bed sex

Moina Locklear was a lovely little thing, and she definitely knew it. She hadn’t always been that way of course- having had an awkward adolescence where she wore glasses, had a face full of pimples and braces- but she seemed to be finally pleased with her appearance at the age of twenty-five, where her parent’s money had bought her perfect, white teeth; a sexy, pouty bottom lip; a full bosom; and a wardrobe full of nice clothes. She went to the frequent cocktail parties of the local Connecticut bourgeoisie and prided herself on being a prominent member of the local yacht club- even though she didn’t own a yacht.



Her mother had bequeathed to her before her lost battle with breast cancer, the estate, the family fortune, and a bonus of three thousand dollars won from her divorce settlement with Moina’s father. Moina had enough to live comfortably for the rest of her days, all without lifting a finger.



She mused upon her good luck before checking her trusty palm-pilot for any appointments today. The day proved to be boringly empty save for the final event- the monthly ‘themed’ bash over at her friend Jill’s house. Jill had a huge hot tub, which every month at her smashing parties proved to be the center of the Ridgefield gossip club. The theme this month (it was February) happened to be entitled “Seeing Red” and the invitation was as follows:



Martinez Monthly Mash



February 2009



“Seeing Red”



When: February 10th 7PM to 1AM



Where: Jill and Ricardo Martinez Estate



What: Enjoy cocktails, outdoor grilling, and more at this month’s Mash, where the theme is RED! Wear red; bring red roses, whatever as long as it’s RED in honor of Cupid’s favorite holiday.



RSVP ASAP.







Moina excitedly pitter-pattered to her walk in closet, and turned to the side exclusively for dresses. She had four red dresses- one was out of the question because it required her to wear white shoes, and white after Labor day was a no-no- the other was a sundress, too casual- the third had a button missing- which left the fourth- a sexy, plunge-line halter with a pleated bottom that revealed just the right amount of skin. She chose a pair of matching red peep-toe pumps and laid them out on her bed along with red underwear and bra. The outfit was delightfully sensual overall.



Though Moina Locklear was a pretty little thing, and she could dress as scantily as she wanted- she never did so to attract men. For Moina, getting jazzed up proved to be for her own personal satisfaction. Men did not control her life because she had seen firsthand what her father had done to her mother by betraying her with another woman. She feared intimacy, especially the sexual kind, ever since she lost her virginity to a rough, inconsiderate boy named Ian at the age of seventeen. But she adored looking sexy, making people want her, even though the chances of her wanting them back were slim to none. Not that Connecticut lacked in cute, sophisticated guys…



Moina whittled away the day by going grocery shopping and getting her hair done. She loved the way her hair looked when it was freshly made up- she had short red hair cut to her chin in a modern, austere bob- she would catch her reflection in the window or a mirror and smile. Her face was dainty and girlish, her lips red against the paleness of her skin, her big brown eyes shown beneath the sepia of her eyeshadow and mascara, and her nose tweaked up in a perky little peak accented by the freckles underneath her eyes and across its bridge.



All throughout adolescence, her breasts were nonexistent, flat little lumps with no volume, until at nineteen she persuaded her mother to let her get implants which landed her with the 32Bs she had now. Her body was streamlined and slender, with wide hips and a small butt.



Moina sighed in the mirror and checked her watch. 6:02, still an hour left.



She watched television for a while (some game show) until it was finally time for her to depart.







The party was already well underway by the time she got there- the latest music blaring from the outdoor speakers, the fire pit heating the atmosphere around the fading February snow, the hot-tub full of people, martinis in everybody’s hand.



“Oh Moina, we thought you’d never get here,” came the slightly squealing, patronizing voice of her friend Jill, the host. Jill’s man candy husband, a real-estate guru named Ricardo Martinez had his arm linked around hers, and his eyes traveled around in boredom. Jill and Moina kissed each other on the cheeks.



“Ricky, be a dear and go fetch Moina a martini will you?” she bade her husband, kissing him on the cheek. He made a grunt of assent and left the two women alone.



Jill and Moina began to chat animatedly about eyeliner and hair products, when something distracted the host, and her eyes lit up with excitement.



“Off the topic for a moment, Moina dear- but have you met my cousin Claude? He’s visiting from Montana and is quite the interesting person. I swore he was around here somewhere…” her eyes searched the party hungrily for said cousin of hers, and Moina experienced the dreadful sense of being set up.



“Claude?” Jill called out, and after a few moments of impatient foot-tapping, an extraordinarily tall man emerged from the shadows of the house.



“Cripes, Jill, I was just getting a drink,” he complained loudly.



Claude had to be at least six feet tall, with a boyish face and dirty-blonde hair. He wore a red shirt and black slacks. Once he stepped from the porch-light, his hair returned to a more natural shade of brown. It hung in loose curls down his neck.



“Claude,” Jill addressed, her voice clipped; “there’s someone I want you to meet. This is Moina Locklear. She lives in Ridgefield, just south of here. Would you be a dear and keep her company while I go refill the ice bucket for the champagne?”



Claude nodded noncommittally, sighing with relief after Jill went off, teetering in the opposite direction of the ice bucket she claimed she needed to refill.



“She’s so damn bourgeois,” Claude said curtly, his hands in his pockets. Moina nodded in silent assent.



“I’m Claude Favreau, by the way- not ‘darling Claude’ or whatever the hell pet names my cousin contrives for me.” Claude held out his hand, which Moina shook, alarmed at its warmth despite the weather.



“Moina Locklear,” introduced the other, smiling shyly at this handsome, youthful man before her. She wasn’t usually shy like this, but perhaps it was the fact that Claude looked like a red and black skyscraper compared to her.



“So you live in Montana…” Moina began, offering a conversation starter, for some reason not wanting to lose this man’s attention. She became suddenly self-conscious about the way her dress clung to her hips.



“Yeah,” Claude picked up the line, running his hands through his sandy hair; “I do. It’s gorgeous up there. There are mountains everywhere, and you can see the stars at night.” He smiled wistfully.



“What do you do,” Moina asked, then hurriedly- “for a living, I mean.”



“Me? Oh, I’m a doctor. The family doctor, actually. I live in a pretty remote place. Takes me a half hour to get to the grocery store,” he laughed.



“Must be nice,” Moina said absentmindedly, blushing at her strange remark.



“It is,” Claude nodded in assent. “What do you do? For a living, I mean.”



“I work part time at an organic food store. My mom left me a lot in her will, so I don’t need to make much.”



“Must be nice not having to worry about food and stuff. So are you good friends with Jill?”



“Not really. She throws good parties, though.”



Claude snorted. “If you like this sort of thing. Cute dress, by the way.”



Moina and Claude spoke throughout the entire party, and when he danced with her, she felt a stirring she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She felt his body moving with hers. She felt calm about it. The feeling of his arms around her waist seemed right to her. He heard his voice, husky in her ear whisper “Do you wanna leave this joint?” and she heard herself say “Yes.”



They arrived at Moina’s house ten minutes later, Claude whistling at the size of it. Moina brewed him a cup of coffee, which he downed in a couple of sips.



“So do you have a boyfriend?” asked Claude, more serious than usual.



“No,” Moina laughed.



“Why not? You’re gorgeous enough for it.”



She blushed.



“I just don’t want one.”



“Why?” he pressed.



Finally, Moina gave in to telling Claude about Ian, and how he treated her roughly when he took her virginity, and how he called her names and hit her once. Claude sat sober faced through the entire story.



“One bad guy doesn’t make them all bad,” he said sometime after. “There are other men, you know.”



“I know,” Moina smiled, feeling unexplained tears well up in her eyes. “It’s just that he’s ruined sex for me. I’ve never done it since.”



Why she told all of him this, she didn’t know. She only knew that when he took her hand in his that it felt right.



“Will you let me,” he whispered in her ear, his voice hoarse; “I’ll be gentle. You can tell me to stop at any time.”



And for some inexplicable, incomprehensible, equivocal reason- Moina said yes.



Her mind was in a haze as she led him upstairs to her bedroom- suddenly ashamed at its boring earth tones and small bed. Claude’s lips connected with hers in a desperate kiss, his breaths of arousal in her ear. Moina remained silent, allowing a gasp to escape her when he kissed down her jawline, leaving a mark on her collarbone. She noticed that he had untied her dress and let it fall to the floor. She instantly covered herself, ashamed at the fact that at the last minute she had decided against wearing a bra.



“Don’t hide yourself,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re goddamn gorgeous.”



Moina shivered at the words.



He edged her up against the bed and kissed her breasts which caused her to moan and arch her back; he slid her up so that she was now fully lying down, Claude on top of her, towering over her. He undid the buttons on his shirt and removed it, his long arms shirking it to the floor. His socks followed. Moina was so tiny in his arms, in the large expanse of his chest. He could pick her up easily, and conversely, he could hurt her easily as well. Through his clouded mind, he reminded himself to be gentle.



He played with her nipples, pressed her breasts together in order to kiss both simultaneously. Sensitive after years of dormancy, Moina moaned. Ian never felt this good. Claude removed his pants, leaving him in his black briefs- in them, a tent. Moina’s eyes widened in fear at his arousal, and she scrambled backwards. He caught her, and kissed her deeply, silencing her. Slowly he sat up and held her in his lap, his hands dancing along her body before settling in the valley between her legs. She cringed in the anticipation of pain, but instead she received pleasure.



Claude was good at what he did, his hands teased her, caressed her, pleasured her; he found her clit and tweaked it, rewarded by the cry she gave- his name- Claude. He laid her against the pillows, and kissed her once more, trailing kisses down her neck her torso, stopping between her legs before kissing her there too, lapping up the wetness he had roused in her. His tongue went inside her, teased her entrance, played with her clit. Beads of sweat rolled down her face as she choked out moan after moan, never loud, but soft, as if she was afraid of him hearing. Unbeknownst to her, he busied himself by slipping a condom onto his shaft underneath his underwear.



He sucked on her clit suddenly, before taking a break to lap at it, then suck at it again. This time she elicited a cry of satisfaction, bolting up and grabbing Claude’s head, her fingers tangled in his sandy hair.



“Claude, so good,” she whimpered as he repeated his ministrations. “Claude, I’m gonna come, Claude!” And suddenly, Claude’s face was sprayed with her essence as she climaxed. Claude removed his underwear while she was basking in her afterglow.



“I want to feel you around me,” he whispered huskily into Moina’s ear, “I want to fill you with me, I want to be inside of you, I want to make you scream again.”



Through her fear, Moina choked out a yes. She kissed him, tasting herself on him, noting at how sour it was.



Claude teased her entrance with his cock, rubbing back and forth, causing Moina to clench in desperation, already aroused again, already wet. Claude continued his administrations until he heard what he wanted to hear.



“Goddammit Claude, just do it!”



“Do what?” he feigned innocence.



“Enter me,” she sobbed as he brushed against her clit.



“With what?”



“Just fucking do it!”



And he did. Slowly, he slid into her, marveling at how tight she was.



“Does it hurt?” he whispered in her ear.



“No…Please Claude, move.”



He thrust in and out of her patiently, waiting for her to get used to the motions. She did.



“Harder Claude,” she groaned, bucking her hips in rhythm to his thrusts.



“What’s the magic word?” he teased, nibbling at her ear, trying to control himself.



“Harder please, please, Claude.”



He obliged, feeling his cock slide in and out of her, loving the friction despite the condom he had sneaked on while he ate her out.



“Claude,” she cried, his name on her lips as a moan, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore- he pounded her, let himself go, was rough but not violent. Moina groaned his name as she hit her plateau, and he slowed down, making every thrust that much sweeter until, through her little moans, she came again, and he did as well, a loud, deep moan on his lips.



“Are you okay?” he asked her after their breathing settled down.



“Oh my God,” she groaned.



“Are you hurt?” his tone was slightly panicked.



“No Claude, oh God no. What did you do to me?” she asked, burying her head in his chest. He kissed her.



“What a man is supposed to do to a woman.”



The red dress was going to be a wrinkled mess in the morning, but she didn’t care.

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