Cajun Lover

"Looks like you been abandoned, cher," said the man standing next to me at the bar.

"Yeah, it does. It's OK though, since she was telling me earlier how much she needed a man. Looks like she found a good one," I said, eyeing the muscular, well-dressed man in the purple and gold-fringed mask who was dancing with my best friend.

"What about you, do you need a man?"

I looked at him flirtatiously from under my lashes, "Well now, that would depend on the man, wouldn't it?"

He laughed and said, "Would you like to dance?"

Without waiting for an answer, he swept me into his arms and we began to slow dance to a tune I didn't recognize.

"This is a great song. What's it called?"

"Take My Hand by Wayne Toups," he answered. "He's pretty big around here."

He held me close but not too tight; close enough for me to see he had melted-chocolate eyes and soft brown hair. I could smell a hint of soap and some masculine fragrance I liked but couldn't identify.

After a few minutes of slowly circling the dance floor, he said, "I'm Chris, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," I smiled up at him. Even in my high heels he towered over me. "I'm Sally."

He leaned over and put his mouth close to my ear, causing me to shiver slightly.

"All you want to do is ride around Sally, ride Sally ride. Mustang Sally guess you better slow your Mustang down."

I rolled my eyes at him and he grinned sheepishly. "I guess you get that a lot, huh?"

"Actually I do drive a Mustang, so yes, I get it all the time."

"Really, what do you have?" he asked, his eyes lighting with interest.

"It's a '65 convertible with a high output 289. Cherry red."

"Sweet," he said approvingly.

"Do you drive one?" I asked.

"Used to, but now I have a motorcycle."

"Harley?" I questioned.

"No, a Ducati."

"A Duke," I said enviously, "those bikes are sexy as hell. Maybe you could take me for a ride sometime."

He grinned wickedly and said, "I would like to take you for a ride, cher." I caught his double meaning, and felt a blush rising but I didn't drop my eyes.

We smiled at each other companionably, feeling a connection made, and continued dancing. The song changed to something fast and loud and we reluctantly separated.

"Want a drink?" he offered.

I accepted the Dixie when he returned with it and we stood near the bar, watching the action on the dance floor.

"I'm hearing a little Cajun in your voice," I observed.

"Yes, I'm originally from Lafayette."

"I love that place! Been there a couple of times for the Festival International. I especially like the music and the food," I said enthusiastically.

"If you love Cajun music, you come down the street to my apartment and I'll play Jolie Blonde on the fiddle for you," he joked.

"Well, it's a lot more original than asking me up to see your etchings," I said dryly.

"And I make a mean crawfish etouffee, too," he continued.

"Mmmmm....mudbugs," I grinned.

I looked over in the corner to see that my friend Melissa and her masked stranger didn't look too much like strangers any more. She was draped across his lap and they were sharing a passionate kiss. I was pretty sure her hand was investigating the territory below his belt buckle.

"Where you from, cher?" Chris asked.

"I'm living in Houston now but I'm originally from Chicago."

"Oh, a Yankee girl," he said jokingly.

I intentionally deepened my drawl and batted my long eyelashes, "Well, my daddy's from Alabama so that only makes me half Yankee."

"Well that's all right then," he replied. His tone was serious but I could see those warm brown eyes smiling.

We chatted a while longer, discovering we had a lot in common, including a love of science fiction and classic rock music. In addition, we were both lawyers, so we spent an enjoyable half hour swapping stories about oddball cases we'd had over the years.

I noticed Mel disentangle herself from the man's embrace and head for the ladies room.

"'Scuse me," I said, "I'm going to check on my friend."

I followed her through the crowd to the bathrooms, ignoring several drunken invitations to dance, a lewd proposition, and two pinches on the butt.

"Mel, you OK? Um, how's it going?"

Face flushed, sherry-colored eyes sparkling, Melissa said, "Great. I like him a lot. He's a really good kisser."

"Yes, I can see that. You guys must be getting pretty good by now with all the practice you've been doing," I said dryly.

"He's in town with his job and has a roommate so we can't be alone at his place. Is it OK if I use our room for a while?"

Even though it was late and I was tired, I couldn't deny her. She'd been depressed lately over a disintegrating relationship and I hadn't seen her this animated in months.

"Sure, go ahead. It'll be like we were back in college. Just take the Do Not Disturb sign down when it's safe for me to come back. And BE CAREFUL."

"Sure, sure," she giggled like a teenager, gave me a big hug and rushed off.

I took a few minutes to repair my lipstick and comb my hair, critically surveying my satiny pink halter-top and black miniskirt. They still looked relatively fresh and unwrinkled, considering how long ago we'd left the condo. Then I rejoined Chris, who had ordered us another round.

"Well, it looks like I'm homeless for a while. Mel asked me to give her some quality time with her new beau and though I'm exhausted I just couldn't refuse."

"It would be my honor to keep you company, ma petite," Chris took my hand and kissed it. "Would you like to take a stroll down Bourbon Street?"

I agreed and we left the bar and began walking aimlessly, chatting and people-watching. After a half hour, my feet began to ache. When I mentioned it, he said he'd like another drink, so I started to look for a likely looking bar or restaurant. However, he motioned me toward a building a block off the main street with a sign in the window reading "Christopher Arceneaux, Attorney-at-Law".

"I live upstairs."

I gave him an arch look, "How convenient."

He laughed at me and said, "If you're not comfortable we can go back to a nice public restaurant."

"I can take care of myself," I said. "I have a second degree black belt and my boots are registered as lethal weapons." I gestured toward my stiletto-heeled black leather boots and continued, "So consider yourself duly warned, Counselor."

He smiled in acknowledgement and led the way up a narrow staircase. His apartment was small but charming, decorated in an understated masculine style.

"It's nice on the balcony, why don't you go sit out there while I get us a drink. Another beer?" he offered.

"No, I think I've had enough. I'd love iced tea if you have it or if not, water's fine," I said.

"Comin' right up, cher."

Stepping out onto the small balcony, I smiled as the smooth sax of David Sanborn came pouring from two small speakers mounted on the wall. Chris returned with two glasses of iced tea garnished with lemon and a sprig of mint. Instead of an iron table and chairs, he'd installed a swing, complete with fluffy striped cushions. He sat down next to me, idly pushing the swing with one foot as we watched the revelers who packed Bourbon Street spill down his small side street.

"How long are you here for?" he queried presently.

"Just the weekend," I said regretfully.

"Then we'd better make our time together count," he whispered, drawing me close for a soft kiss on the lips.

I sighed with pleasure and leaned into him, letting my eyes drift shut. His big hand reached up and cupped the back of my neck, drawing me closer. His tongue danced lightly over my lips, slipping inside my mouth. His mouth was warm and tasted faintly of mint. I put my hands on his broad shoulders and began to explore his neck and upper arms. He was well-muscled but not bulky. I ran my fingers through the soft brown hair at the nape of his neck, then traced the shell of his left ear lightly with my tongue. He shivered slightly, causing me to smile at his responsiveness. He returned the favor by kissing his way down my jaw, nuzzling the sensitive skin of my neck, then licking his way along my collarbone. It was my turn to shiver and I could feel my nipples harden against the silky material of my blouse.

He returned his attention to my mouth, the kiss becoming deeper and more passionate. One of his hands came up to cup my breast under my pink top. He caressed gently, rubbing and squeezing, his fingers teasingly circling the nipple. Moaning involuntarily, I pressed myself into his hand trying to entice him to play with the stiff tip. He ran his fingers over it, eliciting another moan; meanwhile his other hand was busily exploring my hips and outside thighs, running up and down the side of my tight black skirt.

"Oh, Chris," I whispered. "That feels so good."

He switched hands and rubbed the other breast which was aching for attention. His other hand sneaked around behind me to investigate the round cheeks of my ass. He rubbed both of them, then leisurely ran the side of his hand up and down the cleft between them.

Heedless of the people milling around on the street below, I began to undo his conservative button-down shirt.

"I want to feel your skin," I said longingly. He shrugged out of his shirt to give me better access and I eagerly began to run my hands over his lightly furred chest. I caressed his well-toned biceps then return to explore his hard pecs and flat brown nipples. He groaned when I pinched one lightly.

"Sensitive nipples, huh? Me, too," I smiled impishly. Lowering my head I touched one with the tip of my tongue, licking it lightly before drawing it into my mouth to suck. He dug his hands into my hips as I gave it a little nip, then blew on it to ease the sting.

"Be careful, cher," he said. "Turnabout is fair play."

"Oh, I can take it," I assured him.

Before I realized what he was doing he whipped my shirt over my head. I gasped, both at the cooling night air on my skin and the realization that anyone who happened to look up could see me. My shyness was forgotten, however, when he dipped his head and took a nipple in his mouth.

"Ooohhh," I moaned. He tortured me with slow licks, tantalized with little nibbles. All the while his hand cupped my other breast, kneading the soft flesh and stroking the sensitive nipple. He alternated between sucking my nipple and giving me slow, deep, wet kisses that made my head spin. His patient foreplay was incredibly arousing. I could feel my pussy softening, moistening, aching to be filled.

When his strong hands left my body my eyes popped open in dismay, but I soon realized he was only moving down to unbutton my skirt. He did so, then pulled me to my feet so he could slip it down my legs. He helped me step out of it and I was left standing before him in only my high-heeled black leather boots, fishnet thigh-high stockings and lacy pink thong.

"Beautiful," he said, hooking his fingers into the side strings and sliding it slowly down my legs. Looking at the scrap of silk and lace in his hand, he commented, "Nice bow. Why do I feel like I've seen it somewhere before?"

Coming back to his feet he drew me close. He kissed me hard, rubbing my ass, pressing me against the bulge in his pants. I circled my hips, grinding against him, trying to get closer. I heard a burst of drunken laughter from below, opened my eyes again and feebly tried to pull away.

"Someone will see," I said urgently.

"Nobody cares. It's Mardi Gras," he said. "Let's give'em a real show."

Surrendering to my heretofore-latent streak of exhibitionism, I became bolder, rubbing lazy circles on his back while pressing my erect nipples to his broad chest. My hands dropped to his belt, and lower, wandering to the front of his khaki slacks. I traced the outline of the large bulge, investigating with just my fingertips. Then I squeezed him lightly and began to rub a little harder with the heel of my hand.

"Just like that, darlin'," he whispered huskily. "See how much I want you."

I stroked harder, my hand trapped between our bodies and his mouth on mine. He removed his shoes and socks, then slowly stripped out of his slacks and boxers. My eyes were glued to the tanned flesh he was revealing.

We sank down on the swing and continued our fevered explorations. His hands and mouth on my breasts felt so incredibly good and I moaned my appreciation. I showed it further by grasping his cock in my small hand. It was long and very thick, at the same time velvet-soft and rock-hard. Stroking, squeezing, eyes still clenched shut, I completely forgot who and where I was. All I knew is I wanted that fascinating cock in my mouth.

Sliding off the swing, I knelt before him, placing a hand on each knee to spread his thighs wide. Holding his throbbing dick in one hand, I looked up at him seductively. I extended my tongue and enjoyed the look of ecstasy on his face as my mouth descended on his aroused cock.

"Aaaahh," he groaned softly, looking down at my head buried in his lap. He smelled musky and oh-so-male. I alternated between slow licks up and down the underside and light swirls of my tongue on the soft skin of the head. Finally I took him deep in my mouth and sucked his cock rhythmically, loving the feel of his hands tangled in my long blonde hair.

"I want you to fuck my tits," I said finally. I was so far gone with lust I had forgotten my bare ass and legs in the come-fuck-me boots and fishnet stockings were clearly visible to anyone on the street.

"Mon dieu, yes," he whispered.

Leaning closer, I cupped my breasts in my hands and captured his stiff prick between them. He reached down and grabbed a nipple between each thumb and forefinger, tugging gently. I loved the sight of his thick cock sliding up and down between the creamy mounds of my breasts. On each upstroke I took a little lick of the head, greedily capturing the drops of precome clinging to the tip.

I grabbed one of his hands and replaced one of mine, using my liberated one to reach beneath him and caress his balls which were tight and throbbing. I rubbed and squeezed until he warned, "I'm going to come, Sally."

"Come on Chris," I urged. "Come all over my tits, right now, with half of New Orleans watching."

It wasn't long before he did just that, his body tensing, cock jerking. He grabbed it and began stroking himself furiously. Hot streams splashed on my chest and neck. Leaning over, I took him in my mouth again, sucking him dry, licking up every last bit of it off his still-twitching penis. As I did so, I caressed myself, rubbing the sticky substance into the soft skin of my breasts, cupping and squeezing until I too was in a fever of passion.

"Oh Chris," I moaned, "I need to come."

He needed no further urging. Yanking me up onto the seat of the swing, he spread my legs wide, one across the arm of the swing, the other over his shoulder. Spreading the lips of my swollen wet pussy, he buried his face between my legs like a feline pouncing on a catnip toy. I nearly came off the swing at the first lash of his tongue on my sensitized clit. I moaned and tossed my head from side to side.

"That's it ma petite," he said approvingly. "I want you to come apart for me."

He lowered his head again, flattening his tongue and running it up and down the slippery crevice. He followed this by pointing his tongue and lightly flicking my clit, causing me to whimper and clutch his head closer to me. He tormented me mercilessly, changing speed and pressure, never letting me reach my release. His big hands slowly stroked my inside thighs, kneading the silky flesh. I moaned again, wriggling against his talented mouth, trying desperately to reach the peak.

He drew back slightly and looked up at my passion-flushed face. Licking his lips seductively he whispered, "You have the sweetest pussy I ever tasted."

"Oh Chris," I sighed dazedly, "please don't stop."

"Tell me what you want."

"Oh god, please put your mouth on me again."

"Do you want me to stick my tongue in you?" He suited action to words.

"Do you want me to nibble on your clit?" Again, the action followed the question.

"Should I slip my fingers inside you and rub you here?" he asked, rubbing my g-spot hard with two fingers.

"Chris, please stop torturing me," I begged.

He smiled tenderly and raised his head again. "It's for your own good," he said teasingly. "I want you to come harder than you ever have before."

Kissing his way back up my body, he turned his attention to my breasts with their hard points aching for attention. He gave them the same treatment, circling the aureoles, teasing the nipples but not touching them. I squirmed and pressed my thighs together, trying to ease the burning there. I nearly sobbed with relief when he finally drew an engorged nipple into his mouth. My hands tangled in his hair, trying to draw him closer, needing his hot mouth hard on me. He lavished attention on my full breasts until I was nearly out of my mind.

"Chris, please," I begged, pushing his head down, trying to guide him back to the burning center of my desire.

Finally giving in to my pleas, he gradually made his way back down my body, lightly kissing each nipple before kissing between my breasts then running his tongue down to my belly button. He stopped for a minute to explore, dipping his tongue into my "innie" and making me laugh shakily.

On fire with need, I impatiently raised my hips and he finally moved lower, returning to where I wanted his touch the most. He ran his tongue up the crease of one thigh and down the other, slowly making his way to my pouting labia. He took his time caressing me there before sliding his tongue into that burning crevice. I sighed with satisfaction when I finally felt his tongue on my clit. He licked and sucked on it, steadily increasing the pace. He held my hips firmly, tightening his grip as I began to shudder violently.

"Omigod, omigod," I gasped.

The orgasm slammed into me like a tidal wave, knocking the breath out of me. I continued to shiver as surges of pleasure rolled through me. After what could have been minutes or hours, I finally began to relax.

"You weren't kidding about the etouffe," I said admiringly a few minutes later as we sat in his kitchen enjoying a midnight snack. He had put on a pair of plaid flannel sleep pants and generously offered me the use of his starched button-down. I'd only fastened the middle two buttons, enjoying the lust darkening his eyes every time he got a glimpse of my cleavage or the soft triangle between my legs. I left the boots and thigh-highs on just because they made me feel wicked.

He finished the last of his leftover etouffe, yawned hugely, then suddenly became serious. "Sally, I'd like for you to stay with me tonight."

"I'd like that," I replied a little shyly.

"Good, why don't you call your friend so she won't worry, then we'll retire to my room...for dessert," he winked.

I called Melissa, who assured me she was happily occupied with her stranger, recent depression totally forgotten.

"Did he finally take the mask off?" I joked.

"Oh, yeah, and everything else, too," she returned with satisfaction.

While I made the call Chris was busy in the bedroom. He'd lit some candles, put on a sexy Nina Simone CD and turned down the bed.

He smiled with anticipation as I walked hesitantly into the room. He ambled over to me and gently put his hands on my shoulders, looking down into my eyes.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"A little."

"Don't be," he said, "we'll go as slow or as fast as you like. I'm fine with just cuddling."

I smiled, appreciating his understanding. "I'm OK, just feeling a little vulnerable after that performance outside."

"That was the hottest experience I ever had," he said sincerely. "Don't be embarrassed."

"Thanks," I said, and leaned forward into his warm hug. He kissed the top of my head and led me over to his bed. Before laying me down on it, he knelt at my feet. Unzipping my boots, he slipped them off. Then he took his time removing my stockings, kissing and caressing the smooth flesh of my legs as he slowly slid them down. He massaged my feet for a few minutes, placing tiny kisses on the delicate arches, then nibbling on my toes and making me giggle. Finally he unbuttoned the shirt and slipped it off.