What do you want?
by Qickless
Copyright© 2002 by Qickless
Is it sleek black stockings in high heels, or a warm hug?
It started with a whisper, wine-red lipstick breathing into my ear at a crucial moment:
"Eric, I don't want you to see Martha anymore."
My hands were around her waist; she was sitting on my lap, squirming. Her green hazel eyes slithered over mine and her hand stole its way over my body, pausing over my ragged cheek before curling around my well-hidden cock.
It was hard to breathe.
"I don't want you to hang around Martha anymore. She's so... shoddy."
Shoddy? Martha was shoddy. But --
"And ugly."
Ugly?
"But why?"
"What do you mean but why?"
Green dragon eyes, loading up fire canisters.
"Why? She's just my friend."
"Was, Eric. She was your friend. I'm your friend now, Eric."
She licked my ear, pausing to nibble and then bite it. Suddenly the hand crawling around my cock was gone. She was standing up, the green and white jumpsuit gone, nipples hard and ready.
"Fuck your friend, Eric."
My hard cock pounded into her, toppling her onto the satin bed and plunging deep inside her. I cried out and kissed her, licking her lipstick and then tickling her soft curly breasts. She came hard, laughing. I pulled out and came all over her hips. She was on the pill, but she didn't want to take any chances.
Neither did I.
Before she left, she dug up one of my paintings from an old suitcase. She frequently made it a hobby to poke around my things. The paint was four months old, and fading fast. It was a woman, thin and tall with just a small shred of color wrapped around her.
"Who's this?"
"Nobody. Just a model."
She seemed satisfied, leaving my house with a beaming smile, and a promise to call.
Martha lived in the room opposite mine. I knocked on her door. And hearing no reply, I opened and entered.
"Martha?"
"I'll be there in a sec, plant yourself in the TV, will you?"
I couldn't find the TV. There was too much stuff everywhere. Unbroken pizzas, uneaten food, undrinkable coffee, underwear and bras, and little and big figures of clay were everywhere. Martha sculpted.
Brilliantly.
I made some coffee and plopped down on the couch. After a bit of searching, I discovered the TV, and after a little while, the remote. I polished the TV screen with my T-shirt and settled back down. Then I heard her call, "Eric, over here please?"
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