Criminally Vulgar

What the hell am I doing here? I mean, I know exactly what I'm about to do. It's not like I think we'll be sipping tea or anything, but this isn't like me. I've had one-night stands before, it's just that they've always followed a date. This is more like, "Hey, we a mutual sexual attraction, so let's act on that right here, right now."

Is this stupid? Yes, of course it is. Am I leaving? Apparently not...

I don't hear him come up behind me, but I can feel the heat radiating off him. Without touching any other part of me, his lips brush my ear as his smooth, hypnotic voice says, "Go to the pole, put your hands above your head, and grab onto it. Don't let go, and don't move."

Until he spoke those words, I still wasn't sure what I was going to do. Nothing wrong with taking a little direction, when you realize you want to take it.

Doing just as he said, I walk over the pole, my chest and hips flush against it, and wrap my hands around it, just over my head. My breathing and heart rate pick up the longer I stand here without any sight of him, and without any more seductive words in my ear. I'm facing the mirror, but it's hard to see anything. The room is pitch black, aside from the low purple lighting that lines the outer edges of the ceiling, so it's not until he's just a few feet behind me that I see him.

He was wearing a fresh shirt when I saw him at the bar, but he's naked from the hips up again, now. I watch our reflection as he stalks toward me. His eyes don't meet mine in the mirror, but the way they're devouring my body heats me up like a furnace and makes my stomach tighten with anticipation.

He hasn't touched me, yet, and my skin is practically begging for it. His fingers don't even make contact when he slowly unwinds my thin scarf from around my neck, but the soft fabric lightly dragging over the sensitive spots between my neck and shoulders causes me to shiver and my legs to nearly buckle.

I haven't spoken once since I entered this room, and, somehow, I know I shouldn't. It would break the growing tension between us. He hasn't told me his name, and he doesn't know mine. There's something so exciting and illicit in keeping this anonymous, and there's no way I'm going to ruin that. Somehow, I know he won't, either.

I can see and feel him at my back as he reaches up and begins snaking my scarf around one of my wrists, then the other, and then the pole. One last loop ties all three together. An unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, brand of fear creeps up my spine. It's probably (definitely) not the best idea to let a stranger tie me up, but he seems to know exactly what he wants. What I want, more than anything, is to let him take it.

Once he has me secured, completely at his mercy, his hands move lower, and waves of heat flow through me as he finally touches my body. I nearly weep at the feeling of his fingers brushing my hair to the side and draping it over one of my shoulders. There's nothing overtly sexual about the action, but my body can't register the difference. His skin is on my skin. That's all it knows.

He maneuvers me, then, until the mirror is to my right, instead of in front of me. I press my thighs together, needing to give a little relief to my wet and throbbing sex, but he just tsks in my ear and uses one of his legs to push mine shoulder-width apart.

His hands begin to truly explore me, starting with firm caresses over my sides and down to my hips. He grips them and pulls me back until my ass is pressed to his groin... and his stiff, straining cock. He pushes the scarf—and my hands along with it—down the pole, so my arms are in a far more comfortable position for the new angle I'm bent at.

When his strong hands travel up my back on either side of my spine, they slip under my loose tank top, pushing it up. No doubt, he can feel the goose bumps cropping up all over my skin. My head drops, my arousal draining me of the strength to hold it up. His strong hand grabs my hair, then gently but firmly lifts my head and turns it toward the mirror. It's then that his eyes meet mine for the first time. I hope he can see the frustration in them from the exquisite torture he's inflicting on me. My ass instinctively pushes back on him, needing the friction, but he takes a step back, and I whimper at the loss of him.

Can you see a whimper? He must be able to, because he smirks at me as soon as the sound comes out and gets swallowed up by the music still pumping through the speakers. With that sexy, obnoxious smile still on his face, he pushes my skirt up and slowly exposes my ass, one inch at a time, until the fabric is rucked up around my waist. My bright red, lacy thong covers practically nothing, so my entire bottom is on display for him.

I watch him as he moves to my side, so he's facing the mirror. He places one hand on my bare back, massaging the tense muscles there. The other grabs one of my cheeks and kneads it roughly. He pulls that hand back, then swiftly brings it down on my ass with a smack so loud, I can actually hear it. It lands right where the cheek meets the top of my thigh, and I gasp as soon as he makes contact. It doesn't hurt, but it definitely stings. After he does it a second time, he rubs that spot until the sharp sting becomes a tingle, and the tingle travels to my clit, lighting it up like a neon sign that reads, "For the Love of God, Touch Me!"

Mercifully, he moves to stand behind me, again, and does just that. His right hand slides over my waist and down my stomach, the well-earned calluses on his fingertips giving me chills all over. He slips under the top of my thong, deftly finding the throbbing bundle of nerves and rubbing it with a skill that speaks to years of frequent practice. My hips move, doing their best to ride his hand, and my ass rubs his crotch again in the process. This time, he doesn't back away. Instead, he grabs my left hip with his free hand to pull me harder against him.

In the mirror, I see him watching my naked ass as it grinds on his cock. The walls of my sex clench, wanting so badly to grab onto something and hold tight. Reading me like a book—yet again—his fingers leave my clit to slide a little further down, gliding easily over my smooth, drenched folds. He pushes one long finger inside me. Then, feeling how incredibly wet I am for him, he quickly slips in another, and I cry out in sweet relief. That, I'm pretty sure he heard, because he's not smirking anymore. No, now he's wearing a full-on, Cheshire cat grin. Smug bastard.

Pumping his fingers in and out of me, he must feel me squeezing him and how close I am to coming. His hand leaves my hip and caresses my back and up over my shoulder blade. On its way back down, his fingernails dig into my skin, scratching me almost deep enough to break skin. At the same time, the fingers inside me curl forward, repeatedly stroking the sensitive spot there.

The twin sensations make my eyes clamp shut and my legs start to shake, and I strangle a scream that would've been loud as shit, as the intense pleasure explodes from my core.

As I come down from my epic orgasm, panting hard and barely able to support myself on my weakened legs, I look at our reflection. Bent over, with this insanely sexy stranger behind me, I hardly recognize myself. Not only am I still not used to seeing my newly grey hair, but my eyes are bright, my face is flushed, and there's a sheen of sweat on my forehead. To top it off, the whole scene is bathed in a low, purple light, adding to its eroticism—adding to mine.

Shifting my eyes to his, I see the hungry look in them as he removes his fingers from me. He brings the glistening digits up to my mouth, and I hold his stare while I dart my tongue out and lick the undersides of them. I can taste my own arousal and the mouthwatering salt of his skin. Wanting more, I take them into my mouth and suck—hard—as I draw back. The pleasure written all over his face is almost enough to ignite another climax, if I weren't still so wrung out from the first one.

His hands reach for his belt buckle, and I watch with eager anticipation as he lowers his zipper and releases his hard cock from the confines of his black boxer briefs. I can't take my eyes off of it. It's long and so stiff it looks painful for him.

He rests it on my ass, nearly scalding me with how hot it is on my skin, while he takes his wallet out of his pocket and pulls a condom from it. Then he grips himself again as he rips the packet with his teeth and expertly rolls the condom down over his shaft.

God, I need it. I need it so badly. Right now.

Without him having to direct me, I spread my legs wider and slide my scarf-wrapped hands much further down the pole. Mirror me looks so wanton, presenting her ass to a man she doesn't know and probably never will. I don't get to dwell on that thought long, because a heartbeat later, he's pushing my panties aside and sliding into me. One long thrust, and he's fully sheathed in me.

He pauses a moment to let my walls adjust to being suddenly and deliciously stretched. But only a moment, because I pull forward a little, then push back again, letting him know he really needs to start properly fucking me now.

He gets the message, loud and clear, and begins slowly pumping his full length in and out of my wet core. His hand reaches up and fists my hair, right at the scalp, and forces my head back but still turned to the mirror.

Watching his body behind me—watching his cock disappear into me and reappear, over and over—I feel that familiar quiver again. He bends over me as the speed and depth of his thrusts increase steadily. I moan loudly on each forceful in-stroke. His grip on my hair tightens and, out of nowhere, his mouth crashes onto mine. Our lips part, letting our tongues find and stroke each other as my moaning keeps up.

This second point of contact between us—hot, wet, and unrelenting—has my pleasure climbing. It only takes a few more powerful thrusts before I'm screaming into his mouth and coming all over his gifted cock. My pussy clenches repeatedly, gripping him like a fist. Only when I start to come down does he take his lips from mine.

I can't stop watching our reflection when one of his hands grips my shoulder, and the other claws at my hip. His fingers dig into my pale skin, probably leaving bruises as he fucks the shit out of me. If I weren't tied to the pole, he'd be jackhammering me right into the floor.

His cock swells and pulses against my swollen, satisfied flesh, signaling how close he is. It's not long before he stills, every hot inch of him impaling me as he spills into the condom. A part of me wishes he were spilling deep inside me, but a bigger, more rational part is glad he isn't. Come to think of it, that's the first rational thought I've had since I read his note.

Still bent over me, he fights to catch his breath, and I feel his rapidly pounding heart and his sweat-slicked chest rising and falling on my back. All too soon, his cock softens and slips out of me. He carefully removes the condom, ties it off, and sticks it in his pocket before tucking himself back into his boxer briefs and getting his pants and belt situated. I watch every move he makes, wanting to burn as much of this moment into my memory as possible.

Next, he makes sure my thong is in its proper place and my skirt is pulled down over my ass. He helps me stand, then quickly frees my wrists from the pole and carefully drapes my scarf back around my neck. His fingers occasionally brush my skin, setting my already stimulated nerves on fire.

No words. Nothing is spoken as he slides his hands into my back pockets and yanks me to him by my ass. One brief, deep kiss later, he backs away from me. But before heading to the large double doors, he flashes that devilish smirk and winks at me.. Then he's gone, and I'm rooted to where I stand.

It occurs to me that we must've been in this room for at least an hour. Wasn't he supposed to be back on stage a long time ago? But when I pull my phone from where it's tucked securely into my bra, I'm shocked to see that only twenty minutes have passed.

Seriously? Every move he made was so slow, so savoring and deliberate, it felt like each one took an unforgettable eternity.

Just then, I hear the drums start in on a familiar beat, and I bark out a surprised laugh. Another favorite. How the hell did he know?

I turn to the mirror to survey the well-fucked mess that is my makeup and hair, as well as the faint marks my scarf left on my wrists. I hear the first line as I comb my fingers through my mussed-up strands.

Her name is Noel. I have a dream about her...

After I finish my cleanup, I smile as I make my way back out to the main room. Finding Bridge in the middle of the dance floor, I skip over to her and start belting out the lyrics. She joins in, and soon we're both jumping up and down in time to the music, with big, goofy grins on our faces. I feel weightless, like the guy on stage just completely fucked all the mopey darkness right out of me.

I watch him, in awe of the unreal creature that was just inside me. When he sings, "I've got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby," he looks right at me and smiles as I sing the words right along with him. Then the band breaks into the kickass chorus, and the whole room screams out the lyrics.

My best friend turns to me and asks, "Did you have fun tonight?"

Easy question.

"Best. Night. Ever."