Revenge

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She just wanted him to watch himself enjoy her.
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DireLilith
DireLilith
518 Followers

The door was locked, but Becky pulled her key out of her purse and shoved it into the deadbolt. Then she turned the doorknob, rushing inside. Her free hand pulled Russo in with her, and she slammed him back against the door, lathering him with wet kisses.

He smelled so good, so delicious. And his dark and exotic skin was so smooth and inviting.

She pretty well had to bite the bait when she saw him at her favorite nightclub a half hour ago. Russo was new in town and dangling his worm for all the women to see at one of the more posh clubs downtown. And Becky was not a shy girl, by any means. And seeing the dark Native American man doing his thing on the strobe-lit dance floor had been just what she had needed to see to perk up an otherwise dull night.

Russo was part Italian, Becky had found out later in the elevator. That would account for his swagger-like smile and confident strut. But it was his native blood that made him most attractive.

He had dark hair, long and sleek and shining, that he pulled back in a leather thong behind his neck. He had that incredible brown skin that bore just a hint of red to it, skin that was smooth and soft looking, not greasy in the least like some dark men. Russo didn't appear to sweat as he jived around the dance floor, grinding and bumping with various hopeful one-night-stand types. His huge barrel chest was muscular, his shoulders noticeably knotted, his thighs large and sturdy. And he would let the girls around him touch his stomach, a true sign of arrogance. Russo would let them pull up his tight black T-shirt and run their far-too-long nails over his rippling six-pack.

Watching the young stud, Becky decided she'd had enough.

He thinks he's got it good now, she thought to herself. Wait till he gets a load of what I have in mind for him.

A smile curved one side of Becky's ruby-painted mouth, and she stood up from her stool. The regular circle of friends around her chuckled, watching her, knowing that predatory look in her eyes. Rebecca Jonnson had singled out her prey for the night, and whoever he might be, he was as good as dead.

Carefully, purposefully, Becky picked her way through the thronging masses as they jumped and bounced to a deep bass beat. Her eyes never left the tall man she had been watching.

And before she reached him, Russo saw her coming. And he did not flee. And he did not cower. He grinned.

The fool, Becky thought as she neared him.

Russo had slanted eyes, like those of a panther, very light brown to the point of being almost golden. Becky kept her smile small, her own blue eyes amused as Russo matched her gaze.

He felt wanted, in control and empowered by the obvious desire this very beautiful and sophisticated woman approaching him. He could not have been more wrong. Becky leaned forward, letting the man whiff her heady perfume as she whispered into his ear.

"You know what I would really like to do right now?"

That was all she needed to say. Russo was nodding, drooling, and completely forgetting whoever he had come here with and whoever he had intended to leave with. Walking towards the door, Becky didn't even look back to see if Russo was following her. She knew he would be there, like a bloodhound on the hunt. Or more like a shark desperately following a false trail of chum.

Becky was a shark hunter.

As she walked out the door and into a nearby waiting cab, her friends winked and nudged each other. They likely wouldn't see that new guy around again. Once Becky put her claws into someone, they never lasted long. And they didn't usually dare show their faces anywhere that Becky might be.

The cab ride was boring for Becky, although she was beginning to feel the stirrings of hunger and lust in her belly. Russo introduced himself as a young artist on the rise, taking regular classes by day and posing in the nude most nights for the community college nearby this part of town. Becky nodded but mostly looked out the window. She hated small talk. Meat was for eating, and she didn't like frivolities or falsities.

At last the cab pulled up in front of the right apartment building. Becky paid the driver before Russo could open his wallet, and helped herself out of the cab. Russo tumbled out eagerly after her, his eyes locking on the sway of her hips in her tight white dress. Where the doorman usually stood, Becky paused for a moment. The old man who was paid to let tenants in and out of the building was likely going to the bathroom. He took frequent breaks all night long.

That couldn't be more perfect, Becky thought, letting herself inside.

And then the elevator ride, and Russo's questing hands. Then the door. And then her attack.

She covered his perfectly shaped mouth with her own, kissing him deeply. Russo's hands molded over her hips, beginning to lift her tight dress up over her ass.

"No," Becky whispered, pulling back and looking into Russo's lion-like gaze. "Not here. Come with me. Come..."

Taking the tall man by the hand, Becky led him to the back hall. She passed by the first two rooms, both of which held only office computers and work desks. They were the rooms of the rich and the motivated, and they weren't what she was looking for.

"Here," she said to Russo, opening the last door and pulling him inside.

The bedroom was incredibly lavish, very classy, and very erotic. Large Venetian blinds covered a wall that was entirely made of windows going from ceiling to floor. When Becky opened them up, all that Russo could see was his reflection in the light of several well-placed boudoir lamps, and the night beyond. Another wall was made of mirrors, likely hiding valuable closet space. And in the center of the room was a large white bed. It had no head board, no posts, no obvious railings. All Russo could see was a pristine white duvet, crisp starched sheets, and an occasional lump caused by a pillow.

"This is an incredible room!" he exclaimed.

"It gets better," Becky said quietly, grinning.

She reached into a small bureau near the door and pulled out a remote control. A panel on one of the remaining walls slid away and revealed a large television screen. Becky pressed another button, and the screen lit up. It was a scene of the bedroom, and when Russo looked around, he could see the camera hanging from the ceiling just above the monitor. His eyes followed the almost hidden electric cords from the camera to a recorder beneath the monitor, and he gulped.

"No way," he said. "I am not going to make a film here. You're a beautiful lady, but there's no way I'm going to do that!"

"No no, silly," Becky said soothingly. "Look, there's no tape in the VCR. See? I don't want to make a movie with you. I just want you to have the chance of seeing yourself...enjoying me..."

With that, Becky backed up and away from Russo, slowly peeling her clothing from her body. The white dress slipped from her shoulders when she undid the fastenings on the bodice. Her round white breasts were exposed now, the dark nipples bunched up and tight in the cool air of the bedroom. Lower, the dress went lower. And soon Becky was naked in front of the windows.

Russo could see the reflection of her perfect ass in the glass behind her. For a moment, he wondered who else out there could see it. Who knew what kind of perverts lived in the nearby buildings, and who knew what they would see?

But Becky was laying herself out on the bed now, her creamy thighs spreading slightly. Russo could see a flash of pink showing from in the midst of her dark curls, and he licked his lips.

"Got anything to drink?" he asked, realizing how parched his throat suddenly was.

"Over there, in that cabinet."

Becky pointed, rolling onto her stomach. And Russo walked over to the cabinet. Inside he found an expensive bottle of champagne. And in an attached bar fridge there was a cloth bag with crushed ice inside. Nearby on the floor was the perfect champagne bucket. Russo set it up, trying to work out what he would do next.

"Glasses are over here," Becky said.

And Russo noted how seductive her voice sounded. He turned to look at her, letting the opened bottle breathe a moment in the ice bucket.

"Unless," she said softly, "you wanted to drink it a different way..."

Something about her position now made Russo's mind reel with ideas.

Becky was a beautiful woman, not athletic by any means, but so slender. She curved in all the right places, and laying naked on the white duvet, Russo could see so many possibilities. A dip here, a bowl there, he thought as the young woman rolled over onto her back. Her eyes never left his and he could feel the suggestions brimming from Becky. Russo could not resist.

Slowly, he moved forward, chilled bottle in hand. He put a knee on the bed, and Becky slid her body around, her head away from him, her knees near to his side of the bed. The young man gulped, not knowing where to begin. But as if seeing his indecision, Becky stretched her arms out above her head, her long and chocolate brown hair hanging in soft waves to the floor. Her neck and back were arched, leaving her stomach a flat hollowed bowl. Russo lowered the mouth of the bottle, watching as Becky's skin prickled up as the cold liquid splashed over her navel.

"Don't worry about making a mess in this room," she smiled, her voice golden and purring.

Russo put the bottle on the floor, safely away from the bed, and carefully leaned over Becky.

"You should remove your shirt," she suggested quietly.

So Russo did. Becky smiled, seeing herself reflected in the mirrored glass doors of the wall near her, watching as Russo's mouth dipped down to her flesh. Champagne drunk from Becky's belly tasted more divine than anything Russo had ever imagined. And without reservation, he moved lower.

The young man parted Becky's thighs, lifting her legs up over his shoulders as his mouth sought her wet pussy. Champagne dripped from his lips onto her clitoris, and he suckled it, hungrily. He was a man starved, having suddenly found the nectar of the gods. And he was determined to have more.

Russo picked up the bottle and Becky closed her eyes, shivering in anticipation. The man placed his long, flat tongue against Becky's skin, just beneath her aching hole. Then, he carefully poured more champagne over her pubis, catching it on his tongue as it rushed over her hardening clitoris and between her pussy lips. Golden liquid poured into his mouth, and he moaned. Becky moaned in unison with him as he moved his tongue deeper inside her. She could feel the bubbles fizzling within her walls as his tongue delved deeper and deeper.

Becky writhed, letting Russo enjoy this moment, letting herself enjoy it far too much. Then, before she climaxed, she pushed his head away.

"Do more," she urged, turning over onto her stomach, watching the mirrors.

Russo noticed where her eyes were, and grinned at her with his reflection. Of his own accord, he stood and began to unbuckle his tight jeans. When he dropped them to the ground, Becky moaned. Russo was hard, a very big and thick eight inches or more of cock flesh jutting from his hips. And his brown skin ran everywhere, showing no tan lines.

He picked up the bottle again, feeling Becky watching his every move in the mirrors. Slowly, painfully slowly, he raised the bottle high up in the air, letting it splash down on Becky's dipped spine.

"Oh!" she moaned, forcing herself not to pull away.

Russo put a hand on either side of the spread-out woman and lowered his mouth to her back, lapping up the champagne that had managed to remain. He licked down to her buttocks, flicking over the few drops that had splashed down onto Becky's divine derriere. Then he moved up, licking his way to her neck as he pressed his cock between her thighs.

"I'll help you," she whispered, and she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. Russo rose with her, holding her hips between his big slender fingers. Becky watched him watching her body, and gave herself a little shake, making her bottom move against his hard groin.

He had a very perfect cock, she thought. Then he was thrusting it into her, diving deep into her folds, plunging against her walls. Becky moaned, closing her eyes in pleasure and delight. Then she opened them, looking in the mirrors.

Russo's face was contorted into a tight grimace. The ordeal of licking champagne from Becky had been too much for him. He was harder than he could remember in a long time. And he couldn't help but buck and thrust and fuck into that warm, dark champagne-flavored pussy. Becky loved doing that to men, putting them beyond their own limits of self control.

She watched now as he grimaced, watched him making porno faces without realizing it. Russo was really into this, enjoying the tight pussy around him, enjoying the scent of champagne all around the room now. Champagne and sex.

But before he could cum, Becky pulled away. She turned and looked up at him, her eyes almost pleading.

"Let me drink now," she said coyly.

Russo gulped. He couldn't believe this. How could one new kid on the block get so damned lucky, so fast? He nodded and Becky reached forward for the champagne bottle. Smiling slyly, she glanced at the date, something Russo hadn't noticed. The label was peeling off from the moisture, but the date could still be clearly seen. 1883. A rare and vintage year that any collector of French champagnes would pay very well to have.

Oh well, Becky thought mirthfully as she pushed Russo back slightly. Russo's stomach was rippling, and Becky had to pour slowly to make sure the champagne didn't fly off of the rippling brown skin too fast. Carefully, she moved her mouth until it was just beneath the head of Russo's cock. Then she stuck out her tongue much as he had earlier. And then, she poured.

Russo watched in the mirror, his mouth agape as the liquid poured down his stomach, down his lower abdomen, down his cock, and into Becky's mouth. A trail of nectar, lust and elegance wrapped in a bottle.

Becky poured for only a few seconds, wetting her tongue with the expensive and rare drink. Then she dropped the bottle in a very nonchalant manner and let it roll off the bed and onto the floor, the last of its treasures lost to the thick carpeting. She returned to paying very lavish attention to Russo's waiting cock.

"Mmmm," she moaned around his flesh, sucking him deeply inside.

"Fuck, that feels so good!" Russo exclaimed as Becky's tongue ran willy-nilly over him while he was buried inside her mouth.

And Becky turned her head sly, looking at the mirrors. And she winked, something Russo didn't see.

Becky sucked and sucked, quickly bobbing her head up and down on Russo's hard rod. He couldn't hold back anymore, it had all been too much. And without warning, he exploded into Becky's mouth.

She pulled back, but not without catching a large gulp on her tongue. As Russo sank exhausted to the bed, moaning and groaning in satisfaction, Becky turned as if to get dressed or to grab the bottle. But really, she looked at the mirror, and winked again, opening her mouth to show what she had stored there. Then she swallowed and stood up.

"I've got to have a shower," she said, trying not to yawn.

"Sure, sure," Russo mumbled. "Mind if I lay here a bit? I'm...exhausted..."

"Not at all."

Becky grinned, watching as Russo wrapped himself up in the very expensive blankets and sheets and promptly fell asleep. After her shower, she put her white dress back on, quietly. Then she stood near the bed. The man was quite asleep, his long dark hair splayed out in a shadowy halo over the bed's edge. Becky smiled and shrugged.

What a waste, she thought to herself as she pulled the blinds closed against the coming of the sun. An alarm clock nearby said in digital red letters that it was almost seven in the morning. She needed to head out of here, and fast.

Carefully she opened the closet, reaching in and pressing a few buttons on a machine inside. She removed a new tape from a box and put it into a second machine, then pressed some more buttons, recording the contents of one onto the other. Then she took one copy and closed the closet door.

She smiled once more at Russo.

"Poor guy. Oh well, be seeing you!"

She walked out, locking the door behind her as she left but slipping the key under the door. It would naturally slide under the mat there, and go unnoticed by Mark, the man who lived at the apartment now.

Becky couldn't help but chuckle all the way downstairs in the elevator. And when the day shift doorman saw her walking out, he reached out a hand.

"Miss, I was told not to let you in here anymore!"

"You aren't letting me in," she responded, patting his cheek. "You're letting me out."

And with that, Becky sashayed down the street.

Mark would come home soon from his trip to Bermuda, on which he had surely taken his latest little trollop. He would walk in the door and not notice until too late that there was a large Indian sleeping in his now totally destroyed bed. He would eventually find the tape in the closet VCR that Becky had set up some time ago. And he would realize that not only had she recorded the night's events and left him a copy for his viewing pleasure, she had probably recorded quite a few nights of Mark playing hooky while Becky was at work.

Revenge is a dish best served cold, some said.

Becky felt it was best served with champagne.

DireLilith
DireLilith
518 Followers
  • COMMENTS
1 Comments
C_frommnC_frommnover 14 years ago
Getting Back

Can be a B!tch When you think your getting away with Something and Obviously your Not!..

I think Mark will think more then once before Messing with Becky.

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