The Welder - Part I

The Welder - Part II

Part III

He'll disappear without another word and I'll marvel at how dark a room can be in the middle of the day. I turn my head towards the sounds I hear; opening and closing doors, shuffling feet, running water. I'll look down at my wedding ring and nearly cry, wishing I could take it off, but knowing that even if I did, there would still be a pale indentation where it used to be. I'll glance around the room and admire the two emotionally desolate, abstract works of art on the walls. The decor won't be what you'd expect from a construction worker. There will be a floor to ceiling bookshelf, a complex stereo system, a mirror, purple and green candles in strange shapes and a very comfortable looking black leather couch.

He'll come back a half an hour later, his wet hair slicked back away from his now shiny clean face, no shirt on, just loose black pants. I'll realize why he makes me giggle. Because he's a god. He's perfect. He's chiseled and smooth and well muscled and beautiful. I'll look at the ground to keep from making a fool of myself again.

"You're a good girl, aren't you? Good at following rules? You can answer."

"Yes." I'll wonder if I have to call him sir, or master or something, but he doesn't offer it.

"What else are you good at?" He'll say in a low, growling voice. I'll feel bold for a second, and sexy and alluring. I'll look up at him and grin.

"A lot of things," I'll whisper. He'll crouch in front of me, one hand stroking my cheek, his eyes boring into me and say,

"You know what I really think, kitten? I think you talk a very big game. I think you want to be good at a lot of things. I think you'd like to be a naughty slut, but you're not. I think you'd like to go out and fuck with abandon...but you're a good girl and you behave yourself. In fact, I think that really just being here with me, you're sort of nervous about it. Right?"

"You're right," I'll say, and surprisingly, he'll kiss my forehead. His fingers will trail along my jaw line and he'll smile at me.

"That's O.K. I like you to be nervous. It's honest. And it looks good on you, your cheeks all pink, your lip trembling." I'll look down and he'll lift my chin to look at him. "I'll take care of you."

"What if I want you to stop?"

"You don't," he'll say immediately.

"But what if I do?"

He'll kneel down on the floor with me then, facing me, his knees touching mine. His big, thick hands will take hold of my face, framing my jaw bone, his thumbs on the soft part of my cheeks, his longest fingers nearly wrapping to the back of my neck. And then he'll kiss me on the mouth for the first time, so deeply and with such power and passion that against my better judgement, I'll whine at him like an animal. His kiss will be so expert, his lips perfectly pressed against mine. I'll feel like I'm going to fall backwards, so I rest on my palms, on the floor behind my back. His tongue will be warm and smooth and soft, twisting and slipping over mine, and he'll break the kiss with a little bite on my bottom lip.

"Then you tell me to stop. And I will. You can trust me. I brought you here to have fun. I brought you here to give you a taste of what you want. You want to be my slut, don't you?"

I'll nod without thinking. He'll kiss me again, but his hands will move from my face to my shoulders, down the length of my arms, and he'll grip my wrists tightly and hold them together behind my back. He'll pin them to the floor and push me backwards, kissing me harder, his lips trailing down to my chin, the soft part underneath my jaw, the hollow at the base of my throat. He'll growl against my skin, he'll sound like he's preparing to tear me apart. He'll devour me with kisses, sucking at my nipples, nibbling at the white, rarely exposed flesh of my stomach, the soft skin of my inner thighs. I'll close my eyes and throw my head backwards to just be in the dark and feel what he's doing. His tongue will tickle at the wetness between my legs and I'll shiver.

It will be much different from the feeling that I get from my husband. His lips will be different, his technique will be different. I'll make a noise of approval and he'll look up and grin at me.

"You like that, whore?" The words will come out as breathy, hot puffs of lust against my skin. I'll dig my heels into the floor and not answer him. He'll pull away and rest back on his heels again. His breathing will be the only sound in the room.

"Why did you stop?" I'll ask. His hands will be on his hips, chest heaving with anticipation. He'll flick his head back, clearing a dark lock of hair from his eyes. "Are we moving to the bedroom?" I'll ask huskily, trying a bit of seduction. He'll just laugh.

"No my dear. That's one room you'll never see. That's reserved for me and my girlfriend, who I love very much. We cuddle together in there, sleep in each other's arms. If you don't mind, I'll fuck you out here on the floor, like the whore you are."

Not waiting for my reaction to his insult, he'll put a fingertip on my ankle and draw it up the inside of my leg, making me spread them a little further instinctually.

"Oh, you're anxious, aren’t you? You're a horny little bitch, aren't you?" He'll hiss.

I won't answer him. I'll know that he doesn't want me to answer. When his fingers reach my knee, he'll bend my leg and lift it, tickling and kissing the bottom of my foot. He'll drag his warm tongue over my toes and to the top of my foot, he'll kiss my ankle, then let my knee bend so that my foot brushes across the thick bulge in his pants. I'll smile a bit with pride, knowing I've excited him. All the while, his tongue will be working up my leg and then he'll place a tender kiss on my pelvic bone, where it bumps out of the skin. I'll unconsciously arch my back, trying to urge his kisses to move lower. I'll come just short of begging for him to lick me. He'll know. He'll tease me. "What is it you want from me you little saint? Come on, tell me."

I'll stare back at him, hesitant to say anything. He'll return to kissing my feet, moving further and further away from the heat between my legs. I'll let out a whine.

"No no, my girl. You have to say it. You have to tell me what you want. I want to hear you say dirty words. What do you want?" He'll grin at me. He'll hover over me. He'll realize that I've always talked a big game and that it embarrasses me to talk that way. I'm not very good at being a slut. I'll whine at him. I'll beg with my eyes, but he'll just shake his head at me. I'll feel the heat radiate from his skin.

"Come on, slut. Beg me for it. Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. I'll give it to you so hard you'll cry. Come on, two little words and I'll make you come so hard you won't know what hit you."

"Please," I'll choke out, arching my back just to feel his skin against mine. He'll brush his lips across my forehead, down over my nose. He'll flick his tongue out across my lips and I'll try to kiss him back but he'll pull away.

"Say it."

"I want you," I'll say, and he'll just shake his head.

"Not good enough, bitch. Tell me more." While he speaks, he'll spread my legs and place himself gently between them. Only inches will separate us. His thick, muscular arms will be on either side of my chest, pinning me in place. I'll widen my eyes at him, give him a smile, but he won't budge. I'm going to have to say it. "Come on," he'll whisper one more time. I'll huff out a sigh and say,

"I want you to fuck my pussy with that big, hard cock."

He'll crush his lips against mine, kissing me harder than I could imagine, and thrust himself into me in one deep stroke, holding me still with one hand on the back of my neck and the other gripping my side. He'll groan his approval into my ear and slowly drive into me over and over again, grinding my back into the cold, hardwood floor, pulling at my hair to make me look him in the eye.

"What a good fuck you are you tight, fucking slut."

The baseness of his words, the way he thinks of me will make me even hotter and I'll feel my stomach start to knot up and warm through. I'll feel my thighs begin to quiver and my cheeks flush.

"Are you going to come for me slut? I want to hear you scream for me. Let it go, baby. Come on, let me hear it."

He'll fuck me harder and harder, and I'll know that he's as hot as I am. I'll know that his toughness is betrayed by the urgency in his face. He's going to come for ME, too. I'll throw my arms around his neck and pull him on top of me, to feel the full weight of him on me, his skin against mine. He'll jam his tongue into my mouth and moan against my lips. The first thundering wave of my orgasm will make me shudder, my jaw will drop. A sound I've rarely made will escape me, an animal in death throes, a harsh intake and exhale of breath, a cry, a whine. I'll dig into his back with my fingernails and he'll strain and stiffen on top of me, bucking against me with one final thrust, then collapse on top of me, heaving with breath, kissing my shoulder, sucking at the skin.

I'll stare at the ceiling in my recovery, running my fingers through his short, dark hair, feeling the warmth of his scalp, still damp from the shower and a bit of fresh sweat. He'll pull himself off of me and walk out of the room, leaving me on the floor, still twitching slightly from the power of my climax. I'll turn onto my side and rest my head on my arm, curling my legs in slightly, closing my eyes. He'll leave me alone for some time. I'll hear footsteps and doors, water again, a struck match, but I won't move from the floor. My mind will drift in and out of consciousness, I'll wonder if the whole thing was in my head, I'll wonder how drastically my life will change after this very moment, I'll wonder if I'm pregnant by a stranger.

His foot will touch my back.

"Slut," he'll say, and I'll turn to see him in the black pants again, holding a beer in one hand and a red silk robe in the other. "Get up."

I'll stand immediately and he'll kiss me on the forehead and hold out the robe. "Put this on. I'm filling the tub for you. We'll clean you up before you go home." He'll take my hand then, lacing his fingers into mine like a teenager at prom, and walk me through the apartment. My knees are still a bit weak. "Do you want a drink?"

I'll shake my head at him. "No thank you."

"Why are you whispering?" He'll ask. "Are you scared?"

"I don't think so," I'll say. He'll wrap his hand around my elbow and guide me toward the bathroom which will be filled with steam and the smell of mountains and pine. Outdoors. Nature. He'll have candles in the window sill and on the edge of the sink and the corners of the tub.

"Here you go, kitten. A nice hot bath for you." He'll smile widely and peel my robe down off of my shoulders. "What?" He'll say. "You still look scared."

I'll shrug and get into the tub, relishing the perfect temperature of the water and thickness of the bubbles. The Welder will kneel on the floor, filling a bowl with water and pouring it over my head. When I reach for the washcloth, he'll take my wrist in his hand gently, but firmly enough to make me drop it.

"What?" I'll ask.

"I want to do it for you," he'll say, wringing water from the cloth. "That part's all over now. I don't really think you're a slut. I know you're a good girl. I saw you crying."

I'll just look at him and blink, amazed at the relief that washes over me, like the tub water itself. He'll hold out each of my arms and wash them, each finger, my palms. He'll scrub warm bubbles over my shoulders and back, between my breasts, down my stomach, between my legs, still sensitive and a bit sore. When my skin is pink and clean he'll wash my hair, massaging a fruity smelling shampoo deep into my scalp while I close my eyes and rest.

"Good girl," he'll repeat, then he'll stand and grab a giant white towel. "Come on then, I'll dry you off." He'll rub me in the towel, both of his arms around me, his chest against my back.

When I'm dry, he'll give me the red robe back and lead me to the living room.

"Get dressed," he'll say, pointing to the pile of clothes near the couch, then he'll shuffle out of the room lazily. I'll dress myself and sit quietly on his black leather couch, staring around the room, looking, I think, for a picture of his girlfriend. He'll come back with a beer and hand it to me. "Calmed down yet?"

"I'm fine," I'll say. He'll run his fingers through my wet hair and for a minute I'll consider jumping him all over again, but resist. He'll lean in and kiss me very softly on the mouth, stroking my cheek. It will be very different than before, like a different man.

"You're fun," he'll say, smiling. "I like to play with you. I can't believe how brave you are, to approach a total stranger and tell him you think he's hot."

"Brave or stupid?" I'll ask.

He'll just shrug, not really wanting to answer.

"Anyway, people do that all the time," I'll say.

"Not to me. Especially not someone like you. A drunk chick at a bar, maybe, but you?"

"I was just trying to...make your day I guess."

He'll laugh out loud then. "You sure did. Ready to go home?" I'll nod and stand up, feeling outside of my own body...feeling like a different person. Taller, older. He'll rest a hand on my back to guide me to the door. Before I leave he'll push me against the door frame gently and kiss me hard on the mouth. "If you ever want to be my little slut again, just come find me at the el stop, OK? I get off work at 2:30." I'll nod again and leave, wondering if I will ever find him again.