Girl After Dark Read online

  As I push open his shirt, I can’t help but give his nipples a playful little nibble — first one, then the other. They’re small and hard, standing up like little bullets from his taught, toned pecs. And as I suck them, I let my fingers trace downwards, first over his washboard abs, then further, gently stroking down over the large warm bulge at the front of his suit pants.

  He’s obviously every inch as turned on as me right now.

  And as I begin to tug open his pants, another naughty thought flashes through my brain: here I am in just my underwear, pulling open this mystery guy’s pants, and we haven’t even kissed yet …

  I’m taking my time, enjoying every delicious second of this now, but my stranger is getting impatient.

  Before I can stop him, he’s reached down and pushed off both his suit pants and his crisp cotton boxer shorts, his thick cock springing free.

  I feel another flash — a mixture of nerves and excitement — as I realise with a shiver of anticipation just how damn big he is down there; way bigger than I’m used to.

  I wonder for a moment if I’ll be able to even fit something like that inside me.

  I just can’t pull my eyes away from it: so thick and smooth-looking, curling up towards me as if teasing me, testing me to touch it … to …

  “Like what you see?” he asks me, his voice cutting through the trembling silence like a knife.

  I force myself to pull my eyes away from his rock hard cock and meet his burning gaze once more.

  I nod, a smile spreading across my lips, confident now to speak my mind.

  “Yes,” I purr. “I do.”

  And as if to prove it, I feel my hand reach out to touch him there, my slender fingers curling timidly around his thick hot cock.

  He tenses up a little as I begin to stroke him, jacking his thick rod, and once more I’m enjoying the sensation: being in control.

  I let go of him for a moment, then position myself back on my hands and knees, my face now only inches away from his twitching, eager manhood.

  I lower my mouth towards it, planting the softest little kiss on the tip of it. Then, with a breathy sigh, close my eyes, and take him slowly into my mouth, letting my lips slip as far down his thickness as I’m able. He fills my mouth completely, he’s so big, and I as I begin to suck him I feel his hands move to my breasts, his fingers quickly finding my nipples — which are so hard by now, so clearly aroused.

  I feel him fiddling with the clasp of my bra for a moment, then it falls away from me. I sigh a muffled sigh as he cups both my breasts in his hands, pinching and tugging at my hard nipples, his manhood still sliding between my lips, throbbing against my tongue.

  And between my legs, my own sex is throbbing too. It’s almost unbearable now — like a pain. I just need to feel him inside me.

  I gasp, pulling my mouth away from him, leaving him glistening, his rock hard member jutting upwards, his shaved balls so full and round beneath.

  And now it’s like we’re both on the same page — the time for talking is over.

  I quickly wriggle out of my panties, noting for a half-second how totally soaked they are. Then I position myself on the bed, lying on my back, propped up by the sumptuous pile of pillows, while he takes a package of condoms from his discarded suit pants, tears one open and quickly, expertly sheaths himself with it.

  I can feel my whole body trembling now in anticipation. And I can still taste him too, can still remember the feel of him, filling up my mouth.

  Now he’s the one on all fours, prowling towards me, the spicy musk of his cologne filling my senses for a moment as I lay back, spreading myself wide for him, offering myself to him completely ...

  Soon he’s over me, and there’s this tantalising pause, our eyes locked once more. And before he enters me, he moves his face close to mine, the softness of his lips brushing my own for a second.

  I shiver again; it’s all so intense, so intimate.

  His lips press against mine the exact same moment I feel his hardness enter me, stretching me wide, filling me up, deeper and deeper.

  I gasp and moan into his mouth, my tongue flicking against his, his own kisses returning mine, just as passionate, just as intense.

  I’m getting close now, the flashes of electricity pulsing around my trembling body.

  And my hands move to his muscular back, then slip downwards, coming to rest on his tensed buttocks, urging him to fuck me harder and faster.

  But instead of doing as I desire, he pulls away, leaving me gasping — so desperate to feel him inside me once again, filling me so completely.

  I look into his eyes and realise that he’s smiling. It’s the exact same look in his eyes as earlier. He’s enjoying teasing me — and now I can see that he’s just doing it to drive me even more wild.

  I need to say it, I realise. It wasn’t enough for me to just beg with my hands. He wants me to speak, to say my desires aloud.

  “Please fuck me,” I whisper. “Fuck me hard.”

  “What was that you said?” he replies, his body so frustratingly close to mine — yet still too far to give me pleasure. “What did you say?”

  He moves back towards me, rubbing his cock tantalisingly against my opening, teasing me with it, sending shivers right through me — a heady mix of pleasure and frustration.

  “Please,” I whisper again. “Please …”

  He’s rubbing the head of his cock against my clit now, but all I want is to feel him inside me again.

  “Please,” I cry, so loud it startles me. “Fuck me.”

  And finally he complies, driving himself so deep inside me that I gasp, feeling my whole body melt as the intensity of my pleasure bubbles up once more inside me, threatening to spill over at any moment.

  I’ve never been taken like this before: so hard and rough, yet so intimate too.

  He’s tensing up now too, as if he can sense my own fast-approaching orgasm, his breath coming in short low grunts as he plunders me with his thick hard cock.

  I wrap my legs tight around his back as I come, gasping and panting, my nails digging deep into his flesh, totally lost in the sheer intensity of my desire.

  And my stranger comes too, tensing up, burying himself deep inside me as his own pleasure flashes and pulses through him …

  *

  And so that, dear readers, was very first adventure in New York City.

  Before I began this journey, I thought I was in control of my fantasies. But what tonight has taught me is that I had no idea just what my true fantasies really were.

  And even better was that I had no idea just how good it would feel to finally let go of control for once.

  §

  I know I promised to tell my readers the truth. But that isn’t quite where things really ended. How could it be?

  Just a few minutes before, I’d become an animal: only fixated on fulfilling my own desires. And I’d come so hard I’d felt shattered into a million pieces.

  But as I came back to Earth, the nervous girl who’d pulled her flimsy silk robe a little tighter around herself also quickly returned.

  My self-consciousness now back in full force, I swiftly rose from the bed, gathered my things, and dressed as quickly as I could, pulling on my panties, my stockings, my bra and my dress. And although I had my back to him, I could still feel his big, greeny-brown eyes burning into my skin.

  Our experience had been so intense that I could barely bring myself to meet his gaze now. So instead I just stared hard at the floor as I gathered my bag, then begin to slip my high heels on with trembling fingers.

  The air in the room still felt electric, and a small part of me kind of expected him to make another move. To continue this game of chess that we’d begun.

  And sure, playing had been fun, but I felt totally overwhelmed too by what had just taken place and I knew I just needed to get the hell out of there, before I let myself fall any further.

  As I headed to the door, I heard him move swiftly behind me, pushing himself up f
rom the bed.

  “Wait,” he called, reaching out, grabbing my arm, and turning me so that I had no choice but to face him once more — to face those eyes once again.

  “I need to know who you are,” he said, his voice low and steady but insistent, too. “Who you really are.”

  I shook my head, fearing that if I spoke, this whole facade would come crashing down around me.

  “Right now, I might not know your name … your real name,” he explained, “but I sure as hell know what just happened between us. You’re amazing, you know that? And I just have to see you again.”

  “I … I …” I stuttered, taken aback by the sheer force of his emotion; something I really wasn’t expecting from an encounter like this. “I … have to leave.”

  I quickly broke free from his grip and fled the room, hearing the hotel room door slam closed behind me, so loud, so definite.

  I practically ran towards the elevators, through the lobby and then out, into the street, and safely into the first cab I could flag down, just moments later.

  And as my taxi sped over the Brooklyn bridge, I took out my phone and looked at it.

  One new message on Tinder — from Carson:

  I must see you again.

  But I knew that what we’d shared had to stay in that room.

  This wasn’t about emotions.

  I’ve been through so much, I couldn’t deal with any more right now. I’d promised myself that this was one night only — anonymous — and that’s where it has to stay.

  And so, with a heavy heart, and before I could soften and change my mind, I deleted Tinder (and Facebook for good measure) from my phone.

  There, I thought, both sad and satisfied.

  There was literally no way he could contact me now.

  §

  A little later, I collapse into my bed, totally exhausted, hoping to fall straight to sleep.

  But of course, the moment I close my eyes, all I can see is Carson — Carson staring back at me, the way he did tonight, as if he’d seen right into my soul.

  I’m walking down a long dark corridor. I don’t know where I am. All I know is that I’m trying to find the way out.

  All of a sudden I see the sign. Big green neon letters: EXIT.

  I start heading towards it, but then, behind me I hear a now-familiar voice. His voice. A voice that stops me in my tracks.

  “Melissa!” he calls.

  “But how do you know my name?” I reply.

  I know that I shouldn’t wait for his answer, that I should just leave, that I shouldn’t turn back.

  But of course, I do.

  I turn around and there he is, waiting for me.

  “Don’t leave,” he calls out. “Come back to me.”

  I can feel myself being pulled in two directions at once.

  I know I should go, but at the same time, there is another force, even stronger, drawing me back towards him.

  I take a first step, then another, and then, before I know it, I’m running back down the corridor towards him, throwing myself into his arms.

  “I knew you’d come back to me,” he says.

  I search out his eyes with my own, feeling that thrill all over again when his gaze meets mine, as if he’s looking right into the centre of me, right into my soul.

  I lean forward to kiss him, our lips softly brushing and then …

  I wake with a start. It’s a dream, of course. But it’s one of those dreams that feels so real, it actually takes me a moment to return to my senses, to work out where I really am.

  I look around me, at the familiar environment of my bedroom here in New York, and I have to admit it: a little part of me feels disappointed, wishing I could have stayed in that dream world just a moment or two longer.

  I sigh, suspecting I’ve not exactly got the hang of this ‘one night stand’ thing just yet. After all, I met this Carson guy once and already he’s turning up in my dreams?

  But I suppose that with a little more practice, and a little more experience, things should get easier …

  Once I’ve shaken the final few fragments of the dream from my head, I remember the blog post I wrote last night — all about my experience with Carson, my ‘mysterious stranger’.

  I climb out of bed, wrap a soft white cotton dressing gown around me then sit at my desk in front of my laptop, opening its lid and quickly typing in the address for Girl After Dark.

  I wonder if anyone’s even cares what I write these days, I think.

  Or maybe I don’t care — maybe this time, I’m just writing for myself?

  But still, even so, I check to see if there are any reader comments and to my surprise there are.

  In fact, there are lots of them:

  Abigail_X: Love this. So sexy. You’re my new hero. Can’t wait to see what fun you get up to next! X

  BigGeorge84: Hot stuff. Would love to see some photos next time too.

  MistressBelinda: Wow! That got me hot under the collar. You’re a great writer, GAD

  Prince_C: I think it’s safe to say that you made this anonymous stranger as excited as the readers of your blog. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Girl After Dark. ;)

  B_Freidrikson: Do you have agency representation? Email us if not!

  JulietGreene: Absolutely loving this blog. Does anyone know who she really is??

  I feel a familiar rush — the same little shot of excitement that I used to get, back when I first started posting my writing online. Back then, I couldn’t quite believe that people were interested in what I had to say. I mean, it was just clothes and shoes and handbags and things, it was all a bit trivial really, but my readers said that they loved my way with words, and it made them feel that maybe liking that stuff wasn’t so stupid.

  But this is different. The stuff I’d written last night … Well, it was pretty personal and candid. And so it meant even more when anyone said they liked it.

  I jump to my feet, ready to start my day.

  I look at myself in the mirror, just as I do every morning. Except today, the question isn’t, ‘What do I want to wear?’

  It’s: ‘Who do I want to be?’

  The girl that stares back at me in the mirror is petite, with unremarkable 32B breasts, the kind of small waist that’s perfect for vintage dresses, and cascades of long, honey-blonde hair.

  She looks ‘cute’ — no wonder Carson said she did in his messages.

  Do I really want to look like that any more?

  When I was running VintageHoney, my advertisers and sponsors warned me against any drastic changes to my appearance. They didn’t want it to “tarnish my brand”. But I don’t have to worry about them any more, now do I? And it’s not like I haven’t tried out new looks in the past. My hair was every colour in the rainbow when I was a teenager.

  But there was one mark of teenage rebellion that I never did try out but was always curious about. And I realise that now is the perfect time.

  So, just like that, I know what my next blog post is going to be.

  §

  Girl After Dark: Image overhaul

  Welcome back, my dear new readers.

  I’ve been overwhelmed by the response to my last post. I’ve so enjoyed reading your comments and your messages. I know some of you found my date incredibly exciting and want me to see him again. But I’m afraid I have to tell you: that’s just *not* going to happen.

  There wont be any looking back on this journey, and I’m certainly not going to settle for the first guy I meet (no matter *how* good he is in bed). No, I’m going to find out who I am first of all; and I’m determined to take you guys along with me for the ride.

  Speaking of which, I’ve done something slightly out-of-character.

  In the past, I’ve been a bit of a goody-two-shoes. I was squeaky-clean. The kind of girl that didn’t get too drunk, who went to bed early, and always pressed her clothes neatly. I was the kind of girl you’d take home to your mother.

  But I’m learning that tha
t isn’t the whole me. And I wanted something to symbolically represent this. Now, I know what you’re thinking. That I’ve done something rash. But I haven’t. This is actually something I’ve considered for a long time, but never felt able to do …

  So, would you like to see my new tattoo?

  I know that probably doesn’t sound too radical to you. Everyone’s got them these days. But as I said, this is symbolic.

  A few of you have been asking to see a photo of me. So here is a photo of my tattoo … without my face in shot. I’m sorry, but that’s something I’m never going to give you, either.

  Paint whatever face you desire onto my body. Paint the picture of the girl you want to be, or the girl you want to be with.

  §

  My parents, not to mention Katy and the rest of my friends, would be so shocked if they knew what I’d done. It wasn’t like I’d got a tiny dolphin on my ankle or anything. This tattoo was huge — a beautiful simple black floral design, running from my navel to just below my right breast, and curling around my back too. But best of all, I’d chosen something personal: a honeysuckle. My favourite flower, and of course my nickname. I loved this flower: beautiful, English and fragrant. It represented everything I wanted to be.

  This tattoo would symbolise who I was, and who I was becoming, too.

  I’d felt like the name Honey had been tarred by Will leaking my video — how he showed everyone my body without my consent — and I wanted to regain some control.

  I love it; I can’t stop looking at myself in the mirror, stroking it, posing.

  One thought keeps popping into my mind, which I try to ignore: I’d love to show Carson this.

  I trace my fingers along the delicate jet-black lines that now decorate my body, imagining my slight fingers are his strong, many yet tender hands, caressing me. I begin to feel light headed, and I have to stop myself from going any further.