Bad to the Bones(38)
His hands encircled her ribcage, lifting her little, round breasts. He breathed, “This isn’t right. You need to heal.”
She smiled like a mechanical doll. “Haven’t you ever heard of sexual healing?”
And she dropped to her knees. Knoxie was a goner.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BELLAMY
I don’t know what came over me, I really don’t.
It was probably gratitude. An overwhelming feeling of gratitude washed over me when Knoxie said he’d go get my Sporty for me, and possibly even my sister.
I had never toyed with men for any reason other than protocol. Shakti had commanded me to manipulate a man’s genitals on many occasions, and I had. It was just part of the ongoing therapy. Whether the person gaining insight and enlightenment was me or the guy, it didn’t matter. Maybe I was just balancing his chakras. It didn’t matter.
Today I wanted to pleasure this big, strapping man who had become my protector. It was the least I could do. I was starting to like Knoxie Hammett—a lot. I couldn’t remember liking a man this painfully since I was a teenager sleeping up in Coyote Buttes. There was one boy during those years, a Brian Sicily, I was hugely attracted to. It was frustrating as hell that he was the one boy who showed zero interest in me. I put out like a champ in those days. The girls of Coyote Buttes all did. It was the thing to do, to gain the interest of boys, and sadly for us, to get beer and food.
Brian Sicily was the only boy who didn’t attempt to get into my pants. Maybe he wasn’t even a Coyote Buttes sort of boy, because he actually went to college and wound up working in some civil servant job in Cottonwood. But it always made me feel unlovable, unattractive, and undesirable. Brian Sicily had no interest in me, but I’m pretty sure he at least made out with Maddy.
That feeling had really stuck with me. It got worse living at Bihari because I knew none of those men were interested in me as a person, romantically. The sex was all routine, part of a ritual. Now? I wanted more than ever for Knoxie to want me as an individual, because of who I was. I could maybe draw him in by giving him pleasure. It’s a normal human need, pleasure. And Knoxie deserved it, for helping me selflessly, without expecting anything in return.
Plus, he was banging hot.
I had never felt washboard abs like that. Bihari men were flabby, soft, even the men who worked in the fields. They got farmer tans. Shirtless, they looked like they were wearing a white T-shirt, their pasty arms red below the sleeve line. Knoxie’s abs were corrugated like cardboard, hard as granite. His leather belt was worn, the pewter buckle heavy. I was an expert at unbuckling them one handed. With my other hand I massaged his long, thick penis. I could tell he wore boxer briefs by the freedom of movement the cock had under his tight 501 jeans. I squeezed the hell out of that fat prick, and my * actually clenched with need. I didn’t know it could do that, but I rolled with it.
His beautiful topaz eyes drooped at the corners. His nostrils flared and his breath rapidly feathered my cheekbone. “This isn’t right,” he said in that erotic announcer’s voice. “You need to heal.”
Couldn’t this be part of the healing process? “You ever heard of sexual healing?” I taunted him, then kneeled as I took his cock out. He didn’t exactly protest as I lifted the heavy, hot limb into my little palm. I halfway expected him to have a cock piercing, what with his lower lip pin and eyebrow hoop. But the veined, pulsing cock was piercing-free, and I used the glistening droplet of precum at the slit to slide my thumb around the glans, admiring it. I could see how he’d become a well-known porn star. I could admire something like this from a detached, appreciative angle.
As I sank the big cock down my throat, I was immediately stabbed by jealousy. What a weird emotion to feel when sucking cock. I was speared with envy to imagine another woman doing exactly what I was doing, even an actress from the “cum factory” who was being paid for such a delicious treat.
He was Brazilian waxed, probably to appeal to moviegoers. I couldn’t even gulp his cock down to the base, it was that long. I was overwhelmed by his intense masculinity. His virility made me feel more feminine, more submissive in a traditional, empowering way. I snaked my tongue around the width of the prick with every plunge of my mouth. I used my thumb to massage my saliva down the thickness of it, rubbing that sensitive spot underneath.
This sort of “zipless sex” was efficient, satisfying, and useful, I had been taught. Why did I now feel it wasn’t enough? I wanted more. More, more! I was filled with vindication when Knoxie groaned so deeply it resonated through his penis, vibrating my lips.
And yanked himself away from me.
“Oh, God!” he groaned, striding to the window, panting.
“What the f*ck?” I cried. I wobbled over to him again on my knees—some kind of slut begging for a piece of it. Knoxie was gripping his erect dick with his fist, but making no attempt to put it away. Hooking my finger beneath one of his belt loops, I jerked him to face me again. “I wasn’t done, Knoxie.”
“Yeah, well, you would’ve been in another ten second—aagh!” Knoxie snarled as though I were hurting him. Which, looking back on it, maybe I was. I was so inexperienced. There wasn’t much oral sex up at Bihari. I was taking from my teenaged Coyote Buttes experience when I would give knob jobs under a smelly sleeping bag, choking for air.