was looking for. Her father brought her here and he had left her. She was alone here, that was all. And then the words she was saying made sense to me. She was alone. I was alone. I was company. So I indulged her.
"Why don't you expect him to come back?"
"Oh, he left with some blonde. Went to the bathroom, he said. But I know the drill. He's been doing this since I was ten."
This father seemed like a colorful character. I would make sure to keep him for one of my novels.
"Divorced?" I asked without thinking. There was no stopping my intuitive and narcissistic nature from showing itself at every opportunity.
She was understandably taken aback. She took another sip and said, "Yes, obviously. I just wish he wouldn't take me to these things. When I was young it made sense but now it's just..."
"Right. Of course, sorry."
She was silent so I drank. Her eyes shifted as she shadowed me.
"Every time you drink you get more nervous," I said, the alcohol making me bold.
"Yes, so?"
"You aren't supposed to be drinking are you?"
"I'm 19."
Now I understood everything. While her father was out hitting on his new girlfriend, she had swiped a drink off a table. Now, she was afraid he would return, find her with alcohol, and flip out. He was a good father, but not good enough to know to hide his post-maritial affairs from the daughter who was still struggling with the end of her parents marriage -- even so many years later. Now I had everything. Yet, I was still invested in the conversation. It was something in her eyes.
"He'd hate to see you drinking, wouldn't he?"
"My dad? Oh God, he thinks I'm the same little girl I was when I was ten. If he saw me even looking at this glass he'd just freak."
I examined her face. The thought seemed to excite her. I let her talk.
"Not that I'd mind. I'd love him to see me for what I am."
"What are you?"
"Well, nothing bad," she said, "I'm just not his little girl anymore."
"No," I said, "you certainly are not."
Her lips paused on the rim of her glass. She looked at me, sensing a come-on. I hadn't meant it that way.
"I didn't mean it like that."
I looked down at her, a whole head shorter than me but only two years younger. Her hair, full and shiny and dark as anything, covered her shoulders and spilled onto her chest, resting gently against her breathing breasts. They were well shaped, round, the nipples gently covered by her dress. Her cleavage was tasteful, she clearly wasn't out looking for something tonight. Her back, laid bare by the open fabric of her dress, arched carefully towards her legs. They stemmed out from from beneath the flapping tails of her dress. I couldn't see anything else, but I suddenly felt the tug of a desire to know what was there. Perhaps I did mean it that way.
"That's okay, I understand."
She turned away. I saw her behind. The cut out part of her dress revealed a perfect furrowed back and below that...
"Don't go," I said, almost pathetically. She was on to me now, though I had only just realized my attraction to her.
She turned back around, smiling. Girls love the attention even if they themselves have no interest.
"I'm not going..." her eyes slid off of me. I turned around to see a tall gray haired man slipping out the front door with a young blonde. Her blue eyes turned dull. She was suddenly forcing herself to look back at me. Then she finished her sentence, "...anywhere. I'm not going anywhere."
"Really?"
"Actually, I could be persuaded to go somewhere," she said, her body inching closer to me. What changed? Her father. It was classic. Her father had disappointed her now she wanted to disappoint him.
I finished my drink, "My apartment is beautiful this time of night."
In the center of my studio apartment her dress slithered off of her like a soft rain gliding off forest leaves, leaving behind her dry white skin. She tossed back her hair and hooked her thumbs under the red straps on her shoulders, pulling them out over her arms. The rest fell away, leaving nothing behind but a gold chain around her neck, her short black heels, and the lacy pair of black panties that held together her waist. She looked at me again and stepped out of her heels and the puddle of her dress.
I was standing across the room, watching her with my finger frozen above the button on my stereo. Her sudden disrobing was not my doing.
She stood nearly bare in the middle of my apartment, thin bands of light trickling in through the windows to play on her pale skin. Her breasts were full, not large, but round and firm on her chest. The nipples, perfectly round, were set in the center of the quarter sized gray circles of her breasts. A hand slipped over the left one, skimming off the rim of her soft breasts. She was biting her lower lip, reaching down between her legs.
The dark color of her panties against her bare white skin was a shock of clashing opposites like the tangle of her hair that still danced on her shoulder blades. The fabric was made gray by the pricks of white skin showing through them and I could almost see through the darker fabric that protected the triangle between her legs. Her fingers pushed through that part, her face scrunching into one of sudden pleasure--eyes squinting, lips curling, nose wrinkling -- and the darkness lifted. When it was away from her skin, I could see the lips of her vagina parting at the approach of her finger.
Her hand retreated, replaced by her thumbs that hooked the cords of her panties and pulled them down, dropping them at her feet. She stepped away from them, moving again closer to me, and left behind the puddle of blood that was her dress and the broken body that was high heels and panties.
She walked on the tips of her toes, her heels kicking around in great circles as if avoiding broken glass. With every step she grew closer to me and I had not moved. My eyes were fixated on the slight shake of her breasts in the wake of her movement and the cross of her thighs across the thin strap of pubic hair as she stepped. I let my hand fall from my stereo.
She was upon me now, her hands reaching for my lapels and shrugging off my jacket. I felt the knot in my tie loosening and flying apart, now it and my shirt joined the jacket on the floor. I was making my own pile. Her faces was so close to mine, an eruption of feature in the white expanse of her beauty. I could hardly see her eyes below the visor of her hair until she looked up at me, hands creeping down my pants, with a look of electricity on her eyes. Our lips finally met.
Her hands went up and down my modest chest, tangling with the hair, twisting. They spilled across the muscles of my back and down, tugging at my pants from behind, while my tongue joined hers in her mouth.
My pants around my ankles, my feet kicking off shoes and through the pant legs, my whole body stumbling against hers, my chest pressing her breasts, my hands wrapped in her hair, her arms wrapped around me, our tongues wrapped around each other, we were lost in this war, fully nude, hands searching, engines pumping. I threw her back, holding her by the cavity between her back and her ass, landing her on the counter top that ringed the walls, pressing her back against the bookshelves.
My lips came to her breasts, spinning her nipples around in my mouth, dragging heavy breaths out of her lungs. They fell to her stomach, her sides, the landing strip of her pubic hair, all fostering greater and greater moans that hummed in her chest and twisted in her sides. Finally her thighs, finally her vagina, my tongue found clitoris and pulled out of her the greatest moan yet. Looking down she saw only my nose, my eyes, and tussled brown head before the long muscular backside and the arches of my ass. My tongue ate her, my hands reached for her breasts.
Her back arched in pleasure, her arms were thrown to her face, elbows knocking books off shelves. A copy of my greatest eroticas fell at my feet. Still my face was buried inside of her, her legs squeezing my skull. I could feel her fingers in my hair, hear her screaming at my ceiling. I pulled my head out from between her legs and took her off of her ledge.
Her long legs wrapped around my waist, her hair tumbling across our shoulders. We kissed, sucking each others' tongues
I felt one of her arms fall away from my shoulders, reaching for my growing cock. I adjusted my stance and thrust her onto my hips, letting my erect penis brush against her wetness. For a moment it fumbled, rubbing the length of her vagina and stimulating her clit.
"Put it in!" she gasped as the head slid back over her and pushed into it.
Holding her around the waist with her arms about my neck, I rocked her up and down on me, leaning against the bookshelves as support. She screamed at the pleasure of the first push, her head falling forward into me, teeth grasping at my shoulder to stifle her sounds. I turned around and slammed her again against the books, wondering if my neighbors could hear.
She was sitting on the counter, legs spread, pussy dripping on the oak, my cock thrusting into her. I looked into her eyes. We kissed, our tongues mirroring the battle of our loins. My lips found her breasts, my thrusts became shallower. Her fingers fell to her clit. She was facing pleasure from all sides, her breasts nipped by my teeth, her pussy pounded with short, quick blasts, and her clitoris attacked with her own rhythm.
I lifted her off the counter, her feet lightly finding the floor. Her hands were on my cock, mine again were buried inside of her. She released bursts of air from her mouth, breathing into my ear with hisses of pleasure.
I put her on the couch, face planted in the leather, legs spilling off the side of the armrest. Her ass was pointed towards the ceiling. She giggled. I pushed her legs together, tightening the gap between her legs, and pushed myself into the crease. Now I was fucking her hard. My penis thrust through her, squeezing against the closing walls of her vagina. She was screaming louder now, her voice lost in the leather.
She was begging me not to stop. I could feel my orgasm boiling inside of me as she let out her greatest moan yet, muffled like a tiger's growl. Her legs writhed beneath me, her back expelled itself upward as she took in air and felt her orgasm take her.
I pulled out. I emptied myself across her back, sprinkling her dark her with splatters of white.
Then I stumbled backwards, exhausted, and looked for my drink.
Leela
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