The Dawn of Darkness (Part 4)

I didn't ask if she wanted to come to the hotel room with me, I didn't wish to risk speaking the generalized statements that men make to women when trying to entice them into bed. After finishing our pizza and beers, I drove and pulled into the parking lot without speaking a word. She sat next to me in the passenger seat, her eyes void of any type of reaction. I turned off the engine and she opened her door and stepped out, pulling her jacket tightly around her. She followed as I walked to the front door.

The room was on the fourth floor of the building, a smoking room whose windows faced the freeway. The walls were painted a salmon color that had aged into more of a dusty pink. The bedspreads were a forest green, spotted with dozens of pink flowers. The bed had a large headboard, a dark cherry wood, shiny as if it had just bee polished. After unlocking the door and watching her walk over the threshold and sit on the foot of the bed, that headboard was all I could focus on.

The tiny desk was bare aside from the phone and the brush. She never even glanced at the items. Her legs were crossed at the ankles as she sat on the bed, her hands were folded lightly in her lap. I moved to the far wall and turned on the heater. The unit whooshed on with a loud bang and slowly began to pour out waves of heat. She removed her jacket, laying it neatly next to her and then cocked her head up at me.

I was still standing next to the heater, my hands clasped together and my feet glued to the spot. Our eyes locked and we stared at one another for a brief moment before she gently sighed. She was waiting for me to become the person that I too was waiting to become. She placed her hands on either side of her and pushed herself up into a standing position. She tentatively began to walk over to me, her palms pressed together.

"No," my voice felt like it was pushing through a sea of molasses, sticking in my throat. "Stop." Her feet halted. She dropped her arms to her sides. She blinked at me. "Good." She blinked again.

How to do this? How to do this? Play it hard, play it the way that I'd been filming it in my head for the last month? Play it with sensitivity? Test the waters, avoid her possible revulsion? Quick, quick, quick!! Decide!!

She was wearing a black halter top, the sleeveless kind that tie around the back of the neck. It was apparent that she was not wearing a bra. Her skirt was knee length and the color of toast. She was wearing black boots that tightly zipped up her calves and stopped at the knees. She never wore much jewelry on any occasion that I'd noticed, and tonight was no different. There was a very simple pair of amber studs twinkling in her ear lobes. Still too much make-up. Always too much make-up.

"Stay." My voice was growing stronger now. I walked swiftly over to the bathroom, grabbed the washcloth that was draped on the side of the bathtub and moved to the sink, turning the hot water on full blast. I drenched the cloth and wrung it out, then walked back into the room. She was fixed to the exact same spot. I grabbed her right wrist and raised her hand, shoving the wet and steaming cloth into her hand.

"You always wear too much make-up. You don't need it. Wash it off." My eyes were hard as they stared into hers. She blinked once, softly, and hesitated for a second. My heart was racing, and in that moment, in that blink, it ceased to beat. In slow motion, I watched as she raised the cloth to her face and placed it on her lips. It rested there for a moment. I could her the air move around me, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. With the intensity of a wave hitting the shore, my senses returned to normal time as she began to vigorously scrub at her mouth.

"Good," I said softly, lightening my tone to that of a father praising a child. "Now your eyes." She raised the cloth and began to gently wipe under her eyes. I watched as the black line melted away. She scrubbed at her nose and cheeks, revealing a soft spray of freckles that had been muted by a layer of foundation. She scrubbed until her make-up had vanished and her skin was warm and pink. She was perfect. My heartbeat rushed up and caught in my throat.

I extended my arm and she placed the wash cloth into my hand without a word. "Stay," I repeated and went back to the bathroom and threw the make-up smeared washcloth in the sink. I returned and stood before her again. Her eyes were lowered as if she was embarrassed of her appearance. "Look at me," I demanded. She raised her eyes. An understanding passed silently between us. I had control. She gave it to me in a simple glance, handed herself over to me.

"Take off your clothes, starting with your top," I instructed. Her hands went up to her neck, untying the knot behind it. She let it drop forward, allowing her breasts to spill out. There was a swirl of freckles across her chest, a pattern reminiscent of some constellation. My mind began to think of a black hole, placed right over her heart. It was so fitting, so apt, that I almost was diverted from the vision of her ample chest. I guessed her cup size at a natural double or triple D. The skin of her aerolas looked as soft as velvet, coral in color. She reached behind her and unzipped the back portion of the top, fully removing it from her body.

Her belly was soft and unstructured. She was what many men referred to as "thick" in build, yet my mind simply conjured up the visions of old photographs of Marilyn Monroe. Her skin glowed, her limbs were healthy and strong. There was a stability about her frame. Able to withstand more. To tolerate more.

She unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, holding it in one hand before tossing it to the side. It landed on the floor with a dull thump. She wore no underwear. There was a patch of hair between her legs the color of honey. My mind tried to remember the last time that I saw a woman with pubic hair, the trend currently assuming that less was somehow more attractive. This change was exhilarating to witness. My cock sprang to life and throbbed. Thoughts churned in my brain, ideas crowding each other to get to the front, tripping over one another, tangling up so that not one was clear enough for me to speak. She was leaning over to unzip her boots when I finally reclaimed my voice.

"Stop!" It was practically a shout, and her body jerked up as if she'd been whipped. Her eyes widened. Get a hold of yourself. Fucking get your shit together!

"The brush," this time, my voice coming softer, "On the desk. Get the brush." She moved over to the desk and picked up the brush. Its head was round, and it had an inch thick round handle that was around 6 inches long. "Turn around." She turned her back to me and I stared for a moment at the tattoo on her lower back. It was of a tiger running, its body unfurling in the the process.

I swallowed hard. "Brush your hair." She lifted the brush to her head and brushed at the lower ends of her mane. "No. Long strokes. Start at the top of your head." Her arm raised up. Her arm arced, the side of her body round and shapely in the light, her hip... the side of her breast.... her elbow cocked at such an angle. She dragged the bristles through her hair slowly, from the crown of her head to the tips.

I reached down and freed my member from my pants. I began to slowly stroke my shaft as I watched her arm travel up and down, listened to the crackle of static as the strands became agitated. It wouldn't take long. "Faster," I instructed her, and she began to bring the brush down in quicker strokes. I matched her tempo with my own. The familiar tremor from my balls signaled my imminent orgasm. My eyes closed and the sound of her brushing muted in my ears as cum shot from my cock and spilled onto the carpet. I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.

As I pulled my member back into my pants and zipped myself back up, she stopped with the brush at the top of her head. A tiny murmur came from her, but I was on her in a split second. I grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the brush and pressed my body hard up against the back of her. "Stay quiet." She closed her mouth. She turned her head and looked shyly at the side of my face. "Eyes forward!" I barked, and she snapped her head back towards the wall at the head of the bed.

I took the brush from her hand and flipped it over in my grasp a couple of times, catching it at the handle. Her breathing was ragged and I could catch the rise and fall of her chest out of the corner of my eye. The back of my empty hand trailed up her back, from her ass to her neck, where I stopped and grabbed a fist of hair. I yanked her head back and spoke calmly in her ear. "Are you going to be a good girl?" I hissed. A tiny nod, the only motion that my grasp would allow. I pushed her to the bed and she caught herself with the palms of her hands, her ass sticking high into the air.

I brought the back of the brush down onto her ass hard. It instantly brought a round red mark to her skin. She exhaled sharply, but did not cry out. I pivoted slightly and brought the brush down on her other cheek. A matching set of red marks glowed brightly back at me. She remained quiet. Back the the first side, then again to the second, repeating this multiple times until her skin was radiating with the heat of the marks. A small moan escaped her, and I watched as her thighs convulsed slightly. I glanced down to see that her pussy lips were swollen and there was wetness clinging to her bush. I could smell the sweet ripeness of her sex. I licked my lips.

Turning the brush in my hand, I slowing inserted the handle into her pussy, watching each inch disappear. I fucked the brush in and out of her, seeing the handle glisten from her pussy juices. I began to smack her ass with my free hand as I fucked the handle deeper and faster within her, deepening the color of her marks. She let out a tiny scream, half captured in her throat.

I withdrew the brush and leaned forward, wrapping an arm around her waist and encircling it so that I could flip her over to face me. Her eyes were moistened with tears. Her lower lip was swollen from what I assumed was her biting it. She was flushed down to her chest, a bright pink hue. "Sit," I said softly as I guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. She winced slightly as her ass made contact with the mattress. She looked up at me with her open, adoring gaze. I traced the line of her jaw with my thumb, stopping on her chin. "Open."

She parted her lips into an "O" shape and I place the handle brush between them, sliding it in and out of her mouth like I had just done with her pussy. "Lick it clean," and watched her tongue swirl over the rounded hunk of plastic, her eyes glued to my face, imploring. "Good girl," I lauded, and ran a palm over her forehead. She closed her eyes and suckled at the brush slowly. When I removed it from her mouth, her eyes opened and she gazed questioningly at me.

"That's enough for tonight. You've done well.... for your first lesson. Now get dressed and I'll take you home." She nodded and rose to collect her clothing. I excused myself to the bathroom as she began to pull her skirt and top back on. I turned on the faucet and ran the tap for a moment, then splashed palmfuls of water on face, cleansing it of the beads of sweat that had formed. Looking at my reflection, I noted that there was a smirk now firmly in place.

First lesson. My mind strangled that phrase into submission. Because there would be more. Many, many more.