Dethroning the Queen

I sat on the spoiler of my car, my foot tapping to the beat of the blaring music

coming from the stereo. I eyed the girl from underneath my bangs as she approached. Lots

of guys called her name and she waved or hollered back but did not blush, a dead give

away she’s well known amongst the guys. Seeing as we were sitting in front of a city high

school, I kept it a cool glance with a shadow of indifference.

About 5’9” compact with a nice figure loaded with curves. Way too much makeup

obviously applied to make her look a lot older than she really was, a white low cut

half-shirt displaying a flat stomach and so much sun tanned skin and cleavage, that showed

no visible tan lines, that it never would have been allowed where I’d gone to school but

this is the inner city. Showing skin was less dangerous than a switchblade or a handgun.

The colored bra beneath was easily visible as it snugly held her C-D cup breasts. Her light

brunette hair was long and well cared for, curly, possibly permed, showing auburn

highlights. Long tanned legs, once again with no signs of tanning lines, ended at her acid

washed cutoffs. She walked as if she were a hood. With a gang ghetto accent only an idiot

would have mistaken for authentic she says, “These your wheels?”

Opening gambit. Make sure I have the goods. After all it could belong to a friend

and then she’d make her move on him instead. I looked up with a half smile.

“I don’t see anybody else they’d belong to, do you?” I ask the last two words

pointedly.

“No,” her voice tries to sound sexy for a moment melting the “bad girl” accent.

“So,” she pauses speaking with her eyes and a shift of her hips, “you want some?”

She was now inches from my face staring into my eyes as if to add punctutation on

the off chance I don’t understand what she’s asking.

“Want some,” I repeated. “From you? Okay, what you got?”

She quickly sets her books on the sidewalk, steps closer, and grabs my hand

shoving it up her shirt pausing just long enough to slip her bra off one breast. Then she

runs my hand in a circular motion over it while moaning lightly. Then she licks her lips,

drops herself into my lap, and whsipers into my ear with hot breath, “Get the idea?”

I take my hand back slowly sliding it down her stomach. Let her know I’m not

gay. Then I fix her with an incredulous look.

“How old are you? Thirteen? Maybe fourteen?”

She smiles. After all, when I copped the feel it was rather clear I was interested.

“How old do I feel?”

Every word on one track, only one goal in mind.

“So what did you have in mind?” I ask unrattled but with my best facade of

cluelessness.

“Well,” she reclined on the back of my car. “You could take me for a ride in this

hot car of yours back to your place. Then, I could take you for a ride. Then you could buy

me some dinner, take me home, and I could show you what I do for fun.”

“I don’t even know your name,” I claimed diffidently, as if that were important to

either of us.

“It’s Stacy, honey,” Stacy Merrickson, one of a pair of lethal twin sisters that are

considered the best fucks in the city by any guy with a pair of nuts under twenty-five, “and

what can I call you?”

Don’t let her know my real name; it would only confuse things right now.

“Erik,” I say lifting her while stepping off the car. She wraps her arms around my

neck like I’ve just rescued her from the Dragon of High School Boredom.

“My, you’re strong, I like that in a man,” she laughs lightly, a sexy laugh if that’s

possible. Each word carefully phrased hinting that I’m exclusive, but I’m no fool. We’ve

just met five minutes ago. Her fingers run lightly down my arm and I hold back a shiver as

a chill runs through me. “Let’s go for that ride.”

I don’t break as I respond cooly. “You sure you don’t have to stop at home first

and check in with your mommy?”

“You’re going to be a lot of fun, I can tell,” she laughs while climbing in. My

Camaro is the perfect combo, the premium sound system, big engine, and sports car look

and luxury, but it’s not a Lexus or Cadillac. Rich but not too rich.

She doesn’t seem at all nervous as I drive. I don’t catch her sliding glances at me

trying to surmise my form. After all, if I’ve got the goods, who cares how good a body I

have? She moves in rhythm with the music and seems rather at ease. Highly experienced, a

pretty good catch, of course, that’ll depend on how good she really is, but she seems

confident she can deliver. Let’s face it, guys are easy to please, but she knows I’m not

your average high school fuck critic. It’ll have to be better than just okay, or I’ll throw her

back and keep fishing. Still she’s utterly confident. . . so far.

When we pull up in front of my town house, she looks around admiringly.

“Didn’t say you was rich.”

I scowl only briefly at her slaughter of the English language and make sure she

doesn’t see me do so.

“I wouldn’t call it rich,” I say modestly, “but I get by.”

“You married?”

The question surprises me because it shouldn’t matter, but it seems more curiosity

for waging the war than genuine concern.

“Do you see a ring?” I deliberately allow a small amount of annoyance to cross my

voice. Let her know I’m not interested in particulars.

We walk in and she makes for the bedroom straight away. My two story

townhouse is moderately furnished with a well stocked fridge, and a decent home

entertainment system. The rooms are clean, dust free and well maintained. These things

are important to the girl whether she’s a one night stand or a wife. Despite her lack of

interior appraisal, I know she’ll look later, I am impressed. This is much better digs than

what she has at home, no doubt, but just the same, she needs to see the bedroom. I give

her the time to look around. No hurry. We know why we’re here. When I finally ascend

the stairs and reached the bedroom, the half shirt has found the floor and the cutoff shorts

are unbuttoned showing no hair beneath. Her skin is not only well shaved, but soft, evenly

tanned with no lines indicating a nude tanning regime.

Her modest breasts are barely contained by the bra which was likely deliberately a

B-cup so that enough of her skin would show and be accessable. The black is in nice

contrast to her skin and rival with satin deep red bikini style panties.

“This is what you wanted, right, Erik?” the words are now cast in innocence, not

gang aspirations. This look is carefully geared to show some without showing too much.

A slut she is, but careful just the same. If I were to walk in and find her nude, I could

claim I just wanted someone to talk to, but she knows better, can tell by the way my eyes

travel up and down her body before I answer.

I remove my shirt slowly as if this is nothing new to me. Her main assett is her

body, can’t let her see that her only assett is my weakness like it is most.

“I think I’m going to like doing it here more,” she says with her eyes fixed walking

slowly to me. “Tonight,” she allows her hands to wander up my chest and around behind

me. My skin is tan, my muscles firm, but I’m not Hercules. “I’m going to show you the

richest place on Earth, my bedroom. There I’ve done guys so hard and long that they

begged me for more and forever decided I was the best they could ever hope for. So get

used to it, I’m in charge.”

Her speech is now borderline intelligent. Perhaps she paid attention in English class

for a few days after all. Her hands, before travelling slowly, abruptly plunge into my pants.

“Not hard yet?!” she seems surprised.

“I have more control than most,” I say loosely with a hint of indifference. The

perfect words, challenge open.

“Maybe you need a little help,” she backs off a step and her breasts are quickly

released from captivity. They have no tan lines, just slight red creases from the overly tight

bra. Her nipples are erect and nakedness completely full of ease. Challenge met.

“How about now, hon?” she asks putting my hands on her waist. I still don’t

respond peaking her curiosity even further. By now she has to wonder if I’m gay and just

playing her. She reaches back into my pants and her smile widens. I am hard now.

“Maybe you’re ‘fraid I won’t,” she says almost to herself easing first the cutoffs

then the panties slowly past her curved hips to the floor. Many girls appear to have a great

body but stripping off the clothes is the ultimate equalizer. In this case, Stacy is a rare

exception. She really has a flawless body, not a mark or a blemish, a scar or birthmark, or

any imperfection of any kind. Her tan is universal and obviously not sun inspired, but in

her case you never know.

“You need a taste of things to come,” she says undoing my belt and returning my

focus. She disposes of my jeans quickly and draws me to the bed. She is over eager, by

now likely afraid I’m going to back out. But I’m her catch and she doesn’t intend to let me

go without sampling the cuisine. She pauses above me savoring the kill. “Here’s that ride I

promised.”

She shifts and hands-free guides me into her so slowly it’s almost cruel. Now she’s

toying with me. She turns one downstroke into a five minute ordeal as she slowly pushes

to the maximum penetration point and then beyond. She is far stronger than she looks and

her vagina is well muscled. She reaches back pulling my legs wide open so I can sink even

further into her. My groan produces a grin of satisfaction. She places my hands on her

breasts and sits completely still. Her hands travel up and down my body. This is the test.

Any time her fingers contact somewhere that make me move inside of her she’ll know she

found a good spot. If I don’t react to a spot she knows to keep trying. This way she gets

to skip that awkwardness new lovers experience trying to find out what their partner likes.

She’ll find out the first time, every time, and know what to use the next. This ritual with

her hands is slow and meticulous. She traces every inch of available skin searching for my

weaknesses. This is also something she’s only going to take the time to do if she intends

for there to be more than once. In the meantime she lets light likely fake gasps of pleasure

escape on hot breath as my fingers manipulate her nipples.

She soon discovers my nipples are extremely sensitive, but also notes my neck,

ears, and sides are as well. They are building blocks. But right now she needs to make

good on her taunts of ecstasy, there’ll be time for long drawn out trips to dream land later.

She manipulates my nipples with certain ease feeling for my stiffness deep within her all

the while moving her hips in slow circular motion. Each time I draw close she backs off

the nipples and eases forward letting me slide out a little, backing me off slightly but she’s

careful to keep the timing slim. As I start to peak for about the twentieth time, she slowly

eases herself completely vertical adding the last bit of pressure and suddenly scrapes her

fingernails lightly down my nipples. I tighten involuntarily and soon am gracing her body

with my lightning.