Dirty Filthy Fix (Fixed #5.5)
Laurelin Paige
One Thousand and One Dark Nights
Once upon a time, in the future…
I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.
I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast library at my father’s home and collected thousands of volumes of fantastic tales.
I learned all about ancient races and bygone
times. About myths and legends and dreams of all people through the millennium. And the more I read the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually become part of them.
I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar (Persian: ??????, “king”) married a new virgin, and then sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade, the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had never occurred before and that still to this day, I cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before you now.
Chapter One
I drew Andrew’s fingers into my mouth, pressing my lips past his knuckles, all the way, until I couldn’t take them in anymore. The whole time, my eyes watched his, taking in the dilation of his pupils as my tongue ran along his digits.
He moaned in ecstasy and my stomach fluttered.
“I’m imagining that’s my cock,” Chuck whispered in my ear. I was sitting in his lap—my ear was easy access. “I know how good your mouth feels. I’m imagining it on my cock right now.” He did know how my mouth felt; I’d had my mouth on him before. Not tonight. At previous events.
Chuck’s hands gripped my waist and moved my ass so it would rub against his erection, giving him some relief. I squealed, even though it was somewhat forced. The guys liked it when I squealed.
For that matter, so did the women.
“You’ve inflated me like a balloon, T.” Andrew was on the floor in front of me, his jacket off and his shirt unbuttoned.
“I’ll take care of you, baby,” a pretty woman I’d never met before said, crawling up to him to undo his pants. At least he had somebody taking care of him. Not that I was going to feel responsible for the condition he was in.
Kennedy laughed as he stroked himself through his boxer briefs. The tip of his dick poked out above the waistband, and I could see a bead of pre-cum gathering on the top of his crown.
This was the crowd that had gathered around me tonight. This was what I dreamed about all week, every week. This was my idea of a perfect Saturday night.
The rest of the party had divided itself into the normal cliques and circles of activity. I scanned the penthouse apartment. The layout was open and the party guests took up every bit of space they could. In one corner, a bunch of men were having an orgy, classic Greek style, on the divan. In the center of the room, a beautiful woman was stripped and tied up in Shibari style, with plenty of spectators watching. To our left, a dominatrix in a black gown and leather boots had not one, but two gentlemen on their knees in front of her.
Most of the faces—and bodies—were familiar. They usually were. We were a club of sorts, after all. But there were always those I didn’t recognize. Like the gentleman who’d been watching the activities surrounding my group for most of the evening. Green eyes, six foot tall at least. His face had a naturally rough look to it, even though his beard was trimmed and cleaned up well. His eyes had wrinkles around them, his lips as well. He was probably older than me by a decade, but he wore his age well. Probably even better than he’d worn his youth, if I had to guess. The biggest tell about him, though, was his tux. It was pristine, not a button undone. The party had been going on for three hours now, and he’d first caught my eye at least an hour in, and he still wasn’t even ruffled. Obviously he was strictly a voyeur.
Too bad. He was hot.
“Come home with me, T,” Chuck pleaded as he nibbled on my neck, distracting me from the green-eyed stranger. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked this evening. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked me ever.
I wiggled on his lap, trying to make myself more comfortable without further arousing his already hard cock.
“You know that’s against the rules,” I murmured. I was good at that, I had to admit. It was one of my talents. To be flirtatious and uncommitted all at once.
“Your rules,” Chuck said. His grip tightened on my hips. I stiffened ever so slightly.
“But my rules count.” They weren’t new rules. I’d had them the whole time I’d been coming to these parties. The whole time I’d been a member of the Open Door. They weren’t hard to remember—there were only four of them. Never go home with anyone. Never take off my mask. Never give any personal info besides my first initial. And no penetration. I’d been coming to these events for almost ten years, and these rules had been the only thing that kept me safe and STD free, not to mention partner free.
And honestly, it was probably the thing that kept the parties so interesting.