Subconscious Ch 01

Chapter 1

She noticed him the moment he walked into the wine bar. He wasn't particularly handsome but there was something about him that pulled her eyes to him and wouldn't let go.

"Hey!" Mirei yelled over the noise. The place was busy. "Hey, calling all space cadets."

She finally switched her attention to her friend.

"He's sort of nice, something really male about him, you know? But why the long stare?"

She realized she had been staring at him. And he'd noticed, briefly fixing his eyes on her from across the crowded room, then moving on to something else. She'd been lost in a sudden fantasy: she imagined that she was walking over to him and standing right in from of him, not aggressive, just moving into his personal space. And she was putting that special smile on her face and fluffing her blondish hair and when those amazing eyes of his locked onto hers she was sinking down to her knees in front of him, sliding her hands down his chest to his thighs, right there in front of the whole establishment, and tilting her head up showing him her attractive face and mouthing the words she wanted only him to--

"Hey?" Her friend caught her. She'd been so lost in her imagination that she'd started taking a step but almost lost her balance. She shook her head, as much to rip her eyes off him as to regain her poise.

"You okay? Drink not agreeing with you?"

"No no, it's just... I was thinking..." But no way was she going to tell Mirei what she'd been thinking. Her crotch was wet, instantly, soaking really. "Give me a minute." She headed for the ladies room.

Of course that tall guy who'd been eyeing her the whole evening moved to intercept her, trying get her attention. She took out her phone and pretended to take a call. In the bathroom she stood for a moment, wondering why she was there, then found a compartment and sat down.

Guy did a thing to me,

she texted Mirei. She cleaned herself up as much as she could, brushed her hair and put on some lip gloss. She straightened her top, peach colored, her tight black pants, and returned to the bar.

Mirei wasn't there and neither were their drinks. Looking around she found a thin Asian brunette, her friend, standing at a table of guys, talking to them. He was one of them. Mirei beckoned her over. She crossed the room tentatively, which was very unlike her. She knew how good looking she was; she was inured to enduring the attention of everyone in sight, both men and women, whenever she moved. But this was more like walking on stage to give a performance, a similar excitement and trepidation, like the times she'd made presentations at conferences. She made herself breathe.

She smiled and nodded at the other three men while Mirei introduced her. She didn't nod at him. Somehow she didn't want to react to him the same way. Their eyes met again. Her scalp prickled. Tingles ran down her spine. More wetness. She wished she'd put on a pad.

Mirei, being Mirei, had simply gone over and introduced herself and started a conversation. Mirei was very good looking also, a classic Japanese beauty, though not, Mirei herself had said, in her class. Four healthy men weren't going to resist the intrusion. Mirei ran her own business, interior design, so knew how to introduce herself and how to engage people, a skill she admired but found impossible to imitate.

He stood and offered Mirei his seat, then pulled a chair over for her and one for himself. He seemed to be the leader. So there she was, right next to him. She didn't dare look at him. That would be way too revealing, not to mention embarrassing. Playing aloof and hard to get was a technique that came naturally to her and that she'd perfected from long experience. They made small talk, lame jokes, whatever. She drank. Her mind kept floating away.

"... and don't even ask her what she's doing there. You wouldn't understand." Mirei was bragging again about her and her new position at the Institute. The three amigos gave her looks with varying mixtures of disbelief and trepidation.

There followed the inevitable feeble science jokes, which she did her best to tune out. She had to concentrate on keeping her hands on her lap. They seemed to want to drift over to him, touch his arm, slide in to his--

"I said," the voice was smooth and strong, "Did you want another drink?" His hand was on her shoulder. Heat flowed from it and spread through her body. She could only nod. And had to do that briefly. Her head wanted to dive into his lap, a crazy idea she immediately pushed away. She always played the nice girl, gorgeous but distant. But sometimes crazy ideas came to her, urges to drop all her masks and let herself go. This was just another one and she knew how to deal with it.

He stood to go to the bar. She stood with him, not knowing why. "Uh, let me help." That was lame but they were together now, on the way. She didn't want to be separated from him. At the bar he got the barkeep's attention, ordered the drinks, started a tab, then turned to face her again. And those eyes. Captivating. Not a special effect from one of those stupid adolescent vampire romances. Real.

She expected him to start a conversation with some line, like guys usually did with her, trying to be clever. But he just looked at her. Didn't stare, just looked.

"I, um." She never had to work at talking with guys. They were always so nervous, hyped that they'd finally gotten up the courage to meet her, blathering on while she assessed them, always finding a lack. He wasn't a guy. He was something else. Something new. "Um." She took out her phone, just to waste time while she got her act together. "I... there's something about you." Lame. Now she knew how all those guys felt. So maybe act like a guy? "If I said you had a hot body," she finally blurted out, "Would you hold it against me?"

He laughed out loud. She smiled her special smile. She felt better, more awake. The drinks arrived. Time to take the bull by the--

horns

, she told herself firmly. "Can I get your number?" she asked.

He took her phone out of her hands, which was not what she'd expected. With quick gestures he went to her contacts and added his info. She felt strange seeing that. Happy, yes, now they had a connection and she wouldn't lose him, realizing only at that moment that she'd had this ridiculous fear she would lose him if she didn't do something right away. But also mystified. Why, she wondered, hadn't she panicked when he had her phone and could see any sort of private information in there?

They brought the drinks back to the table. She drank hers quickly, slowing down at the the end so maybe others wouldn't notice.

"Come on, don't be shy," Mirei said.

She realized her friend meant her. Some trendy science question. "No, rubber mirrors aren't really made of rubber." She gave them a little mini-seminar about adaptive optics. Lies told to children, a former advisor had called these oversimplified explanations.

"She's almost done with her Phd," Mirei told the guys. The others seemed more puzzled than impressed, but he gave her a long stare.

She looked at his contact again on her phone, beneath the table so people couldn't see. She toyed with things to text him. Confused stuff more pieces of images than anything sensible. She typed words and deleted, typed again. His phone beeped. She watched him look at it, then at her. She realized she'd sent something accidentally. In a brief panic she checked what she'd sent. Luckily it was just "I" and some spaces. That look from him hit her again, this time with a question. A question that was more an instruction.

I want to go home with you,

she typed quickly and sent without letting herself think about it.

She looked up, shocked at herself. He checked his phone and nodded at her, totally cool, as if they were in a business meeting. "I need to get going. Board meeting tomorrow." He turned to her. "Did you still want that ride you mentioned?"

"Yes. Yes, thank you." It was the briefest glance, but somehow they both knew what kind of ride he meant.

Only Mirei caught the exchange. She gave her that

WTF?

look, then a little O with raised eyebrows. Mirei knew this was way off her usual script with guys.

They said their good-byes and went out. He led her to a sleek little German thing. In the passenger seat she said, "I don't know what got into me. Sorry, I have to confess the first moment I saw you--"

"You have no need to apologize. Certainly not to me." She felt embarrassed. "But you were about to tell me something."

"I-- I was saying I don't know what made me text you that."

"But you do want to go home with me, correct?" He'd started the car.

She turned in the seat to face him. "Yes. I don't know what's got into me, but yes."

He pulled out and drove while she watched him. She wanted to touch him. "Your body is trying to show you," he said. "If you want to touch me, just ask."

She looked down at her hands, hovering over his thigh and arm, and touched him.

He pulled the car over to the curb, with a momentum that pushed her away. He turned to her.

"Ask. You need to ask."

"I'd like to touch you. Please."

Without hesitation he took her head in his hands and kissed her deeply, putting his tongue way into her mouth. The shocking intimacy made her squeal into his. After exploring her mouth he pulled away. She closed her eyes and stopped breathing. When she opened them he was looking at her, then looked down. Her eyes followed his to his crotch, where they both saw her hand. "You were about to confess something to me."

She tried to deny that she was going to reveal anything, but her body betrayed her. She stuttered. She tried to think of something innocuous to confess. Why had she even used that word, as if she were guilty of something? Words wouldn't come while he stared right at her. "I--" There was something about him, some fundamental calmness, that made pretensions impossible. They would just bounce off him as if off some kind of sci-fi force field. She realized that she hadn't removed her hand from his crotch and was actually squeezing his testicles. She could feel him hardening. Of course she should take her hand back. Instead she melted against him, her head on his shoulder, her lips to his ears. She whispered, "I had this fantasy at the bar. I was going to walk over to you, and--" her breathe grew hoarse. She could feel his body stiffen like his cock and felt she had power over him, she could turn him on, and the feeling rushed like a giant breaker over her. Almost boasting, before rationality could take hold, she continued, "And offer to... you know." She pulled away and looked at him. "On my knees. Do you."

She'd never said anything remotely like that to a guy. She was shocked at her own behavior and expected him to say something stupid. He only smiled, a scary smile, as if he could see right into her and saw all the lame little porno scenes her mind had spawned. She'd admitted, at least to herself and to Mirei, that she was a sexual woman. She liked sex, she liked men. She felt her control slipping, though she didn't know what she was controlling herself from. He seemed to know. "Then do it, let yourself go," he said.

Something released in her, as if she'd had a major artery constricted all her life and suddenly it cleared up and hot new blood was flowing through her. She wanted to do this man, needed to do him, a basic need, a hunger she had to satisfy.

Okay,

she thought,

This is that one crazy thing I do, a once-in-a-lifetime wild fling, a secret I'll look back on fondly when I'm an old lady.

Her head leaned down toward his waistband, out of which peeked the cock her hand had hardened. She put her lips to his tip and sucked fluid from it. Her hands worked his belt apart while she pushed her head into his waistband to suck in more of him. Soon his meat was in her, crowding her tongue, stretching her lips, poking at her throat. She sucked him all the way out then back again, over and over, while she massaged his balls, all but begging for his come.

This is a totally insane thing I'm doing,

she told herself.

Just insane. Instant blow job for a guy I hardly know. This is not what beautiful girls do but this is a once in a lifetime insane moment and after I've given this lucky guy his peak sex experience I'll lick my lips and smile and say something nice to him, fluff my silky hair and get out of the car and go back to the bar and never see him again.

But he didn't come. He lasted and lasted until she regained her sense of reality-- at least that's how it felt, as if the sudden, overwhelming compulsion to fellate him had been a psychedelic trip-- and she raised her head to look around. In that insane moment she'd totally forgotten where she was, that anyone could have looked in from the street.

"Don't worry. I was watching out. Pause for a minute." He started the car and they continued down the street. "More."

She thought at first he meant she should continue her confession. But she'd already told him about that. And yes, she still held his cock, which was still stiff. So this wasn't the instant blow job fantasy she'd just tried to make real, this was something maybe more interesting, more than a blow job. She'd given blow jobs, of course, to both her two previous serious boyfriends, to their immense, babbling gratitude. They'd been good experiences. But the 'job' aspect dominated, more like doing a friend a favor than-- than-- whatever this was.

She bent down again and took his cock back between her lips, lightly massaging it. She'd never given road head before and didn't want to cause an accident. Her tongue was already on him before the thought arrived in her head that she could have refused him, or at least told him to wait. But that thought was not welcome. It seemed so natural and right to do what she wanted to do anyway.

She seemed to split into multiple personalities as the ride and the blow job rolled on. The scientist in her pointed out the risk she was taking, that she was giving road head to a man she barely knew while he drove her God knew where. But that just impelled another, new part of her to polish his knob with a focus on stimulating every male nerve cell to ensure he valued her as the best knob polisher a man could ever want. And the quiet blonde she used to be, the nice girl, who would sit back and let boys compete for her attention, that girl was paradoxically the happiest of all. She didn't understand it, but the freedom she felt in not holding back was a tangible pleasure. She was sucking on a mouthful of bliss. At a stop that had to be a traffic light she started to lift her head, but his hand pressed her back down. "Suck." That was enough. The rest of the trip was a timeless flow, his cock, his hums of pleasure, his hand in her hair, his fluid leaking onto her tongue. Maybe he told her to suck him more times or maybe she just imagined him saying it to her. It didn't matter. She obeyed and that doubled her pleasure.

She lifted her head up as he released her and they entered a parking garage, sat up and tried to straighten her clothes. The valet gave her a look, not just the usual look men gave her. In the elevator she could see herself in the mirrored panels. That lip gloss she'd put on in the ladies room showed what she'd been doing with her mouth, if you knew what to look for. Most of her was mortally embarrassed; but a part of her was pleased. More confusion.

Before she could ponder for long why she might feel pleasure at revealing to a stranger that she'd been performing fellatio in public, they were in his apartment and she was facing him in his hallway as the door closed. They were alone. She felt she should get down on her knees, as she'd fantasized. As she'd told him she'd fantasized. She looked down. "Come this way," he said and led her into the main living area.

It was very nice, minimal chic. She knew she could sit on the inviting couches, but she was buzzing with energy. "What-- what has got into me?"

"Let me make you a drink."

"Yes, something strong," she requested, following him into the kitchen. "Why did I just do that?"

"You mean suck my cock?" He held out a bottle. "Bourbon? Ice?"

"I mean... everything."

"Because you wanted to."

"I guess so. Yes, I mean-- you never actually told me to, to do that. I mean, maybe you said, you know, something to urge me on. Oh wait. Were you telling me over and over to do it while I was, you know? But that was fine, that was great. You were just saying what was in my head." She smiled her smile. "Like you were."

He handed her the drink. "Oh God, thanks, I need this." She sipped, then drank a healthy gulp. It was strong. "Yes." Another gulp. "So," she tried. He didn't take the bait. "So. So, what would you like me to do now?"

He looked her up and down. He took long enough that she got a little scared. Was he taking her offer, maybe too open-ended, literally? She'd fully expected to continue her fantasy-turned-real, to be told to continue and then finish the blow job she'd begun and then probably leave-- no probably get fucked. That thought made her tremble all over. She tried to think of something he might ask, some really perverted act, that she would refuse to perform. But she couldn't think of any, or at least they were all in that vague frontier of sex that she'd never expected to encounter but secretly, possibly, in the distant future, hoped she might at least try once or twice.

He finally spoke, looking straight into her with those disconcerting eyes: "You should volunteer to be my sex slave."