Class 3B

It was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. She sat at a corner booth in the quiet upscale bar he had suggested, waiting, her body shivering. She ordered a glass of Pinot Noir and immediately gulped half of it down. This shouldn't even be happening. She hadn't intended to call William in the first place. And moments after ending their conversation, she tried to call back, to cancel the meeting... But she couldn't do it somehow, as though her will didn't quite reach all the way to her fingers. As though once she had started something, she couldn't stop.

I can stop this, she thought. I can just walk out of that door before he arrives. In fact, I will, right now, while there's still the chance. But she made no motion to move. In fact, ever since entering the bar her actions seemed geared for seduction, as though she had been serious about being on her worst behavior. Choosing the most private table, checking her lipstick, unbuttoning an extra button on her blouse to expose some cleavage... In a strange way, she didn't feel as though she was doing these things, even as she did them. Like a part of her mind had its own independent will. Even the way she had called William, without intending to... She hadn't called him so she could seduce him, had she? No, that was silly. She was reaching out for help, not trying to create more chaos.

But there in her mind, she could almost see, and almost feel, William's hard thing slipping inside of her crack, beginning a steady in/out rhythm... A shiver of heated anticipation rolled through her body, resonating deep inside. Her hands shook and the deep red wine in her glass sloshed up the sides, clinging there, then slowly sliding down. She was just like that, in a way. Constantly dripping, and trying to cling to sanity as she felt herself being pulled down, slipping down into some crazy zone of wetness.

She stared at the glass, and somehow it made her ache to see it only partially filled. She took another sip but the aching just became worse, as though the draining of the liquid in the glass created a reciprocal flowing between her legs. She closed her eyes, trying to hold on as the aching became an excruciating feeling of emptiness, a sort of craving that she could feel in every part of her body. Oh God, oh my God...

Upon opening her eyes, her reflection peered back from the wine's ruby red tones, the color making her look a bit devilish. But I'm still me, she countered. There were no real changes in her appearance, no horns growing out of her head. Still, it felt as though the fires of hell were burning deep inside of her vagina, and she felt decidedly wicked for arranging this meeting with William, even if she hadn't meant to.

She rose to give him a little hug when he arrived, and the touch was electric. He was a handsome man, younger and a little leaner than Charles, with a boyish face and a thick mop of dark hair that might have intentions of going prematurely gray. A man and a boy, she thought, all there mixed together.

He drank in her beauty for a few seconds after sitting across from her, his eyes lingering on her breasts. He'd noticed her new bra, and the cleavage she'd uncovered for his benefit. His hands began to fidget and he focused on the table, then the little votive candle beside the napkin dispenser, and the surroundings beyond her shoulders. Anything but her.

"You look trapped," she began.

"More like scared shitless."

"I'm not going to bite your head off, William," she said, not at all believing herself.

"Too bad," he countered, risking another glance at her tits. "If we were spiders, it might mean that I got lucky." He motioned to their waitress, and said, "We'll take a bottle of what she's having."

"A bottle? You're trying to get me drunk?"

"Maybe. Or trying to anesthetize myself. Maybe... Look, I'll be blunt. What the hell am I doing here?"

"How refreshing! I need that bluntness, William. I need your honesty, total truthfulness."

"Okayyyy."

"I'm serious. I'm all... crazy these days, and I really need you to... to..."

"To what?"

An image flashed in her head, of his cock poised before her lips. She gazed at the large purple head in her mind and felt saliva pool inside her mouth.

"Catherine?"

His cock was larger than Charles'. Her tongue reached out for it, the first swipe tentative, exploring. The taste of his flesh made her cry out, a little whimper of searing delight firing all through her body...

"Catherine? Hello? Are you okay?"

"Um... Oh! What were we talking about?"

"Why am I here?"

Oh God she needed to taste him.

"N... no!"

"No, what?" he asked.

"N... no means no... I mean, yes. I... I'm not sure..."

"I'm just asking why you called after all this time. You have to know."

Yes, of course she should know. It was the kind of question that should have an easy answer, but no answers came easily any more, not when her skin went all tingly every time William's gaze took in some small portion of her body, even if it was something as innocent as his eyes lighting upon her hand as she took hold of her wine glass. Not when her pussy felt like it was growing deeper inside, creating an aching hollowness that was dying to be filled. Not when she could envision him thrusting in and out, her hips grinding against his, her strong legs wrapped around his back, drawing him in tighter, and deeper... Maybe even touching places that had never been touched before.

"Oh God!"

"Oh God, what? Catherine! Why did you call me?"

To draw him inside, her body's natural talents unfolding all around him, heated energy permeating every crack and crevice, every pore...

"No! No, I... Look, I dialed your number because that's what happened, William. Honestly, it's almost like... I don't know. Everything is going all crazy! It's like my fingers dialed your number, not me!

"That's silly."

"Maybe. But I... I've been feeling a lot of strange drives lately. Really strange drives."

"What do you mean?"

The wine came and she almost lost it when the waitress poured a partial glass for him to taste. Oh God, fill it, please hurry and fill it!

"Oh God!"

"Oh God, what?" he asked. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

What was the matter with her? The feeling of hollowness between her legs kept growing worse, like she could almost swallow him whole.

"William! William, I... I need help. I think I'm having some sort of awakening."

"Awakening? I don't get it. You mean like... the Dalai Lama or something? Nirvana?"

She laughed, a little hysterically. "No, no, God, I wish! It's more like... Oh, this is so hard!"

Hard, hardness, so very hard... She loved hard things.

"You called me, remember? What kind of awakening?"

"A sexual awakening. I think I'm having some sort of sexual awakening."

"Whoa! Ah, okay. And by that you mean..."

By that she meant that her pussy was almost on fire down below. Her nipples were rock solid inside of her new bra and she felt an urge to crawl under the table, to taste the vintage of the cock that she knew she could make hard with just a few targeted words, or the right sort of look in her eyes.

"Catherine? Your 'sexual awakening'?"

She needed the truth. She should speak the truth, even though it was so hard...

"I... I think about sex all the time. All the time! And I want it. So badly. I get these urges and it's all... It's extreme, William. Like my body is coming alive all of a sudden, in ways I never could have dreamed of. I... I can barely hold on!"

Her words got to him, she could see it as though she could measure his vital signs right through his clothing and skin. He drank down all of the wine in his glass and stared at the bottle, but made no motion for a refill.

"I'll have to congratulate Charles the next time I see him," he finally muttered. "Fuck, Catherine... How could you think that I could have this conversation with you?"

She felt his pain, felt the weight of it in the air. Felt the raw, naked truth of it. Of his desire, which he didn't want to have. Of his feelings, which he would rather not feel. Unless the desire and the feelings drew him forward, to somewhere. Unless what he felt could slip between the cracks in the walls she had erected. She bit her lip, something about that thought almost making her cry out. William was losing control over there just like she was losing control. His eyes went back to her hand, and she looked down, and discovered that her fingers were slowly stroking up and down the stem of her wine glass. Teasing it. Oh God she loved to tease things, even though it was wicked, and wrong.

"Charles doesn't know about any of this, William," she blurted.

"What?"

She had to stop. And she could stop, if she could just gather her will somehow. But the hand-action on her wine glass was becoming more active, and even more suggestive.

"Anything I say here, or anything I... confess... or do... It doesn't concern Charles."

"How can that be true?"

She gave no answer. She had to stop this! She could see where this was headed and she had to stop! Why couldn't she stop?

"I don't get it, Catherine. Are you telling me... Are you having an affair?"

Her lips wanted to answer "no", but was that true? When, exactly, did runaway thoughts and desires cross the line from innocent fantasy to actual betrayal? She was caught, squeezed between "yes" and "no", and she felt like she might explode from the pressure.

"Oh, God..." she breathed.

"Catherine? Are you okay? Do you want to..."

"No, I'm not okay! I... can't even go home tonight, William, not until after ten. Why do you think that is?"

"I wouldn't have a clue."

"It's because my doorman thinks that I'm dying to have sex with him!"

"And... why would he think something like that?"

"Because... It's because I gave him good reasons to think that way. I... yesterday... in the elevator, and in front of my door... Oh, God, it makes me feel all... Don't make me describe the details!"

"I'm not making you do anything. But... you, um... did you?"

"No, but I want to! I came close enough, and I'm almost certain that I'll go a lot further if I go home too early tonight. It's like... Oh God, it's like I want it so badly that I won't be able to stop myself! Like I barely have a choice!"

"But... your doorman? What is he? Casanova in striped pants and a little hat? A hypnotist?"

"No, no, you don't get it! There are others, too! Others that I want to... Oh God, and I really want to!"

"I... don't know what to say."

"You're shocked. You always thought I was repressed, sexually."

"I never said that."

"You lived that, that one night up in your apartment."

"Well... Fuck. I knew you were already in a relationship. Much as I wished I could make you melt and forget that ugly stiff... I mean Charles..."

"Maybe I shouldn't have stopped things that night, William."

"Oh fuck, don't even say that, Catherine. That isn't fair."

"I teased you."

"Like I said, I knew you were in a relationship. I shouldn't have..."

"I think I liked teasing you. I think it got me hot."

"Whoa, stop. This isn't..."

"I knew full well the state you were in when I left that night. And that last time we met, at the coffee shop... It excited me to see you getting hard for me, even though I was torturing you. I... I wanted to create an image that you'd remember... when you masturbate..."

"Catherine! That's..."

"You're hard right now, aren't you?" she asked without hesitation, shocking herself.

"Time out!" William replied, his eyes frantic, his mouth twisting.

Oh God, it was happening again, like a spark igniting, with no way to escape... Like everything she could possibly control was falling apart, and coming together in a new configuration, with blazing energy between her legs. She was on fire, and playing with fire, and on the verge of being consumed. It was so fucking exciting but she had to stop!

The hand that had been stroking her wine glass crept forward on the tabletop, reaching out. No! No! She tried to pull it back, but on it went, until it rested on the back of William's right hand. She knew she couldn't touch him. She needed to stop touching him, or there would be no turning back. Stop touching him! But her hand began to caress his flesh, the two hands in relationship, the spaces between their fingers interlocking.

"Catherine... Oh, Christ, you can't do this to me! Not unless..."

If she had erupted with fire like this in William's apartment back then, she never would have been able to leave. She would have needed to push forward, unable to stop, until he was inside of her, slipping in and out, in and out...

"William... Oh God... Take me to your apartment! Hurry!"

How much wine had she consumed in the bar? Events unfolded with a disorienting perspective, as though she was watching an intricately detailed movie of herself with the camera mounted behind her own eyes. The woman doing these things couldn't be Catherine, because Catherine was not a woman who cheated on her fiancé. She was not a woman who flushed her morals down a drain, only to be led by the urges of her sex organs. And those couldn't be her hands, roaming and clutching at William as they hurried down the sidewalk, flakes swirling in the gusty winds. And were the snowflakes really flying at her eyes, only to swerve away at the last second, as though afraid of her heat?

The heat was real — it burned between her legs and spread in all directions, quickening her heart, inflating her nipples, turning her pussy into an overflowing river. And the craving she felt, the ravenous emptiness that had her trembling and wishing for something, anything, to fill her... It must be happening and it must be her, but it couldn't be! She'd do anything to satisfy this emptiness, this hollowness — anything — but she wasn't like that! She just wasn't!

How could her body be so out of control? Everything that she was doing was wrong, but it all felt so good, so fucking good and so irresistibly tempting. But she had to resist. She had to intervene, she simply couldn't remain a passive witness to her own deplorable actions. She decided to put her foot down at the entrance to William's elevator. Much as it would hurt or anger him, she couldn't go through with this, it was all a big mistake, a symptom of some larger stress disorder that she should seek professional help for. She opened her mouth to utter the words signaling retreat, only to feel her tongue reaching forward, beginning a fluid dance that began as a light tango and ended with her entire mouth desperately sucking William's tongue deep inside, then releasing him, creating an in/out rhythm in her mouth that sent shivers all over her body.

Stop! she cried from the strange witnessing position within herself. But instead of stopping, she wrapped herself all around William in the elevator, every inch of her body pushing for maximum contact.

"Oh, Catherine!" he exclaimed, his hands hiking her skirt up to squeeze her ass and thighs, two fingers probing between her legs to rub near the center of her gnawing emptiness. "Oh God, your body is soooo... You don't know how many times I dreamed of this..."

She felt like she must be dreaming now, but she wasn't. Yes, her body was soooo, it had always been soooo, and she was finally using it soooo well, pushing him back against the mirrored wall, grinding her molten pussy into his hardness, her hands roaming and stroking everywhere with a life of their own. A glimpse of her reflection revealed the utter wildness in her eyes. It was shocking — this was her, Catherine Tinnell, but not a Catherine she had ever seen before. This Catherine was untamable, her fucking gorgeous body driven by forces that could never be quelled by reason, or social codes.

Or conscience. Charles who? He wasn't here, her body seemed to shout, and she fucking needed sex! Sex! Now!

And yet she kept trying to resist, some little piece of sanity struggling against the tide. She tried not to kick off her shoes at William's door, and fought against the movement of her hands as she unclasped her skirt, pulling off her tights and panties. With the scent of her flowing cunt filling the air, William's hands worked at the clasps at the back of her bra and she prayed for her body to stop thrusting into him, to stop giving him encouragement and permission. And when his hands cupped her aching breasts and found the stunning hardness of her nipples, she tried so hard to stop quivering, and flowing, and wanting, and needing. She tried so hard to say "no", but his fingers rolled along her nipples and all that escaped her lips was a climax-like shudder of sound, something so primal and heated that she could see the vibrations enter William, further fueling his lust, driving him to a place where he might try to understand and meet her level of desperate need.

Their sex became frantic, a gasping, grasping, guttural intertwining of their bodies. She jumped onto her lover and wrapped her legs around his back, toppling them together onto the long leather sofa where they had timidly necked some five months before. Her hands ripped at his trousers and underwear, then pulled forcefully at William's rock-solid cock, her tongue on his neck, her teeth nipping at his earlobes.

This couldn't be happening, and it couldn't feel like this! She was never this aggressive and his cock could not feel this good in her hands, it just couldn't! She wrapped her palms around him, her fingers active and probing, feeling his solidness and his texture, absorbing his warmth. His cock pulsed from within, sending out signals that her hands seemed to understand. She felt that she knew just how to touch him with devastating effectiveness as she began to stroke his penis with her left hand, the fingers of her right playing at the tip, exerting little pleasure-tickles that made him suck in air. And that was just the warm-up, her fingers seemed to say. The left hand stroked harder while her fingertips gained speed, feathering William's hot cock-head until he began to pant, and growl, overcome by her deft actions. How am I doing this? she thought. The intelligence or empathy in her hands was completely foreign to her, and yet so natural and so clear.