Angel, Stripped Ch. 02

I am having fun with this new series. Is it realistic? Who knows? It is all about fantasy (with a few dashes of reality). Once again, thank you for the comments and feedback. You guys have really motivated me to write. A special thank you goes out to MyKittyStar, who took the time to edit my work. Her attention to detail (and commas) has really improved the story. She has also made this whole process so much more fun. Feel free to send me your thoughts. I will respond. I'd love to hear where you think this should go next. I am not sure myself. Don't forget to vote. Enjoy

"Take out your wiener."

Those weren't the words I expected to hear when I picked up the phone.

"Really? My wiener?" I asked. "Are we in fifth grade?"

"Don't question me. That's what I said, bitch!" she flung. Her voice was stinging and harsh, but with a softer underlying hint of mischief. "And start stroking."

It had been another lazy Sunday afternoon.

This time though, I was spending it at home reading a book and sipping on a coke.

That was until the phone rang....

I was surprised. It had been exactly one week since I had last seen Angel, my stripper fantasy. I hadn't been sure if our frenzied episode in the parking lot had been a one-off fuck, or the beginning of something much juicier. I had tried calling (she had given me her cell number before we parted ways at Barnes and Noble), but had only gotten an anonymous voice mail account. I had just about written Angel off when she rang.

And that is when she ordered me to start stroking my "wiener."

So there I was sitting on my couch; pants around my ankles, panting and grunting with my wiener in hand and rubbing away to a frantic rhythm. I was hard - rock hard and listening carefully as Angel moaned dirty talk into my ear.

"Are you stroking it?" she asked.

"Yes." I sounded pathetic, like a kid begging for a candy bar in a grocery check-out line.

"Good. Get it good and hard. I want it like a rock. But don't cum. I just want you to listen. Understood?" Angel asked. He voice was deliciously soft and feminine, yet was also as unyielding as steel.

I gave my cock a couple of tugs. "Understood," I replied.

"I am going to play with myself too," Angel said matter-of-factly. I wasn't sure if she wanted my approval or was just being a tease. My bet was on tease.

"That sounds good to me."

Angel's voice became low. I had to strain to hear. I pressed the phone close to my ear so I wouldn't miss a single naughty syllable. "I love it when your wiener is hard," she began. "For some reason all of us girls always called them wieners when we were working at the Slipper. I am not sure why. In the club, it seemed fitting. Wieners were toys, playthings. Since they were always covered, they were never dangerous. Unlike cocks. Cocks were dangerous. They made men do unspeakable things. Let a cock loose and there was no telling what would happen. Who knows? You might get nut in your eye. And that shit stings."

Angel giggled for a moment then the conversation went silent. I heard a strange sound almost as if someone was crinkling up cellophane. What? Ohhhhh.... I grinned as I realized that Angel was holding the phone next to her very wet pussy.

I grunted and stroked even faster.

"Like that?" Angel asked after putting the phone back up by her ear.

"Very much."

"Good. I'm wet."

"I can hear."

"I've been like this all week. Thought you might want to know," she said before continuing her story. "Anyway, I loved feeling your wiener rub against me in the club. I always looked forward to seeing you. I could feel the bulge in your pants. If I was careful I could line it up against my cunny-slit. And then I would rub.... I used to go home and think about it. I would remember what it felt like to ground against you during a lap dance and then I couldn't help myself. I would have to hike up my skirt or pull down my jeans. Then I would pull my panties aside and tease my clit. The fabric would be sticky and moist from thinking about how I grind my hips against you."

Angel gasped. I could hear the tenor of her voice begin to quicken. How fucking sexy! She continued to speak into the phone, "We were so close to having sex so many times. Quite a few nights I almost caved. I could have just reached down, unzipped your pants, and oops – there you would be! All I would have to do is squat and you would have been inside me! You were always so hard and I don't think you would have minded?"

A pause. "Would you?" Angel questioned, already knowing the answer.

"No," I breathed.

"Didn't think so," Angel purred. She gasped twice in quick succession. I could only imagine what she was doing. "And there would be all of those other naughty wieners too. They were everywhere trying to spear my innocent, little pussy. But they couldn't. I was just there to tease and to make them walk bow-legged back to their cars. When they got home, they would have to fuck their wives or their girlfriends. Or they would have to masturbate. No choice. I had filled their balls with cum and then they would need to unload. And when they did they would be thinking of me and my untouchable pussy. That thought is so yummy. So many wieners!"

"You slut," I moaned, cutting in. "You teased me so much."

"I know, bitch. How many hard-ons did I give to you?" I could hear the pride and satisfaction in Angel's voice. "So when I got home, after the club closed for the night, I couldn't stop thinking about all of those wieners; all of those wieners I made hard but couldn't suck or fuck. I would sit on my couch dripping wet. Juices would run down my leg. I had to find relief. Sometimes I used my toys. Other nights I played with my fingers. But no matter how tired I was, I would always make myself cum."

Angel's words were now coming in heavy gasps. She was on the precipice of an orgasm. Another moment and she would tumble over.

She took a long breath and paused. I could hear a struggle on the other end of the line. Then she asked, "How close are you to busting a nut?"

"You told me not to cum," I replied.

"I know, but I want to know how close you are."

"Very."

"Does it make you hotter to know that my juices are running down my leg?"

I gasped. "Fuck, yes!" I said. Electrical jolts raced from my groin to my brain.

"Good. Then take your hand off your cock."

"I thought it was a wiener."

"Not right now it isn't," she shot back, a smile in her voice..

I grinned. "Fair enough. My hand is now off my cock."

"Excellent. Pull up your pants and put your cock away."

"Don't tell me that was a tease? We're not done, right?" I asked, more than a little surprised. My cock was hard in desperate need of relief.

Angel paused for a long moment. I could hear her breath slow as her voice reverted to normal. "No silly," she giggled. "Now we are going to fuck. It has been a week since I have had your cock – or any other cock - inside me. We must remedy that situation. Unless you have an objection?"

"N-n-no," I sputtered. My lips went to jello; my mind became mush. Why must I always sound like an idiot when I talk to this lady?

Angel giggled. "You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. Meet me at the art museum downtown in an hour. I'll be waiting by the Pollack."

My phone clicked off.

One hour was a short time. I could do nothing but smile.

*****

Fifty-six minutes later I had paid my admission and picked up a map of the museum. It was time to find the voice at the other end of the line.

I wish I could say that I knew something about art. Sure, I could drop a few names and impress the poseurs, but anyone with a real knowledge would easily see through my sham.

I wasn't such a dunce that I hadn't heard of Jackson Pollack though. His splatter paintings would be lumped in with the modern artists. I got my bearings and found those galleries on the map.

I walked through the Impressionists and the Renaissance art. The museum was largely devoid of people. A few random art aficionados braved the cold winter weather, but it seemed like the only visitors were the truly hard core.

Down one hall I saw a couple of large paintings comprised of bright colors, prefect squares, and straight lines. Mondrian. I knew I was close.

I turned and came face-to-face with a large white canvas. It was crisscrossed with lines of paint. Reds and blues, swirls and dots cavorted over an expanse of empty space. On the surface it was a mess. Art? Really? But staring at the painting evoked an unusual response. There was something more beneath the random splotches. The painting was all emotional bedrock, a random foundation lying at the base of human experience.

Or maybe I was thinking about fucking?

Whatever....

At this moment I didn't care about the theoretical underpinnings of art. Angel was standing about ten feet in front of the Pollack in a long, white winter coat. My hard-soled shoes clicked against the stone floor. To someone else Angel might have appeared to be immersed in Pollack's work; she was tamed in her focus. She didn't move or flinch, she was completely still as I approached. But I knew that she was playing a different game. This is how the seduction went....

I stood behind Angel and put my hands on her slender shoulders. I could feel her tremble and shudder under my touch. I squeezed, rubbing that zone of tension between the shoulder blades and neck. She sighed and went loose, but kept staring at the masterpiece in front of her.

I leaned in close. I could smell Angel's shampoo; it was light and fruity, possibly cucumber melon. My hands moved from her slender shoulders to the graceful slope of her neck. I pushed aside the chestnut hair that fell loosely from her white page-boy hat. I wanted to kiss her, to taste her skin on my lips, to savor everything that was this Angel.

We bent into each other. My tongue swiped the tip of Angel's earlobe. She mewed and fell backwards into me. My arm slid around her neck cradling her against my body. I breathed hot air and leaned in for a deeper kiss. I suckled the flesh of her ear between my lips.

There was a churning building inside of my body, a heat that could barely be contained. I had spent every free moment over the last week thinking about her. She had been my fantasy girl turned real, turned fantasy again. Then the phone conversation drove me into delirium.

Now she was against me, our clothes the only thing between us. Angel's presence so very close, was like a match to kindling. Waves of shimmering flame coursed around us. White hot the inferno threatened to rage, to burn out of control, to seize me in desperation and need.

"Oh I need you to fuck me," I heard Angel softly moan. "I can't take any more waiting. You need to fuck me."

My hand slid down from Angel's neck to her chest. I couldn't be sure, but it felt like she wasn't wearing anything underneath her coat.

I, too, had waited long enough. "Let's go," I said, urgency dripping from my tongue.

"No," she whispered. Angel pulled herself from my grasp and spun around. She caught my face in her hands and pulled me down to her. I felt the passion flowing through us electric as our lips touched. I leaned, in savoring the oblivion, the flagrant disregard of everything public in that kiss.

Angel took a step back, and smiled. I shook my head, confused. What? How could she move away from that kiss?!

The she spoke, her voice barely audible – a complete whisper, "Wait here three minutes. Go to the main stairs and head to the second floor. To the right is a long string of religious art. Keep winding through the displays until find a small room that looks like the inside of a church steeple. If you blink you will miss it. I think it is from Turkey. No matter, I will be waiting for you inside. And that is where you will have me."

"You want to have sex right here, in the museum?"

"Yes, and I want to do it underneath a priceless stained-glass window from an ancient chapel. Can you handle that?" Angel murmured as she batted her long eyelashes. "What do you say? It is either now or never."

No thought was required; I was a puddle of mush. My head nodded up and down of its own accord.

Angel placed her index and middle fingers against her lips. With a pursing sound she transferred those fingers to my own lips. My heart quickened. I knew what was coming.

I raced through the art museum's vaulted hallways. My feet clicked loudly against the floor. Purpose was written large on my face. A blur of art passed me by. I barely registered the gaudy religious iconography as I searched frantically for my destination.

The three minutes wait in front of the Pollack had been agony. The second my watch turned over, I bolted. Now I was a grey hound set loose from the gate. Body in motion, my eyes darted back and forth. I had to find the room; I had to get the girl.

I almost missed the doorway. While zooming through a room filled with ancient dishes and pottery I screeched to a halt. The entrance was unobtrusive. If I hadn't been looking for it, I would have never given it a second glance. I pivoted, walked toward the aged door frame, and ducked inside.

The room was shaped like a tiny octagon. The walls were a sickly yellow color and completely bare. Above me was the art, a stained glass window of deep blues and reds. I didn't even register the pattern... because at that point I didn't care

Feeling no hesitation I flowed into my Angel's waiting arms. How far had she fallen from the sky? I was sure that one day long ago she was pure; having not known the touch or taste of a cock, a time when she came complete with wings and a halo. But now this servant of God was soiled; she was stripped of her wings. Angel was a debaucherous creature driven by worldly lusts and passions. Fucking was part of her nature. That was why we were here today. Angel was my temptation into sin.

We embraced, grasping each other roughly. We melted into a full throttle kiss. Energy, passion, lust, and fever crackled between us. I was completely smitten; overcome and overwhelmed by desire.

Angel fell backward against the wall. I felt her hand at my crotch. Angel giggled and groped my hardening flesh. For a long moment, her hand kneaded my shaft; too much contact and I would cum in her hand.

"Take it out," I whispered, as I nibbled at her neck.

Angel closed her eyes and moaned "Mmmmm hmmmmn." She released my thickening shaft and it gave it two loving pats through the fabric.

Smiling, Angel flipped her hand, grabbed hold of the metal tang, and tugged. The zipper unlocked with a satisfying metallic sound. My cock, unfettered, popped into the open air of the art museum. I needed no foreplay; I was already as hard as a steel bar.

While stroking my dick with one hand, Angel held my chin with the other. I couldn't look away. There was something feral in the way she probed my eyes. I felt my self bending to her will. With a low, harsh tone Angel demanded, "You are going to put your cock inside of me and fuck me. You aren't going to stop. No matter what happens, no matter who sees, you will not stop slamming my shit. I don't want you to let up until you have cum inside of my cunt. Understand?"

I nodded. We didn't have much time. The museum wasn't crowded today, but some random art enthusiast could stumble upon us fucking at anytime. It had to be hard, it had to be fast, it had to be now. We were animals in heat; this fuck would be nothing shy of primal.

Hands shaking, I undid the buttons of Angel's coat. I felt my breath catch and my eyes grow wide. Angel had done the unimaginable. She was naked, so gloriously naked, except for a black garter belt and stockings. No shirt, no bra, no panties, and no skirt. Unbelievable, she had been walking the halls of the art museum without a stitch of clothing.

I had seen Angel's tits countless times at the Slipper. They were spectacular; so round, fleshy, and buoyant. But despite my aching desire, I had never been allowed to touch. Our escapade in the book store parking lot had been frantic. We had fucked while Angel had remained fully clothed (excepting her underwear, of course). Her boobs had never come into view.

Now her breasts were unavoidable. They were in front of my gaze, and I couldn't help myself. I growled, before mauling both breasts. I was surprised (and pleased!) to learn that Angel had added accessories since I had last seen her completely naked; twin nipple rings. They would have to be examined in aching detail.

Later!

Angel roughly grabbed my ass and pulled me towards her. My cock slid forward, rubbing against her clit. "Oh shit. Forget my tits, and fuck me!" she grunted. I got the picture. I would have time to play with her fabulous breasts later. Time was pressing and there was other business at hand. I had a hard cock and she had a wet cunt. Those two things needed to cum together.

I grabbed Angel's thighs and raised her up against the wall. With a grunting "ooph," she propped herself up and settled into position.

Angel was now completely off the floor; her feet no longer touched the ground. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and implored, "Fuck me."

Angel's tits pressed against me, the metal of the nipple rings seared me through my shirt. My dick pulsed and throbbed against her steaming cunt. My jaw hung slackly, in unthinking need. All I could do was nod before moving into action.

I lowered Angel's body slowly, skin sliding smoothly against skin. It only took three tries to make a connection. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. "Aaaaaahhhhhh! FUCK!!!" Angel was impaled on my cock.

So warm, so wet! Her pussy was liquid heaven. There was no resistance. The walls of her cunt parted as I speared her with my cock.

She felt like a soft, velvet glove gripping me tightly. I uncurled my arms, dropping Angel's body gently onto my shaft. She gasped as I filled her widening hole. Another second and we were touching, skin-to-skin. I was buried inside Angel to the hilt. My fantasy woman was once again riding my fucking dick.

Only this time I controlled the movement. I lifted her body up, practically uncorking her cunt. Then I released letting her fall back down. Angel's legs wrapped around me, as she desperately tried to pull me deeper inside her sweltering cunt. I was overwhelmed in a heady sexual haze. I was such a lucky bastard to be in this place.

Angel clamped down and bit my neck as she tried her best to stifle a moan. For the most part she succeeded. What would have been an ear-piercing howl became a muffled whine.

My eyes opened wide. I tightened my grip on her thighs. The pain was excruciating. The sensation of her teeth digging into my neck became an intoxicating and raw cocktail. Primal needs were released. In response I could only grimace and channel the pain into my bucking hips.

The room smelled of our sex. I could pick up the aroma of our rutting on the air. It was a pungent, raw scent that filled the tiny room.

Long after we would be done fucking the lingering evidence of fresh pussy would remain.

Angel's head was still buried in my neck. She moaned and gasped, trying her best to contain the waves of sensation crashing through her body. She murmured, in a low guttural voice, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...." She punctuated my every thrust with another profane demand. It was an otherworldly chant, set to the rhythm of my pounding beat.

I was getting close, but I still had a little more steam. I raised Angel's body and leaned her shoulders against the wall. I whispered in her ear, "Hold on," and then I truly began to pound her body.

Slam, slam, slam! Over and over I banged into her body. I was pure motion, a jackhammer sledging a driving beat. My fingers dug into her thighs, bracing her against the wall. I was certain there would be bruises the next day.