My One For Half A Million

Salsa

     I met Xylar because of a cup of salsa.

     I'd just spilt it all over the white couch of the host of the house party we were at, and began scratching at it with a paper towel. Xylar swooped in, rescuing me from spreading the tomatoey stain, fixed it right up, and introduced himself.

     "Xylar," he said, holding his hand out for a shake.

     I shook it, but laughed. "Bless you."

     "Well, I met you, so evidently I am," he retorted. Pink flooded his cheeks. "Blessed, that is."

     I laughed again. I wasn't interested, per se, in the muscular man leaning slightly into my personal bubble as people danced and made out and ingested all sorts of questionable substances around us- but the attention was nice, I couldn't deny that.

     And we talked, for a couple hours, until the room slowly emptied. We didn't notice. I think he might have made a remark when the music shut off, but we were instantly reabsorbed in our conversation. He looked like a stereotypical jock- muscular and tall and broad, like he could snap every one of my bones between his thumb and pinkie finger- so I was surprised he talked to me about literature as much as he did. He was adamant that Charles Dickens is the best thing that ever happened to the world, and I would rather die than read Great Expectations again, but besides that, we agreed on all the important stuff. On top of literature, we talked about art, music, and, eventually, theatre.

     By the time the important part came, the music had been long shut off, and everyone else but the couples lazily grinding on eachother with their tongues in eachothers mouths had left.

     "I mean, really, after the Phantom? I don't know how I expected myself NOT to be kinky."

      By this time, I was too tipsy to stop myself, and I figured he'd be too tipsy to care. But his eyebrows lifted, and he lowered his cup from his face. "You're into kink?"

      "Um..." I looked down at myself. Low cut, lacy black tank top with a rope harness winding loosely around my breasts, 2 inch thick combat platforms, a choker around my neck, and I knew the luxurious amount of eyeliner I'd put on before the party hadn't worn off. "Yes."

     "Cool," he said with a toothy grin.
    
     For a second, I was overwhelmed with terror that this big, goofy guy I found myself enjoying a conversation with would turn out to be one of Those doms, and push for me to sub for him until I had to fake a family emergency and run out the door. But he just took another drink, and smiled again.

     "Sorry, I don't mean to pry, you really don't have to answer, but..."

     "What kind of kink?" I finished the question for him. He nodded, and I smiled.

      "Oh, ropes, impact play, degradation, praise, etcetera."

      "You like being tied up?"

     I bit my lip. Once again, I had been mistaken for a sub. Not that there's anything wrong with being a sub, but I definitely am not. "Actually, I like tying others up."

     "Ah." For a second, I mistook the look, the glimmer of humor, in his eyes for judgement, but then he said, "I prefer being tied up, but to each their own."

     I'd made the same mistake- taking him for a dom if anything, because he looked it- that others usually made with me, and I felt pretty damn crappy about it.

...

      About ten minutes later I was straddling him on the couch, and we were deciding our safeword was giraffe. His lips were heavy and warm, and he whined into my mouth once in a way that nearly had me pressing his face down into the couch.

      "Holy shit," I whispered, pulling away from the kiss. "This is NOT where I thought tonight was going."

     The tall, muscular boy under me giggled in a way I hadn't ever seen any tall, muscular boy do before, and lifted his face back to mine. I welcomed the continuation of the kiss. His hands dwarfed me, and I am not a particularly small girl. He massaged my ass and upper thighs as I grinded down on his lap, gently scratching across his chest. "Please," he moaned into the kiss. "Please, miss, please."

     I smiled, and tugged at a stray strand of hair at the back of his head. "You want me to fuck you?" I whispered.

     I felt his fingers at the hemline of my skirt. "Please."

     Nodding, I reached under my legs, undoing his jeans with one hand while the other caressed his cheek. I noticed his face getting warm, and pulled away a little.

     "Sorry," he said, "I'm not that... experienced. No one believes I'm a sub. Kinda difficult to find a dom when youre..."

     "Ripped?"

      His blush deepened. "I was gonna say big but that works I guess."

     Laughing, I pressed a trail of kisses into his collarbone. "I never really considered that being a problem," I admitted.

     I was a little tipsy, but Xylar was far more intoxicating than alcohol could ever hope to get. "Zoe," he would moan, mixed with, "Miss." The tremor of his voice against my skin drove me wild. I tugged at his hair and bit his lower lip and he whimpered at it all.

     "Im gonna cum," he moaned. His words were hot and breathy, hitting my neck and sending chills down my spine.

     "You're gonna cum," I restated, and he ducked his head, pressing it into my shoulder.

     "Im gonna cum," he gasped.

     I was a little disappointed there was a condom in the way, because he felt fucking amazing. I considered riding him more, seeing if I could make him cum two or three more times, but the orgasm that wracked my body after he climaxed, hips snapping up into me, face buried in my shoulders, made it difficult to move. I wasn't sure I could even walk across the room in a straight line. And it definitely wasn't alcohol related.

     "Fuck," he whimpered, and I felt hot tears drop onto my neck.

     "Hey," I said, "hey." I was deeply concerned for about five seconds, but nothing on his face read fear or pain... just pure bliss. His head was rolled back like his neck couldn't keep it up, and his chest was heaving.

     Every thought I'd had that night about him not being my type evaporated. He was gorgeous.

      "Xylar? You okay?"

     He grabbed my elbow, enclosing it in one of his big hands. "That was so good," he panted, and let his head fall forward onto my chest.

     I ran a hand through his hair, slowly tipping us to the side and twisting so I was laying down, and he was resting on top of me. His panting slowed, and soon he was taking long, deep breaths again. "Zoe," he whispered.

     "Xylar."

     "Can we sleep like this, please?"

     "Only if you promise to give me your number in the morning," I smiled, "that was amazing."

     "I promise."

     So I fell asleep with him on my chest, his skin hot and flushed and a bit damp against mine, his lips half-pressed to the side of my neck.