Your Night Is Mine

Fireworks burst in the night sky overhead and a menagerie of costumed men and women push past me on the crowded street. The inebriated celebrants shy away and let me pass when I glare them down with my practiced 'Do Not Fuck With Me' face. It takes quite a lot of practice to get it right when you're a five-foot-six woman. I scan the crowd and regain sight of you as you turn down a wide stairway and into an underground concourse. My lips can't help but curl up in a smile.

Your night was mine the moment you decided to cheat in my casino. I may not own the glittering gaming halls of the Peixe Voador, but as a security consultant, it's part of my job to consider the casino's possessions my own. At least when a swindler tries to take them from me.

It's lucky for you, in a way, that it was just me watching the camera feed at table fifteen when you palmed the dice and threw your own on a big bet. Your plan was obvious. Win one big bet and then fuck off into the impossible nighttime revelry of Carnival. Loaded dice get noticed quickly. With the press of a button I sent a silent alert to the table dealer to cycle the dice and play it cool. I was impressed by your balls, as you stayed put with your pile of chips, maybe to lose a few small bets to cover your ass. I zoomed the camera in. Your tight, juicy ass. You were dressed as any young man out for fun, a black shirt open down the front showing off your shaved, tan chest, and black pants. My plan for your evening formed quickly, and I felt a quiver between my legs.

Just as I predicted, three losing bets later you made a pouty show of disappointment and slipped away from the table with your mountain of coins. I observed with mirth as you cashed out at the cage with your eyes darting around, betraying your guilt. Some might say to get you before you changed your chips, but I know that Peixe Voador chips are traded at near face value on the street, and besides, I had other plans. Slinging my nylon security messenger bag over my shoulder I let the casino staff know I was going to head out and handle a situation.

Stepping out onto the crowded street I saw you smoothly mix in with the crowd, a fattened leather case hanging off one shoulder, but you made a mistake heading into that concourse.

As I step down into the concrete throughway the sounds of the street quickly become muted and distant. Before me, the long underground concourse stretches forward, a fifty-foot wide concrete paving-stone path. The path is bisected by a line of columns, each about four feet in diameter, supporting the middle of the ceiling all the way down the concourse. The way is lined on the south side with boutique shops. The shops are closed at this hour, and the lights on that side of the path are shut off, with only a few logo displays and emergency exit signs still glowing. The north side is brightly lit for after-hours foot traffic.

There are few people walking the concourse at the moment, however. Two aged women in bright and fluffy frocks, a security man in his brown shirt with gold piping, two young men holding a third young man upright after a little too much good cheer. Far too much excitement in the height of the celebration to be down here.

My heels click-clack pointedly as I walk with purpose across the smooth paving stones. I see you conspicuously strolling at a leisurely pace about a hundred yards down the concourse as the security man passes by. My tight black pinstripe pantsuit swishes with my accelerated gait. I notice you're not carrying your leather case. Perhaps you've stashed it, perhaps you're worried. You're right to be worried.

A loud beep-beep issues from the security man's radio and a string of garbled Portuguese flows from it. The man stops and slowly turns around in place, casting his eyes about while speaking into the radio. I notice you hesitate, then keep walking. The security man's radio barks and the man turns around and begins quickly jogging in your direction. I smile inwardly as you nearly dive into the darkness of the closed shopping area to avoid him. The security man turns his head and excuses himself as he never breaks pace passing you on his way to the other end of the concourse.

As I approach, you are sitting in the dark on a concrete bench a few feet away from the lighted path.

I sit down, my suit pants stretching around my ample ass.

"Bad night?" I ask in my limited Portuguese.

You seem startled at first, but smile at me and answer in heavily accented English, "Ah, yes, very rough night."

I smile right back and switch to English, "I believe it might be about to get worse. There is security at both ends of this concourse," I bluff, "Private security. And I am private security at the Peixe Voador. We have you on camera."

Your eyes widen and your head turns to peer at the security man still jogging away down the path. I can sense you're a flight risk.

"Private security. The police have not been called. I believe we can handle this right here," I speak as my eyes drill into yours and I slide my ass toward you on the glossy smooth bench to place a firm hand on your forearm, "We will simply require our money back. As you'll never be stepping into our casino again, we have no problem letting you go as you'll only be stealing from our competition."

Your arm tenses in my grip but you remain still. I lean close, wrap my other arm around your back to clasp my hand around your free arm, and breathily whisper in your ear, "Trust me. It's better this way."

You sigh and I can feel your body slowly relax. You nod your head, haltingly.

"Good. Now we'll have to take this step by step, but don't worry, you'll be free to go when we finish," I explain as I pull your arms behind you and smoothly pull my short handcuffs from the security bag, "First things first, I need to search you, understand?"

"Yes," you say, your eyes forward and resigned as I cuff your hands behind your back. I nudge you to stand, pick up my bag and, with my hand on your bicep, lead you forward, further into the dark side of the concourse.

"For privacy," I say. As my eyes adjust I see we are in front of an exercise club and an expensive sport outfitter. Lean mannequins model sports bras and yoga pants in the shop window. Outside the shop and club are two polished concrete statues on raised dais. One a male soccer player at the apogee of a bicycle kick, the other a female skier in the half-crouched downhill position.

I lay my bag on the ground as you stand, slightly bowed, clearly uncertain as to what's going to happen next. You glance furtively at me as I approach you, my hips swaying as my heels click on the paving stones. I slide my hand along the small of your back and let it rest on your side. "Relax," I whisper in your ear, and give your side a gentle squeeze. My word seems to have the opposite effect as I slowly sweep my hands over your shoulders and across your torso. I can feel your heart nearly pounding out of your smooth shaved chest. I can't help but murmur my approval. You begin to breath through your mouth as my hands work their way down your unbuttoned shirt and find your nipples. I smile and look you straight in the eyes as I flare out your shirt and tweak both hard nubs at once.

Your eyes widen with sudden revelation and it's clear you're unsure how to feel about this turn of events. "Don't worry," I coyly state as I draw you close to me, my fingers tightly gripping your nipples, "I just need to find out what you've got hidden."

I caress your smooth chest and undo the last few buttons on your black silk shirt. I let it hang open as I trace a line down across your stomach. Moving to your left side I slip my right hand up the back of your shirt and rest it on the small of your back. My left hand briefly grazes your bared belly with my fingertips. I'd scratch you, but long nails just won't do for security work. My breasts press into your left arm and side as I flatten my left hand and press my fingers under your belt and down the front of your pants. I feel the elastic waistband of your briefs and purse my lips.

"These won't do," I whisper, my hot breath in your ear, "This search requires total access."

I swiftly retrieve a thick pair of shears, used for cutting zip ties, from my security bag. I roughly pull you close by your belt, cowing you with my gaze. Reaching into your pants at your side I grab the elastic of your briefs and quickly snip them apart before spinning you in place to cut the other side. I slip my hand under your waistband and curtly rip your ruined briefs up and out of your pants. I hold them before you momentarily, smiling, then ball them up and throw them toward the lit half of the concourse. They come to rest near the concrete bench.

Returning to your side my hands resume their search. My left hand resumes its search beneath your waistline as I pull you close, pressing our bodies together with my right arm. My left hand slowly surveys your pubic area. I nearly come in my moistening panties when I realize you are totally shaven. Lizard smooth from belt-line to balls.

"Hot date tonight?" I rasp as I wrap my fingers around your cock. A weak grunt is all that escapes your lips as I gently squeeze your shaft. Your hot, smooth member quickly rising to attention. I softly slide my fingers in a ring up and down your throbbing, rigid cock. I can feel your body tense and release as I touch you. I grasp your balls and cup them against your groin possessively. I quietly growl in Portuguese in your ear, "Tonight, your body is mine."

I continue to stroke your hard dick as we begin to hear the ribald voices of a few party-goers starting down the concourse. Our backs are facing the brightly lit portion of the walkway, and anyone looking into the darkness would be hard-pressed to see much beyond the line separating the light and dark. Even still, the group of young men and woman laugh and their giggles echo loudly against the concrete walls as they pass by.

Your body stiffens as my right hand drifts from your side and slides down into your pants, coming to rest on your ass cheek. Squeezing and kneading your smooth, tight butt, I cross my leg over yours and softly grind my crotch against your upper thigh. The fabrics swish with my lewd motion.

"Don't worry, my prize," I whisper, "I take care of my possessions."

In a fluid motion I place my hand between the cheeks of your ass and slide my fingers down to your asshole. Your sudden inward breath ignites a massive quiver between my legs, and I can't help but press my pussy harder onto your thigh. My left hand strokes your lovely cock from the stone hard base up to the plump head. I make a cage of my fingers and lightly caress the head and tip of your shaft with my fingertips. As I rub lightly on the sensitive underside of your cockhead, I slide a finger swiftly up your asshole.

You gasp and tremble, clearly confused at the dual sensations. I am careful to be gentle with your ass as I slowly move my finger, feeling your inner passage, and claiming it for my own. For several minutes we remain embraced just so, your shuddering waves of new experience radiating directly into my crotch as I stroke your cock and slowly finger-fuck your asshole.

A few blissful moments later I slowly, ever so slowly, remove my finger from your anus. I stand upright, still gripping your rigid cock, and lead you towards one of the thick concrete columns further in the darkness. Circling around to the rear of the column I release your dick and press your face to the hard, cold, polished masonry. I unlock your handcuffs for but a brief moment and I can see the momentary confusion in your eyes. Smiling, I quickly and roughly pull your arms around the column and re-cuff your wrists. You grunt and your hands splay open to plead with me, but I am not one for mercy. Without payment, that is.

I circle back around, behind you now, and thrust my hand between your legs, roughly grasping your balls through your thin pants. I slide my hand back and up, my fingers plunging deeply between your ass cheeks as they travel, and come to rest on your belt. I pull up hard, and hear the stitching of your inseam strain and pop. You stiffen again, in that cute way you do, as I squat down behind you. My left hand snakes around to wrench the belt unbuckled. I pull it off swiftly and several of your belt loops rip. The belt jangles as I throw it aside.

Pressing your pants against your firm butt, I softly kiss each of your ass cheeks through the fabric. I smile as I grasp each side of the waistband and violently pull outwards. The front button pops off and clicks against the column and the floor. I giggle involuntarily as your zipper flap quickly rips away. I continue to pull on your waistband and the tear continues far down your crotch and inseam.

I let the ruined remnants of your pants fall to the floor around your ankles as I playfully tickle the inside of your thigh, "Doesn't that feel better?"

Your flush face, pressed against the column, your eyes shut, tells me all I want to know. I quickly remove the remaining tatters of your pants, as well as your shoes and socks, as I tease your smooth legs. I stand and fling your shoes far down the concourse. They clatter across the floor, drawing inquisitive looks from passersby in the lit walkway.

After slipping out of my jacket, I slap my hands against your asscheeks as I quickly squat back down, my knees apart as I balance on my sharp heels. I spread your cheeks widely. A grunt escapes my throat as I see your perfect rosebud asshole, and I thrust my face into your ass.

I hear a gasp as I press the tip of my sinuous tongue through your clenching anus and begin to explore the pulsing velvet passage of your asshole. My slit drips with excitement as your anus squeezes my tongue. My lips are wide and sealed against the rim of your anal opening. I snake my tongue in and out, caressing your muscled inner walls. Drool begins to leak from the sides of my mouth and flow downwards, dousing the collar of my striped shirt. I grip the soft cheeks of your ass and spread them ever wider. I press further inwards and suck gently on the virgin skin of your asshole as your anus spasms around my long, wet, probing tongue. I hear your fingernails scrape across concrete as you embrace the column ever more tightly.

I tongue you lavishly for many long, wet minutes. Garishly dressed party-goers continue to walk by in the glaring light of the main throughway. Some stumble with drunken smiles and some stare off into the darkness towards our direction. Almost as if they know that there is a man in the blackness giving himself and his delicious ass to me.

I release my hold on your asscheeks and they envelop my face as my tongue continues to slide in and out of your tight anus. I caress your inner thighs and find your cock erect and straining against the column. I move my hands back and find your balls tight. I coax them with my fingers and gently tug until they loosen up. I feel your hot scrotum resting against my saliva-slick chin. My tongue retreats from your asshole and I cannot resist wrapping it around each hanging ball before sucking them into my warm mouth one at a time. As I suckle your balls, my right hand strokes your cock up and down and my left hand has found its way between my spread legs to rub my aching sex through the fabric of my crotch.

I tongue your balls until they are fairly dripping with my saliva. A dark spot is slowly spreading from between my legs and my ankles are beginning to tremble with the strain of balancing on my heels. I look about our perfect surroundings as I lick my lips, savoring the salty, sweaty taste of your balls. An idea flashes in my head. After first kissing the back of your scrotum, I lick up and up, over your pulsing asshole and up through the cleft of your asscheeks as I stand.

"I want you to enjoy this as much as I am," I whisper into your ear, "let's see if we can find you some action."

Unlocking the handcuffs, I remove your shirt and drop it onto the ground. I push you away from the column and toward one of the concrete statues. The female skier. As we walk I see you stare out at the increasing traffic in the lit concourse. The statue is polished concrete and slightly larger than life. It is shaped like a downhill skier in the tuck position, her knees bent and her rear end raised up. The carved form is well-cut, and the skier's skin-tight suit follows each curve of her athletic legs and butt. The figure is on a dais two steps high. As we circle to the rear, the statue's enlarged proportions are evident as her ample ass and thick, toned thighs are thrust towards us. Towards you, I mean.

"Here's your date, love," I say as I push you up the steps. You hesitate on top of the dais, clearly uncertain. I wrap my fingers around your cock. "She's all for you," I rasp as I jerk you roughly, "look at that glorious ass. Time to get in there."

I press you forward and carefully place your dick between the cool glossy-polished thighs of the crouching statue. I push your chest over the big ass of the skier and drape your naked body over the statue's lower back. I pull your arms forward and re-cuff your wrists over the breasts of the figure. I cup my hand and give your ass a hard, loud, slap. Your hips jerk, pressing futilely into rear of the statue's groin.

Squatting down behind you, I drag my fingernails up the back of your legs, watching from below as your cock twitches against the glossy smooth inner thighs of the skier. I kiss the back of your thighs while my fingers slowly spread the cheeks of your ass once again. Your buttocks clench sharply as my tongue enters you with renewed vigor. I can sense your pleasure by the way your anus accepts my long, thrusting tongue. In and out, I tongue-fuck your asshole with abandon. You move your feet apart to grant me easier access. I groan my approval into your rear end. I place my hands on the insides of your knees and press outward, widening your stance even further.

Withdrawing from your anus, my slick tongue explores up the crack of your ass and then downwards to the area between your balls and asshole, kissing and teasing. From my low vantage I see your hands gripping the skier's chest, your knuckles whitening. Returning my tongue back home, back to your incredible asshole, I redouble my efforts. I open my mouth wide and snake my tongue in and out as deeply as I can. I hear you groan into the concrete skier as you rise on your tiptoes, aiding my velvet assault.

The foot-traffic in the concourse has increased ten-fold as the festivities begin to wind down on the street and heat up in the private homes and clubs. A steady stream of tourists and sequin-costumed parade participants walks by, and from time to time a particularly wayward celebrant strays into the dark half of the mall. These individuals either stare straight ahead, intent on remaining standing, or else gaze glassily our way, letting out a salubrious whoop as they raise their mostly empty cups in our direction. Your head faces firmly away from those who may look, whereas each passing witness makes the wet patch on my pants grow ever larger. Though from the way your cock twitches upward, lightly tap-tapping on the crotch of your concrete lover, I can tell, despite your protest, that the audience is doing something for you, too.

I stand and retrieve my security bag. Taking out four zip-ties, I unclasp the handcuffs keeping you mated to the feminine statue. I walk you around to the front of the skier and stand close to your chest. My covered breasts graze your sweat-slicked skin and my lips nearly touch yours as I gaze straight into your eyes. I see a mix of confusion, fear, and expectation in them, and it nearly makes me come on the spot. I place my hands on your shoulders and push down hard. You reluctantly submit, still staring into my eyes as you slowly lower down, down to the ground.