Interlude - Buzzing

When she called, he answered.

This time she was telling him of their upcoming world tour, and how she wanted him there as a toy. Within an hour after they spoke he was already on the phone with his manager, who set up a meeting between him and the higher ups at his company. 

He was a celebrity himself, of course, with his own fans and his own commitments - but he had done well enough for himself and his company to have some leverage over his schedules. And so he was able to get a couple of months away from any activities, despite the protestations of his bosses. 

The next couple of weeks passed by in a blur, with the leg of the tour in the States seeming a bit like a sex and alcohol induced fever dream. But he enjoyed every minute of it. The constant, mind-blowing sex was great, of course, but above all, it meant he could spend time with her.

Their relationship had essentially been a public one, despite their best efforts to maintain some modicum of privacy. The paparazzi were relentless, but they still managed enough time to themselves to truly build something resembling a relationship, as well as two celebrities at the peak of their popularity could do so.

He fell in love with her.

He knew exactly when it happened, too - when she stayed over at his place one quiet morning in the fall. She had tired him out the night before - she seemed to possess a boundless supply of energy when it came to the carnal - and so he was late to wake up, being awoken only by the clinking of glass against glass and a muffled curse that followed it.

As luck would have it his open bedroom door gave him a perfect line of sight to the kitchen. And there she was, clothed in one of his large t-shirts and golden sunlight, cleaning up the mess of takeout containers and soju bottles that they had left in his kitchen. She was humming quietly to herself, the tune of his latest single. He would never forget the soft, beautiful smile on her lips - that image seared itself onto the surface of his heart, a tattoo, a mark on his very soul.

He knew then and there that he had fallen madly, hopelessly in love with her.

And it made their breakup all the more painful - the fact that it happened in the public eye, complete with company announcements as though it were the release of some new upcoming single, made it sting more than perhaps it should have. What should have been a very private matter was, instead, a very public one.

They both moved on, ostensibly, at least. He adopted the same talkative, outgoing persona he’d always used on TV and with his fans, brushing her off, making her and others think she was nothing more than an ex-girlfriend, a part of his past.

But he always came when she called. To her, he was just a plaything now, a toy, something to sate her physical urges whenever they came up, made different from the other toys only by their shared history. To him, she, well…

He’s lying in bed in his Seoul apartment, the overseas leg of her group’s tour having wrapped up. Being on tour with the girls was wonderful, of course, for obvious reasons - but nothing beat being back home, sleeping in your own bed. He closes his eyes and begins to doze off.

His phone vibrates. He picks it up, more than a little annoyed at being pulled back from the cusp of sleep.

It’s her, and she wants him. 

A simple message, no more than a few words, a far cry from the cutesy, flowering texts she used to send him. But he knew what it meant. He knew that the long flight home had made her antsy, made her needy. Long flights always did that to her. She could never just pass out on the plane like some people could. Whenever she got off them all she wanted was a beer and a fuck.

And so within the hour he was at her apartment, six-pack cradled in the crook of one arm.

It was an apartment he knew well, one he’d spent many a long evening and lazy afternoon in. He’d made many memories with her there, many carnal and lustful, but just as many loving and warm.

He was her first - and at his insistence he wanted their first time to be at her apartment, where she could feel safe and comfortable. It had taken some time as they both waited for the chance to have the apartment to themselves - she lived and still lived with roommates, of course. Their first time was awkward and short, as many first times are, but he could still remember, would always remember how beautiful she was, how soft and warm her cheek felt against his own, how passionate her lips were on his.

This night was far different, if no less pleasurable. Over their time together she’d grown more and more confident in herself and her body. He thought himself the luckiest man on earth to be the one she’d chosen to share that part of her life with. Their relationship had ended, of course, but she’d kept the skills and experience from it.

She was on him like a predator that had finally cornered its prey - he had to fight to make sure he’d dropped the now irrelevant six-pack onto the kitchen counter lest he drop it onto the floor and shattered the bottles. She was already stripping him, ripping off the jacket and mask and large bucket hat that had concealed his identity from any prying eyes. He did his best to do the same. By the time they had landed on her bed they were both already naked.

She was gorgeous when they were dating - now she was a goddess. Perfection in female form, all curves and valleys and tight muscle. She was long legs and tight abs and the most beautiful pair of breasts he’d ever seen in his entire life - round and full and tipped with the most delectable looking nipples. He was well familiar with those gifts of hers, had spent many a long evening suckling from them until they were sore or fucking them or glazing them with his seed. They were what drew many men to her, for obvious reasons.

But it was her face that drew him, and more specifically, those eyes. Her eyes, those round, large, chestnut brown pools - they could see into him, through him, knew everything about him. 

When she looked at him he was defenseless. Utterly, completely defenseless, laid bare.

Tonight her eyes are hungry - half-lidded, still locked on his own as her lips trace a path down his body. She crawls down the length of him until she is curled up into a ball between his legs and face to face with his aching shaft. 

When she takes him into her mouth all the air rushes out from his lungs, and for a moment he forgets how to breathe.

He remembers the first time she did it, when she was awkward and shy and wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. She is a far cry from that now - their many nights together had given her the knowledge and experience she needed to make him utterly helpless, unable to do more than simply submit to her. She knew which buttons to press - or more specifically, what to do with that lascivious tongue of hers - in order to incite such pleasure in his body, the kind that made his fingers and toes curl involuntarily. The kind that made his mind blank out, the kind that made his body unable to do more than simply submit to her.

She takes him in and out, in and out, in and out of that wet, hot mouth of hers. His fingers dig into the bedsheets, searching in vain for some way to ground himself amidst the pleasure lest his soul drift off his mortal form. Every entry, every exit from between her lips is heaven. Was this really that shy, awkward girl from their first time together? Where did she learn all this?

From her nights with him, of course, but also her nights with the other toys and other men she’d been with since their breakup. It bugged him, sometimes, that she had other men too, not that it was any of his business. He was jealous of them, he supposed. He was upset at himself, mostly, that he was unable to keep her.

Her hands join her mouth at his cock, and it chases all thought of jealousy and other men away from his mind. Everything she did was masterful. She knew exactly what to do to him, as though he were an open recipe book, and she were just following the instructions. 

His hands reach for her, for the side of her bobbing head. She knew what that meant. And as wonderful as the taste of his semen on her tongue and sliding down her throat would have been, she wanted more. She didn’t call him over for a five minute blowjob. No, she wanted the whole package.

She lifts her head from him, soliciting a sad moan from him in the process. She smiles wickedly as she wipes the saliva and pre-cum from her lips and chin with the back of one hand. Her smile, usually so bright, possessed a darker sharpness to it now. He knew what it meant.

She crawls up the bed on all fours. Her breasts dangle deliciously like hanging fruits, begging to be tasted, begging to be suckled upon - but he is still drawn to her eyes. There is a hunger there that she needed to sate.

She reaches the top of the bed, placing her knees on either side of his head, trapping him between her thighs. With one last flash of that wicked smile, she lowers herself onto his waiting mouth.

He was just as hungry as she - just as eager to satiate the lustful need that had been building up inside him since the last time he had her. And so he has no trouble finding the motivation to devour her - completely and utterly, devoting every ounce of his energy and skill and experience with this most intimate part of her body to pleasuring her. 

His tongue gives her long, slow licks from the bottom of her slit to the top, the way he knew she liked. Slowly at first, the tip of his tongue just barely parting her wet, slick, dripping lips. He relishes the taste of her on his palette - a taste he could never tire of, like one’s favorite drink. Every drop of her juices on his tongue drives him, spurs him, makes him want more.

His tongue goes a little deeper now, penetrating her slick pussy with his tongue. She writhes and quivers atop him, eyes shut, head cast back, the soft sighs that leave her mouth slowly and gradually turning into full moans. She grinds herself against his mouth, grips his head with both her hands, nails digging into his scalp. He grips her hips and ass with tight fingers, holding her in place. Letting him do his work.

Satisfied that she is ready for the main event, he captures the top of her slit with his lips, closing his mouth around it. The tip of his tongue searches for and quickly finds the quivering bud that is the centre of her pleasure. He swirls his tip around it, slowly, with a minimum of pressure but with constant speed, just the way he knew she liked.

She so often played the dominant one when they were together these days, both alone or with the other toys or other girls. But it was his turn now, his turn to show her what he could do. His turn, however fleeting, to exert some control over her.

She writhes and quivers and squirms atop him as he eats her. He relishes in the taste of her. His fingers dig into her hips and ass, wanting to fix her, wanting to keep her there forever, as though her body were a vessel he was drinking from, a glass he never wanted to empty, full as it was with the most delicious drink known to man.

The minutes pass by like seconds. He could have laid there the entirety of the evening if she’d wished, eating her and tasting her and making her cum over and over again, drinking from her body, the feel of her warm, soft thighs on his cheeks and the slick, hot flesh on his tongue more than enough to content him.

But when her body presses more urgently against his mouth, when the moans turn more insistent, less controlled, he knew she was reaching her peak. He maintains the speed and pressure of his tongue swirling around her clit, but his right hand snakes its way between her ass cheeks until it finds her pursed opening - and with his middle finger he begins to tease it before slowly making its way inside her body.

And that’s it, that’s what undoes her. She’d always had a thing for anal. She preferred it in her pussy, of course, but even she wanted to try something new sometimes, and together they’d spent many a sweaty, sticky night experimenting with her rear entrance. Even on those nights when he didn’t take her ass she still loved having it teased - especially as he ate her.

And so she orgasms atop him, flooding his mouth with her slick juices even as she momentarily loses control of her body, her limbs quivering violently as her voice cuts out and the moan that was leaving her lips becomes a strangled cry that abruptly halts. He drinks her all in, slurps it all up even as some of her juices drip down his chin and neck, her body an overflowing waterfall, a cup overfilled with too much.

He cared little for the mess he was making on his face. He cared only for her, and for her pleasure, and for how wonderful he was making her feel.

It takes her long minutes to recover - not that he minded in the least. They were minutes he spent lapping slowly at her spent opening, at the juices flowing from it, or from her soft, flushed thighs, stained as they were with evidence of her orgasm. Slowly her voice returns, and she says the first full words she’d said to him that night.

“I want your cock in me,” she hisses. 

Some of the most alluring, lustful, lewd words a woman could tell a man, to be sure, but a far cry from the loving, tender words she’d used in their past, when they were a young man and woman in love. In the past she’d asked him to make love to her, told him she wanted to feel him inside her. He would never tire of hearing her tell him she wanted his cock in her, of course, but a small, nostalgic part of him longed for the days of softer, more loving words.

She didn’t care for his sentimentality. For her there was only a need to be satiated, and the best way to do it was with the hard length between his legs.

She crawls back down his body, wasting no time, spreading her legs atop him and reaching between them to point his tip at her dripping lips.