The Diamond Club (9 page)

Hmmm. What kind of power was I wielding here?

When Sasha recovered and began grinding on him again, I decided to test my theory and gently wrapped my fingers around the base of Lew’s cock. At almost the exact moment I did so, he began to cum with tremendous intensity. Wow. Am I the menage Supergirl?

Completely spent, Lew lifted Sasha off of him and looked to be in a daze. Sasha, clearly not finished, caught my eye and motioned me back to her. In repayment for this most magical of nights (and for making me aware of my mutant powers), I thought she deserved a most thorough pussy licking. I lost count of how many times I made her cum, and eventually fell asleep in her arms exhausted and satiated.

When I woke, Lew was soundly asleep, but there was no trace of Sasha. Not wanting to wake him, I got up and dressed silently. I was all ready to leave until I saw the note:

“Thanks for a lovely night. Unfortunately, the tour calls and I had to make an early morning flight. Let’s get together next time I’m in San Francisco. You know where. xoxo”

Strawberry Fields

This was one of the scarce Friday nights when I had decided against going to the Diamond Club. A few days earlier Dia had caught me sitting at one of her lounge’s tables being fingered by a software engineer while I stroked my fingers up and down his seven inch cock. Normally she wouldn’t bat an eye at such behavior but it happens we were sitting at a table directly next to one of the principal investors of the Diamond Club.

I guess he didn’t enjoy our little show of passion and made this known to Dia. In a moment brought on by alcohol and horniness, I had turned to him, looked into his weathered eyes, and said, “Hey Grandpa, don’t be jealous. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll suck you off in the bathroom.”

Dia took me by the collar and kicked my ass out of her club. I’m sure she’ll allow me back and probably even laugh about the entire episode once the investor leaves town, but for the next week it’ll be good for me to keep some distance from the Diamond Club.

Besides, I’m not in need of the Diamond Club tonight; my purple vibrator is fully charged and ready for insertion. But who or what to daydream about as I lay naked on my bed with the vibrator near inches from my vagina?

At that moment an aroma spits at my smelling senses. It’s of strawberries and cream. Must be from old Mrs. Delanie down the hall. Long a widow, she enjoys coming home from her job as a Walmart greeter to a bowl of strawberries and Reddi Wip. How do I know it’s Reddi Wip? All I’ll say is she never has less than 5 cans of the stuff in her fridge and she particularly enjoys the first Monday of every month when she gets to lick it off the vaginal openings of another lonely, single woman who happens to live on the same floor. Oh Mrs. Delanie, what a sweat, sweat old lady with the gentlest and warmest or tongues.

But this smell of strawberries has now happened to unhinge another memory, one that’s been locked away in a keyless diary in the cobwebs of my mind…

“Hello Strawberry Gary,” I say as the vibrator makes contact with my skin and my mind escapes flees to a deserted island of passion and longing…

It’s a normal Wednesday as I make my weekly trip to the Farmers’ market on the street below my apartment. I pass stands of homemade soaps, natural honeys, and baskets of freshly picked fruits. I don’t see much of interest to buy but the smells are intoxicating and help to warm my sometimes frigid heart. It is also making me a tiny bit horny.

As I approach the end of the row of stalls, I see one with a sign above it containing a cartoon character with a big head and buck teeth and a tiny, toy-like body and the name ‘Strawberry Gary” in big bold letters. I don’t remember seeing this stall before. I approach it to see baskets full of fresh strawberries and a man about my height flicking through his iPhone. I can already tell the cartoon character on the sign is of his likeness but luckily the buck teeth and big head aren’t present on the real thing. I approach as he looks up from his phone.

“How may I help you?” he says. I can already tell he’s inspecting the curves of my hips and liking what he sees. I’m guessing he looked up from his phone expecting to see just another couple or 70 year old grandmother.

“Oh, just looking around. Haven’t found anything interesting yet. Are you Strawberry Gary? Like the one on the sign? Haven’t seen you around here before,” I say.

“Yes, I am Gary. This is my first time selling at this market. It’s quite a find,” he says. “Do you like strawberries? I picked these myself just yesterday.” I look down at what must be thousands of bright red strawberries. How sweet they must be.

“I usually don’t do this,” he says, “but take one for a test drive.” He picks up a basket and beckons me to choose one. I scan them until I see the biggest of the bunch, a bulbous strawberry that seems almost as big as a fist. I gently pick it up and take a small bite, its sweet juices piercing my taste buds and slowly dripping from my lips. I catch a sly smile and quick wink from Gary.

“They’re the juiciest you’ll find this side of the Golden Gate,” he says. I’m reminded of Dia telling me how strawberries are nature’s foreplay. That’s when I decide to up the naughty factor a bit. After all, what’s more fun between two grown adults than a little wordplay?

“You got anything else juicy I might have a taste of?” I say as my glance slowly falls and settles squarely on his crotch. I see his thigh muscles quiver and tense every so slightly. But it seems Gary’s no slouch and takes me one punch for punch.

“I do, but it’s a lot bigger than a strawberry and contains a million more seeds. Not sure you can handle it though,” he says as his eyes scan my petite frame. “Haha, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were a little strawberry yourself,” he says as he points to my red tank top and white short shorts. “And seeing my nickname, you should know I’m unable to resist anything resembling a strawberry.”

“Touché,” I respond. “The thing is, I’ve got something that looks just like a strawberry but is becoming even more juicy.” I gently bite my lower lip and tilt my head to the side. “If you want to have a taste after the market closes up, floor 5, apartment 502,” I say as I gesture to the apartment building behind us.

I see Strawberry Gary lick his lips as I turn my back. I purposely add some swagger to my step as I walk away, my hips thrusting from side to side. I don’t have to turn around to know the desires currently flushing is thoughts…

6 o’clock comes and I open the door to see Strawberry Gary leaning against its frame.

“Hey little strawberry, wanna see what I’m packing,” he says?

I immediately grab him by the collar and force his lips to mine. I’m no longer interested in word games. I want to get off and this local farmer has the only produce I need. My hand slides down the front of his shorts as he pushes our heated bodies onto my bed.

Within seconds my body is bare and all sorts primal sounds, the likes of which must have reverberated within the enormous decks of Noah’s Arc, emanate from my apartment walls. I’m sure even Mrs. Delanie from all the way down the hall can hear us right now, but fuck it, but I don’t care.

“Oh yeah baby… Give me some ass! GIVE ME SOME ASS!” Gary says as his brain gives way to his primitive, animalistic urges. “Oh yeah. You like my cock? Does my little strawberry like my cock… Oh yeah…”

It’s all a little cliche, but his dick is absolutely rock hard and right now I’m in need of a good fuck, not flowers and a movie. “Yeah Gary, fuck my little strawberry. It’s ripe and ready for a pounding,” I shout back.

Just then he pulls back like an archer readying an arrow at a target and rams his penis into me with the might of a jack hammer. My head snaps back and smacks into the bed’s wooden frame. He drives into me again and again, each time my head hitting the wood like waves against the shores of Alcatraz, a million little prisoners of pain screaming out to me to beg for forgiveness from behind flesh and blood and skull. But I can’t beg forgiveness. I don’t want forgiveness. The fuck devil that has grown inside my heart all these months since my split from Roman can only muster one simple word through my trembling lips…

“Harder… Harder…”

That’s when Strawberry Gary picks me up by my waist, his cock still throbbing inside my vagina, and kicks open the bathroom door. He hurls me onto the toilet, his full weight crashing on my hips. Now it’s not only my head that throbs in pain but my entire lower back as it is slammed repeatedly against the toilet’s tank…..

“Harder… Harder…”

In what seems like only minutes later, Gary takes his hands and grips each side of my head with a pressure equal to that of the water devouring the Titanic and forces my wet body to the bathroom floor. I then see his throbbing cock racing directly for my saliva ridden lips. His cock enters my throat as my nose is forced into his crotch, his shaved pubic hairs ramming into my face and his hands pulling my hair ever tighter as his cock slides further down my neck. I then experience an eruption greater than Mt. St. Helens as a million pounds of 1000 degree lava is expelled at supersonic speed into my gagging, suffocating throat…

I collapse to the floor as Strawberry Gary finally releases his grip, his muscles slowly deflating as they realize the body of their master has no more energy to give. I gasp as a single stream of air tries to navigate to my lungs through the jungle of saliva and semen. Oh how I need that oxygen more than ever; My heart is racing and my lungs can’t keep up. I’m a newborn foal in the middle of a strawberry field, just ejected from my mother’s uterus and unable to steady my atrophied, asphyxiated body…

I look down to see the vibrator dripping wet. How long has my naked body been laying here, screaming from the ecstasy brought on by the “Purple Wand” and memories of Strawberry Gary? My hips ache as tension is finally released, small beads of sweat permitting my exposed skin. I run my finger a few centimeters along my inner thigh and bring it to my lips. It’s a salty blend of perspiration and pleasure.

I can still smell Mrs. Delanie’s strawberries and cream emanating through my doorway. It’s not yet the first Monday of the month, but as I lay naked, my pussy still pulsing and begging me to let it keep riding the pleasure train, I pick up the phone to call Mrs. Delanie. She’s got the Reddi Wip and I’ve got the juiciest strawberry of the bunch.

In Need of a Screwdriver

I walk up the Diamond Club’s steps as I close my umbrella and withdraw the earbuds that had been pumping my head full of Jack Johnson and Coldplay. What a miserable night this had been having walked all those blocks in high heels through the downpour. A year ago I wouldn’t have made this effort; tonight is exactly the type of rainy night I would have snuggled up with Roman, popped in a romantic comedy, and finished with some gentle fingering from him and some head from me in return.

But that was a year ago and what a difference a year makes. My nightly trips to the Diamond Club were becoming quite the little tradition and all I could think of was my craving for more. I knew exactly the scene I was about to encounter; Dia would probably be behind the bar counter encouraging some lonely-hearted fool to order another Jack and Coke while the various white collar tech and law execs, just off work and seated together at tables scattering the club’s main room, would be pretending to make meaningful conversation while in actuality trying to catch a glimpse of every piece of ass making its way through the door. I had previously been turned off by this behavior only to discovered that my new found self finds it extremely intoxicating.

“Look at me boys,” I’d say to myself, “I got a high-class pussy ready to fuck but I’m only giving it away to one of you. The rest are out of luck.” Later I’d usually be back at home thinking about those white collar boys that never had a chance with me but found me appearing in their dreams sucking their cock. What should have been an off putting thought had instead turned into a mechanism for getting me wet. I’m a little sad for many of the guys I had screwed in the past who thought they were the ones causing my orgasims when in fact it was the thought of all their buddies left back at the Diamond Club, sipping their martinis and daydreaming about nailing me in the back of a barn, that was the real motivation for my getting off.

As I walk through the Diamond Club’s heavy metal doors I know tonight is different; I won’t be a lion on the African prairie inspecting a pack of wildebeest for the largest and meatiest of the bunch. Tonight I know exactly who I’ll be meeting.

For all his deception and trickery, no one can admit Roman is not a genius programmer of the highest order. His new dating site is set to take on the biggest and best of breed. eHarmony? Match.com? These are modern day Goliaths whose heads are about to be mortally struck by the stone of David and this deadly stone is the amazing code that emanates out of Roman every single day. Of course, this is also the same human who spews out guile and fuckery from every orifice.

Three days ago it hit me… here I am trying desperately and blindly to search out my next hit of orgasmic ecstasy when the perfect tool has been at my fingertips all along: Fullydateable.com. I pulled up the site and decided to made a fake profile (so Roman didn’t know I was a member). As I typed away and tried to think of a good fake name, I looked up and saw my Konka-branded TV. That’s when I typed ‘Konka Eve.’ What a shitty pornstar-like name, but then again I was about to interact with the loneliest, most depressing life forms on the planet. If anything, seeing a last name like Eve would be enough to get these losers masturbating simply in anticipation of reading my entire Fully Dateable profile. What a joke. Yet I was in search of my next screw and almost any life form would do at this point. I uploaded some pornstar pick I found on Bing Images and started the hunt.

The first 24 hours were fruitless and frustrating. When at home I had a tab with Fullydatable.com always within the curser’s reach and I checked my iPhone’s mail app every few minutes while on a quick Starbucks run to ensure I could respond quickly to any interesting messages that came into my Fully Dateable inbox.