Some More Money Ch. 04

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


(Author’s note: This is chapter 4 of a multi-chapter story. It will make the most sense if you read Chapters 1 through 3 first.)

All characters involved in sexual activity are at least 18 years old.)

: : : : :

When I got back to my room after dinner, I couldn’t sleep. My mind spun in circles, reliving the last three days. In that short time, I had ‘starred’ in three x-rated videos. I had been fucked in the ass by the biggest dick — by far — I had ever seen, rimmed a guy and been rimmed, given blowjobs to four guys, had my pussy eaten by a girl, been double- and triple-penetrated, and had four guys masturbate into my open mouth. If all that wasn’t enough, I had one more shoot to go, with no idea what I would be doing in it. Knowing Ryan, it would stretch my boundaries in ways I hadn’t even considered.

All those thoughts pinballed around my head, and after an hour of tossing and turning in the dark, I accepted the fact that I was wide awake. I’ve learned that when I’m obviously not going to fall asleep any time soon, I’m better off getting up and doing something.

I had seen that the hotel had a disco bar that was open late. If I went there, at the very least I could get a drink and people-watch until I felt drowsy. I had the following day off, so I didn’t have any practical need to get to sleep by any certain time.

I hadn’t brought many clothes to the beach. I expected I would either be relaxing out in the sun or shooting video most of my time here. I had a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, but that wasn’t club-appropriate. The dress I had worn to dinner was a little too ‘office party’ and not ‘after-hours’ enough. That left a short black skirt and a festive, floral halter top, so I put them on over the bright red thong I already had on. The halter was nothing more than a triangle of cloth that tied behind my neck and the small of my back. It was textured, so even though there was no way to wear a bra under it, both the weave of the cloth and the pattern printed on it would hide my nipples. It revealed my whole back, and ended above my navel, showing a lot of tummy. I wasn’t trying to dress to kill, it was the only disco-worthy outfit I had with me, but I guess it wasn’t very different from what I would wear if I was trying to be noticed.

The inside of the club greeted me with a blast of super-chilled air. So much for hiding my nipples! The music was non-stop Euro-disco that was so loud it was almost visible. There were plenty of people, some dancing, some standing around the edges in small clusters. Some sat at tables, some sat on stools at the bar holding drinks watching the dancers. Some sat at the bar with their backs to the dance floor. I scouted the perimeter, deciding where I wanted to settle.

I landed at the bar, taking a stool in the middle of a row of empty ones. I ordered a drink and started a tab charged to my room. The DJ was good, mixing an interesting mash-up of tunes, some of which I knew, some unfamiliar, but all energetic and danceable. It was way too loud, though — people who wanted to talk had to lean in and speak directly into each other’s ears. Out on the floor, there were all sorts of dancers, some excellent, clearly enjoying the beat, and others who weren’t moving anywhere near the actual tempo but were having fun anyway.

I began to think I had over-dressed, or maybe under-dressed, depending on how you look at it. I was definitely not there to hook up, but apparently my outfit said otherwise. I had to fend off multiple offers to dance, to move to a ‘more private’ corner of the club, to leave the club for a better club, to leave the club to walk on the beach, or to go to a room with a ‘spectacular’ view of the ocean. Every unattached guy there seemed to want to buy me a drink. If I had been there on a college girl’s budget, those free drinks would have been tempting, but in the last few days I had earned $10,000, or was it $11,000? However much, I was confident I could cover my tab.

I nursed one drink through the initial onslaught of pickup attempts. It wasn’t my intent to be ‘that’ girl, the one who shot every guy down, but no one came close to being interesting enough to pair up with, and besides, the music was so loud that any conversation was too difficult.

Finally, the herd collectively realized I was not looking to be picked up and began to leave me alone. I got a second drink, and went back to uninterrupted people-watching.

I was aware that someone took the stool behind me, but I ignored him or her. A while later, I felt a pressure on my hair — whoever it was had leaned in next to my ear. A deep, sexy voice, sounding very much like Sam Elliott, said, “What are you drinking?”

I slowly rotated on my stool, and found myself gazing into the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. From his voice I expected someone older, but he looked close to my age. He was handsome, in a rugged way, with sandy tousled hair, broad shoulders, a trim waist, and flat abs. Oh my! He was oh-so-casually dressed in black jeans and a button-down white shirt, tucked in but open at the collar.

“Manhattan,” I replied.

He aksaray escort held his expression neutral. If that was a test, I had neither passed nor failed.

“Rye?” he asked.


He processed that for a moment, still neither impressed nor disapproving.

“Jim Beam?”


“Woodford Reserve?”

“No. Eagle Rare.”

He nodded. “Aaah. A connoisseur…” He caught the bartender’s attention and pointed at my drink, ordering one just like it.

He asked, “Where’d you learn about Eagle Rare?”

“A friend.”

His drink arrived. He took a sip and grinned. “Your friend has good taste.” He held his glass up in a toast to me. I picked up my glass and clinked his.

I braced myself for him to start trying to beguile his way into my pants, but he surprised me. He leaned back with his elbows on the bar and looked out over the club like I had been doing. He didn’t try to impress me with his worldly exploits, make my clothes disappear with extra-intense staring, or even engage me in any more conversation. It was like I no longer existed.

I gave him one full dance tune to say something else to me — over three minutes. He didn’t. I couldn’t stand the verbal silence any more. I leaned near his ear and said, “What brings you to the beach?”

He stared straight ahead saying nothing for a long moment. He either hadn’t heard me over the music, considered it too difficult to answer over the disco din, or was ignoring me. He finally leaned over and said, “Actually, work. I’m a photographer.”

“Oh, okay, cool. Why the pause? Shooting nudes out on the sand or something?”

He chuckled. “Not that kind of photographer. I shoot landscapes. I’ve shot some here at the beach, especially at sunrise, but mainly I’m shooting at a state park near here. It has some stellar scenery.”

“That sounds interesting.”

He paused again and eventually asked, “What brings you here?”

I wasn’t sure what to tell him. I didn’t want to blatantly lie, but I also didn’t want to just blurt out ‘Oh, not much, just sucking and fucking groups of guys in some porn videos.’ Without meaning to, I gave him the same delay he had given me. I played his words back to him, “Actually, work. I’m a model.” It was the truth, just not exactly the whole truth.

He nodded, ran his eyes quickly down and up my body, grinned, and parroted my own words back to me. “Why the pause? Shooting nudes out on the sand or something?”

I laughed and shook my head. I didn’t elaborate.

He turned his attention back to the club, and said nothing for another full song. I guess I could have taken his silence as lack of interest, but I found his utter lack of effort to reel me in quite refreshing. And intriguing.

I asked him, “Have you had any luck?”

He gave me an odd look, and only then did I realize how awkward that sounded — we were sitting in a disco after midnight with dozens of twenty-somethings around us engaged in pairing up and leaving together. I laughed at myself and said, “Photos, that is, photos! Have you gotten any good photos?”

He raised his eyebrows, paused for a long moment again, and said, “Yeah. Definitely some good ones, possibly a few great ones.”

I asked, “Possibly a few great ones? You’re not sure?”

I expected him to laugh, but he was dead serious. “No, I’m not. It takes me a couple of months to see what I’ve shot with any objectivity. Until then, I’m too aware of how I hoped the shot was going to turn out to see how it did turn out.”

I nodded. “That makes sense.”

“It does? Most people don’t understand.”

“I’m glad I’m not ‘most people.’ Do you have anything you can show me?”

“Sure, but not here.”

“Not even on your phone?”

“Phones are too small to view landscapes and seascapes. If you’re going to see them, it needs to be where you can see all the details and nuances.”

I didn’t say anything for awhile. I finally suggested, “We could go to your room.”

“Don’t you want me to reassure you I’m not an axe murderer?”

“No, because you’d deny it whether you are or aren’t.”

He looked at me like I was speaking Swahili. He was silent for a minute, then nodded that he understood what I said. I was getting used to the pauses.

He signaled the bartender. He paid his tab with a generous tip, and tried to pay mine, but I wouldn’t let him. He asked the bartender, “Can you sell me a bottle of Eagle Rare?” The bartender shook his head. “Do you have Eagle Rare in those little airplane bottles?” Again the bartender shook his head. “What’s the best whiskey you have in those?”

“Your choice, Chivas Regal, Crown Royal, or Maker’s Mark.”

“I’ll take four Maker’s Mark.”

In the elevator, I said, “Now that we don’t have to shout to be heard, I’m Amber.”

“Hi, Amber the model, I’m Nate the photographer.”

I said, “Nice to meet you, Nate.”

“The pleasure is mine, Amber.”

His room was bigger than mine but much smaller than Ryan’s suite. From the hall we entered what you’d call a den if it was part of a house — it had a desk, a sofa, a coffee aksaray escort bayan table, a big-screen TV, and a door to what I assumed was the bedroom. It also had a tiny galley kitchen squeezed against the front wall. He got out a couple of glasses and said, “Do you want to fix your own drink, make sure I don’t put anything evil in it?”

I was impressed. I shook my head and said, “I’ll watch from here.” He added a single ice cube from the mini-fridge to each glass, opened two of the tiny bottles of bourbon, and poured one into each glass. He held one out to me, but I reached and took the other one. He nodded his approval and said, “Let’s give these a couple of minutes for the ice to melt a bit.”

I added, “Let the whiskey ‘breathe.'”

He repeated, “Aah, a connoisseur,” a little more impressed this time. “Same friend?”

I shook my head. “Former boyfriend.”

He booted up his laptop, which was connected to the flat-screen TV with a long cable, turning it into the biggest monitor I had ever seen. I watched him navigate his desktop to a folder called ‘first cull,’ and click on the first file there. He had a viewing app that showed the pictures full screen, without any distracting icons, border, or menu bar.

The first shot he showed me was a spectacular close-up of a wild bush with some tiny blue blooms. Its branches and leaves filled the entire frame, and formed an intricate, interlocking pattern, almost an organic Celtic knot. It was a visually lush feast of overlaps and swirls that looked infinite.

“That’s amazing,” I said. “Surely you consider that one great, not just good.”

“No, not at all. It has a wonderful pattern going on, but nothing breaks the pattern.”

I took a seat on the coffee table right in front of the TV. I asked, “What do you mean?”

“Patterns are attractive to the viewer’s eye, and this one is excellent, but a pattern is monotonous unless somewhere within it, something breaks the pattern. Nothing breaks the pattern here, so it ends up being boring.”

“It’s not boring to me. I’m not sure I get what you mean.”

“The next one will show you.” He clicked to the next shot. It was a similar bush. The woven pattern wasn’t as dense or intricate, but off-center a small sprig had been broken and died. Rather than withering and turning an ugly grey, though, it retained its shape and had turned a gorgeous shade of golden, like autumn leaves before they fall.

I said, “Okay, I see. The dead part breaks the pattern. It’s amazing how the golden sprig makes the healthy blooms look bluer, and the healthy leaves greener. So this is a great shot.”

“No,” he said. “This bush isn’t nearly as full as the first one. The pattern never really gets going, it’s a little too thin and sparse to be interesting.”

He sat on the coffee table beside me, advancing the slides with a wireless mouse on the tabletop behind my back. He found a fault with nearly every shot, highlighting the imagined flaws for me with the cursor. Although he seemed not to think so, his photos were great. He had an exceptional eye.

I hadn’t gone to the disco or come up to his room to hook up. I’m not much of a one-night-stand girl. However, the elegant natural beauty of Nate’s photos combined with his deep Sam Elliott voice and his blue eyes, along with the smooth, complex bourbon, was starting to get me in the mood. He advanced to the next picture, another great one, to me anyway. How he moved the mouse on the coffee table to highlight the details of the photo ‘just happened’ to snug his arm around my back.

I tucked my head into his shoulder. He wore a trace of a pleasantly smoky cologne, maybe something in the sandalwood family. “You smell nice,” I said.

As he narrated the image, I raised my face toward his and asked an innocuous question. I wondered how many times I would have to make my face available before he kissed me.

Just once, it turned out. He kissed me, sweet and gentle. I returned it, also sweet and gentle.

He broke it off and said, “Do you want to see any more photos?”

I purred, “Yes, definitely, but maybe not right now.” I leaned back in, but left it to him to reconnect. I’m happy to say he did, not nearly as light and soft as before. He squeezed my breast over my halter. I took his hand and placed it on the skin of my tummy underneath the loose hem. He traced up to my nipple, and squeezed it gently between his fingers. I moaned and leaned into the kiss, opening my lips. He sought out my tongue with his, found it, and softly greeted it.

That kiss took on a life of its own and lasted a wonderfully long time. When it eased to an end, he stood, lifted me under my shoulders and knees, and carried me to the bedroom door. He couldn’t reach the doorknob with his arms full of me, though. He paused awkwardly, not sure what to do. I solved his dilemma by reaching down and opening the door myself.

He set me down on the bed, stretched out beside me, and kissed me again. I reached to untie the upper knot of my halter, but he said, “Please, let me.”

I leaned forward so he could release escort aksaray both bows, then I laid back on the bed with the halter untied but still covering my chest. He kissed me again and raised up on his elbow. He gripped the bottom hem of the halter and began to pull it downward, glacially slow. The strings slid across the sides of my neck, caressing my skin as tenderly as silk scarves or feather boas as they glided down, raising all the hairs on my arms and neck. My nipples hardened, and as Nate continued sliding the halter, the textured fabric slid across them, raising them to full attention.

As the swell of my breasts emerged, he pulled the top even slower. It didn’t stay perfectly centered, and one of my nipples popped out from under it. He unabashedly stared. The nip itself felt like it was about to explode, from the friction of the cloth dragging across it, but also from the heat of Nate’s eyes gazing at it. He leaned forward, parted his lips, and gave it the most delicate kiss I’ve ever felt — his breath touched it harder than his lips did. A wave of warm sensuality rippled through me. He slid his lips back and forth and opened them wider, moving their friction to the areola and the surrounding skin. He circled the nip with his tongue, and flicked it rapidly across it, again as lightly as I’ve ever felt. A deep, guttural moan escaped my lips.

He cupped my other boob over my halter top and softly massaged it. His fingers located the nipple and gently twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. He lifted my top away, fully exposing my chest. He started to kiss over to the other nip, but I stalled his progress by untucking his shirt. When I got most of it free, I started undoing buttons. I got them all loose, and he slipped the shirt off his shoulders and dropped it on the floor over my top. I pulled him into a tight hug. “Mmmm,” I said, “skin-on-skin, one of my favorite things in life.”

He responded, “It’s not skin-on-skin enough.” Without separating his chest from mine, he groped around the waist of my skirt until he found the clasp. He struggled with it for a moment, got it disconnected and unzipped, and slid it down and off.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my thong, but I brushed him off. “Nope,” I said, “Not yet. You’ve got some catching up to do.” I went to work on his belt. I got his jeans down and off without any trouble. He had bright red boxer briefs underneath, low-waisted and long-legged.

“Great minds think alike,” he chuckled, I assume referring to our undies being the same color. He reached to pull me back into that luxuriant hug, but instead I pulled his boxer briefs down and off, pushed him onto his back, and climbed on top of him.

I straddled his waist, rubbing the underside of his cock with the tiny triangle of cloth that made up my thong. I leaned forward, contacting his bare chest with mine, and started what became our best kiss yet. He wrapped his arms around my lower back, and I continued slowly stroking my thong up and down the length of his cock while our mouths and tongues got to know each other better. He lowered his hands down to cup my bare butt cheeks, kneading them as they flexed and relaxed.

He slowly massaged up my back. When he reached my shoulders he tried to flip us over, but I wasn’t done with him on his back yet. I un-straddled him and crawled down to bring my face even with his cock.

I took the bulbous tip and maybe half his length into my mouth. I cupped his balls in one hand, swirled my tongue on the underside of his rod, and sucked like crazy. He pushed me off and said, “I won’t last long with you doing that. It’s, uh, it’s been a while for me, and…” I took him back in as he spoke, sucked hard, and slowly stroked him in and out. ‘For some reason,’ he lost his place in what he was saying. “and, and um…”

I sped up, stroking him from his tip to where he bumped my tonsils. “Seriously,” he said, “I’m gonna cum if you, uh, if you…”

I didn’t break rhythm or suction, but hummed “Uhmm hmmm,” around him.

He said, “Really? It’s okay if I-“

I interrupted him with another “Uhmm hm-” and he interrupted me with the first splash of jizz against the back of my throat. He came what seemed like buckets. I swallowed twice, and he still had a bit left.

After he caught his breath, he said, “I hope that was okay. It was fantastic, but it may take me a little while to be ready to go again.”

I said, “I like to start with getting the quick, easy one out of the way.” He grinned as he realized that meant we weren’t done. I rolled onto my back and placed his hands on the strings of my thong. “And I know what we can do while you get your mojo back.”

He grinned wider and started pulling my thong down. I settled back to enjoy myself.

When he got my thong off he sat up on his haunches. I tracked his eyes as he took in each body part, scanning me from top to bottom: my face, my boobs, my waist and tummy, a little extra time on my slit and thin racing stripe, and down my legs. He seemed to like what he saw. “Jeez, Amber, look at you. You are one gorgeous creature…” For once he didn’t indulge in a long pause, and settled between my knees. He lifted my calves and set them over his shoulders. He began kissing and licking my inner thighs, traveling slowly upward, while my pussy got more and more agitated and impatient to become the center of attention.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın