Milk Fed - Melissa Broder Page 0,49

first time, I felt no hesitance in fantasizing about her sexually. It was as though the cock protected me from judgment.

I had total power over Ana. She looked up at me as I teased her face. She begged me to let her lick it. When I finally let her have it, grunting, “All right, suck,” I acted like I was doing her a favor. She licked and sucked me, and I felt stimulated by two things: her mouth and my newfound dominance. I felt like another kind of creature altogether—some new being I had invoked. If I was a woman, I was not me as I’d known myself, but a woman with more courage than I thought I’d had. I was a woman of impulse, a woman of instinct. I was a woman of pleasure and a woman of confidence. I was a woman of appetites, a growling beast. I was a person.

I continued to pedal, closing my eyes, rubbing against the seat. I imagined Ana sliding my cock between her tits, rubbing me on her nipples, gasping, as though she could come from that contact alone. It was like her nipples were two clits. I whipped her nipples with my dick, then whipped her face with it. Her expression grew serious, ardent. She begged me to put it inside her.

At this point in the fantasy, I hit something of a choose-your-own-adventure. One choice was to lick her pussy. I wanted to taste her so badly. Another was to deprive her. I didn’t want to give her any help in getting wet. I wanted to know that her wetness was effortless, spontaneous, a reaction to the sight and feel of me. I wanted her to be so intoxicated by my presence that she became a river.

In the end, I went with option A: lick it. Why should I rob myself of the taste of her elixir? I ate her dripping-wet pussy, ate it good, but I kept my reaction very self-contained. No reason for her to know how much pleasure it gave me. On the outside, I was a haughty daughter, then an impenetrable soldier just doing her job gruffly. But on the inside, I reveled in Ana’s taste: coppery, like a shipwrecked chalice at the bottom of the ocean.

Now she was crying for my cock. I decided that I would fuck her from behind. I turned her around and bit her gently on the ass, which was ample but saggy with age. The sagginess turned me on even more. I massaged her ass cheeks, opened them like a book, and aimed straight for her pussy hole (a lovely shade of purple: seedless grape). I parked my cock right there at the entrance. She moaned, but not out of pain.

“Please,” she said. “Please.”

When I felt she had begged long enough, I activated Frankencock. She groaned with delight and began moving back and forth on the length of me, so that I barely had to thrust. But I wanted to thrust. I grabbed her hips and steadied her.

“Stop fucking moving,” I said.

Then I used the power of my own hips to thrust deeper into her.

I could go as long as I wanted. But while my phantom cock was made out of a seat, I could still feel all the pleasure in my organ. I felt a surge of tenderness for her as I came.

Do not go there, I said to myself. No heart.

I rode out the orgasm with the pleasure between my legs alone. It felt so good that I gave a little yelp out loud.

I looked over at the man on the bike to my right. He was an older man, maybe seventy, with white hair. He had headphones on and seemed totally absorbed in what he was listening to. I got the feeling it was an audiobook, David Baldacci or Clive Cussler.

I laughed and closed my eyes again. Then I pedaled out the last waves of my orgasm.

CHAPTER 42

I sat in my car in the gym parking garage with the engine on. I put the heat on blast, then turned it off and cranked up the air instead. My vision was blurry, as though there were a veil of water between me and the world, probably from all the exertion. I felt blood pulsing behind my forehead—not a bad sensation at all. I felt high. I thought of the words Variety Pack. I began repeating them in my mind like a mantra to the rhythm of my pulse: Variety