Corrupted Chapter 10, Page 3Omar Tyree
Judging from the pacing and the civility of the moans, Vincent imagined the young doctor was taking his time with her.
“Sounds like he’s had a long day,” he told himself with a grin. “I guess he’s trying to pace himself to get back up for work this morning.”
Knowing he only had a few hours of sleep to get himself, Vincent didn’t plan to listen too long. Besides, the woman sounded pretty mundane. She wasn’t like some of the girls the young doctor invited over, who sounded as if they were auditioning for a porno movie.
With a shrug, Vincent added, “They could just be on their seconds or thirds by now.”
Bored with it already, he pulled his glass away from the wall to go on about his business. But now he had the young doctor on his mind. Athletic and handsome with low cut hair and healthy, chestnut brown skin, the doctor was indeed sexy.
I would love to fuck with him! Vincent told himself for the twentieth time. He had jacked off in his office, bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, library, living room and even in the front door hallway of his apartment with the young doctor on his mind, and on more days and nights than he bothered to count. Now the young doctor was on his mind again.
Vincent sighed and mumbled, “Let me go on in here and get it over with,” as he headed back into his guest bathroom. He then began to role play with an imaginary bathroom scene:
The young doctor, while standing face to face with him in the tight bathroom, says, “I don’t really do this with men.”
Vincent tells him, “I know,” and kisses him in the mouth anyway.
“What are you doing?” the young doctor protests.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
Vincent, a taller man by at least three inches, forces the younger and shorter doctor to take a seat on his toilet. He then undoes his pants and dress shirt in front of him.
“I told you, I don’t do this,” the doctor whines to him.
Vincent cradles his head in both of his hands and stares down at him. “You told me that already, beautiful. But this’ll be just our little secret. And you’ll only do this for me.”
The doctor places both of his hands on Vincent’s torso, ready to push him away. “I’m not gonna do this,” he states.
Vincent drops his pants and boxers to the floor and holds out his penis in front of him. “Yes you are. Just try it,” he tells the doctor. “Open your mouth.”
“Yes,” Vincent tells him, forcing his erect penis into the doctor’s tight lips.
“Mmmpt mmm,” the doctor mumbles.
Vincent grabs the back of the doctor’s head with his right hand, like a cantaloupe, while continuing to guide his erection into the doctor’s mouth with his left.
“Don’t fucking play with me. You knew what you wanted when you came in here,” he snaps at the young doctor. “Now open your fucking mouth and take it.”
Finally, his penis slips into the doctor’s cold, wet mouth.
“That’s it, little boy. Come to daddy,” Vincent tells him. “Come to daddy.”
The doctor looks up at him with wide eyes and his mouthful.
“Don’t look up at me. Finish what you’re doing.”
Vincent covers the doctor’s eyes with his left hand, while the doctor goes back to sucking his cock. He even reaches his hands up and under Vincent’s t-shirt to rub his chest and nipples, ever so softly.
“Oh, yes, that’s how you do me. You act like you’ve done this before.”
In real life, Vincent worked his penis with his right hand, filled with lotion, while massaging his own chest and nipples with his left. But in his imagination, the young doctor sucked him into a frenzy, while rubbing all over his chest and ass with both hands.
“Oooh, come to daddy, baby! That’s the way I like it!” he continued to imagine. “Now take it all.”
Vincent dreamed of ejaculating into the young doctor’s mouth, while the doctor held on and swallowed it. But in real life, the bisexual editor came to climax from his right hand, while he squirted fresh semen into his left, cupped to catch it all like a mouth.
When he was done with himself and his dream, he shook what he could from the semen in his left hand into his toilet. He then washed the rest of his soiled hands in the bathroom sink with soap and water, dried them off with a hand towel from the wall, and headed out of the bathroom for bed as if nothing had happened.
Even Susan Randolph had her fantasies that night. Without being able to enjoy her anticipated evening with Nikola, who had found himself another option, she had gone to bed disappointed and angry. But after waking up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom herself, she was unable to return to sleep. So she lied there in her hotel bed, starring up at the ceiling.
“This is just friggin’ perfect!” she fused at herself in her loose nightclothes. It was nearly four o’clock in the New York morning, and Susan was horny. It wasn’t as if it was the first time either. She was a grown-ass, sexually active woman. So being horny every once and awhile was natural and normal. Susan just didn’t want to be, wishing that she could banish the moistness between her legs and the sluttiness that was on her mind.
“What if I just marched into his room and told him to do me anyway, right out in front of her?” she asked herself. “That would be crazy,” she mumbled with her face in her hands, embarrassed by it all.
“This is just great,” she snapped again, fidgeting and twitching all over the bed. She had tons of rectless, late night energy that she needed to stabilize, but there was no one there to help her to do it with.
She took a deep breath and sighed, still attempting to calm herself. “Where’s that dirty old businessman from the elevator when I need him,” she joked with a giggle. But that would never be an option. She would choose do herself first. And with no one else there that night to satisfy her needs, she began to think of it. It was her breasts, her vagina, and her body, so why couldn’t she enjoy it all?
Susan had touched herself before, a few times, although she still wasn’t too proud of it. Nevertheless, she told herself, As long as I don’t get too addicted to this or anything, I mean . . . what the hell?
So she began with a soft stroke of her left nipple with her thumb and fingers, right through her thin nightclothes. Then she went to her right nipple, while cocking her legs open and working her restless feet into the smooth sheets. From her nipples, she tickled both of her hands down to her stomach and over to the dips in her hips. From her hips, she worked her hands and fingers back over to her belly button and down into her pelvis. And from her pelvis, she worked her long fingers in between her legs and into her clitoris.
“Mmmm,” she moaned to herself. What am I doing?
But it was too late and it felt too good to stop her long, delicate, typing fingers to tap and slip, slide and explore her sweet wet hole.
“Uuuuu,” she moaned again. I really need a boyfriend who’s not gonna be an asshole.
But there was no boyfriend there that night, forcing Susan to work her own horny body with her thumbs and fingers in places where a boyfriend would probably not even think of. She would probably not even ask a boyfriend to do what she was willing to do to herself, or train him to touch her with such gentleness. Men just didn’t have it in them. But what about another woman?
What if I got it on a bit with whoever he has in there with him? Susan asked as she continued to get it on with herself. Oh my God, what I’m thinkin?!
It was all embarrassing to her, but she did it anyway, thought it anyway, and she enjoyed it anyway, until her mind, body and spirit oozed with feminine pleasure all over the hotel bed, where she was wide open and freaky, while hoping and praying that no one would ever know.
With so much freakiness and no sleep going on in New York, Natalie Cumberland sat up beside her healing husband in the same hotel bed from earlier. Michael had ointment all over his face as Natalie continued to apply an icepack to his head. And he was allowed an opportunity to sleep, while she watche
d the clock to make sure that were up in time to catch their plane in the morning.
Natalie shook her head and thought, This has all been a crazy night and a crazy-behind trip! Now I need to get back home and figure out what I’m gonna do about my career.
But now I see what Vincent’s talking about, she mused. People don’t want the normal, everyday life struggles in their books, they want this unexpected craziness.
She looked down at her battered, bruised and sleeping husband and continued to shake her head. Well . . . now you got it.
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