I'd known Antony online for a little under a year, and had met him once in person. His intellect and quick wit had lured me in from the beginning. Cunning men were always a great conquest for me. It wasn't that I enjoyed counting the notches on my bedpost, but winning the attention of a man with a PhD drove me wild. Maybe it was the writer in him, or his fine taste. Hell, perhaps it was simply the way he paid attention to me with such a sensitive intuition. It had made the last few months of late-night phone conversations such stimulating goodnight lullabies.
Antony was amazingly exciting and predictably unpredictable, yet there was a ritualistic nature to the way our calls went. First, I'd meet him online, usually by coincidence, though some nights I was more thrilled to see him chatting than others. We'd exchange a few minutes of inane banter, and then he'd tell me how tired he was, how he really should get to bed. I'd concur, but somehow convince him that he'd sleep easier if he called me first. Then I'd log off the computer without giving him a chance to answer, run to the bathroom to fill the tub, and light my three vanilla candles to set that familiar sensual ambiance.
Finally, with just a few moments to spare, I'd slip into the tub and stroke myself while I waited for him to call. Sometimes I was sure he purposefully took his time in dialing just to see if I could stand the torment of waiting. Often I couldn't. There were several occasions that the soft candlelight and warm water were enough to convince me to bring myself off before he called. Once we were on the phone, we'd make idle polite chitchat. At the first hint of my quickened breath, though, Antony would sigh deeply and begin taunting me with a most deliciously naughty parade of words. Oh, how I loved being caught! On rare occasion, the whole scenario would be reversed, and it was he who found himself convincing me to call.
I was used to being in total control before meeting Antony. Few men excited me as he did. His voice and wit melted away any trace of coy manipulation I attempted to cling to. It was his spoken fantasies, not mine, that brought me through climax after trembling climax. I didn't dare fathom what he might do to me in person. For all it might matter, his libidinous voice could tell me to take out the trash and I'd be moist with pleasure.
The last time we spoke on the phone was even more electric than usual. Antony had recently visited an internet chat channel that my friends and I frequent. Immediately, Antony had noticed an advertisement for a party that was billed, tongue-in-cheek, as an orgy. I positively did not want him there. I guessed that at first he probably had no desire to even make a short guest appearance, though when I reacted with a nearly violent aversion to the thought of him showing up, he ran with the idea. I learned quickly that Antony took great pleasure in teasing me, and he also knew that I took even greater pleasure in being teased. We had never crossed this line before, though, the line between fantasy and reality. Because I thought it was safe, I'd made mention of several of the friends that would be there this weekend. He knew my thoughts on each one, how they secretly turned me on in their own ways, and several experiences I'd had with a few of them.
I remember all the self-talk I did in the first part of our conversation. He won't show. Nah, he was just bluffing. I tried to put all of Antony's comments about the party out of mind and just enjoy myself. The tension made it even more pleasurable than usual, as I stroked my clit to the sound of his determined voice.
Then out of the blue, after we'd both orgasmed into oblivion, as we were both reaching to hang up, I heard him say, "See you Saturday, Felicia." Click!
II I begged him not to come to the first party. Yes, I begged. It infuriated me that I had stooped to that level, especially in vain, but I'd done it and there was no taking it back.
He was fully aware of what he'd done. Oh yes, he knew. God-damn him, arriving just a little later than I thought he'd dare show. First, he took his time to make a drink and greet the others. Then he found me and gave me a barely passable hello hug. Antony, you're an ass, I thought to myself.
Fuck him. He wanted me to wonder, wait, simmer, get pissed off - and his mission was indeed splendidly accomplished. I could have had my pick of any number of the drunken imbeciles at the gathering, but three-fourths of them, even sober, were merely entertaining at best. Yes, I could even have taken home the women, save three or four of my close friends.
He didn't smile, only adorned himself with a coy little half smirk when he looked at me. I could see it through the back of his head as he kneeled between Maya's legs and lapped behind her knee during some silly drinking game. He knew full well how I adored her legs.
Prick!
Several times I'd told him on the phone how delicious Kara was. So, of course she was next to make his acquaintance. He took her hand and led her out of view from the rest of the gatherers for an intense toe suckling session. I knew Kara well. I could make her cum if I played the back of her neck just right. Yes . . . and I loved to watch her go down on Erik. She was such a little cock hog, bringing him closer and closer to an infernal explosion while I'd toy with his nipples like they were forbidden buttons. Then his stubby little fingernails would bulldoze into my back as he climaxed. Ahh, my Kara, so shy and pristine in the common world, but behind her bedroom door she meant business. She always swallowed every drop.
I remembered snuggling up to Jadrian that night. He was a good friend, and great for the ego. He threw his arms around me in an affectionate embrace. I could tell that the alcohol had lowered his inhibitions, because he was talking much more than usual and was stealing delicate little nibbles from my ear lobes between his bouts of chatter. His demeanor tonight was the polar opposite to his usual, nearly-stoic composure.
Worry and doubt became my next companions. I remember fretting over whether or not I really did excite Antony, or if he was just playing the same game with me on the phone that I did with most other men. As he put it, even a remarkable shared orgasm on the phone compares shamefully to a well-placed kiss in person. I thought longingly about the conversations we shared late at night, while I lounged in my old claw-foot tub.
"I'm leaving," I told him, and tossed a half-hearted courtesy smile in his direction, one even less assuring than those the tired supermarket checkers gave me late at night on Sundays.
"So soon?" Antony questioned, his eyes flickering with an reflection from the fuck-me eyes of his last harlot.
"Yeah, I'm tired, and I've been here too long already," I stammered.
"You weren't waiting for me, were you Felicia?" Antony probed me again with an arrogant sarcasm that nearly had me throttling his neck.
"Hell no, who do you think you are, John Fucking Kennedy?" I lunged at him with a defensive tone that wrung out any drip of truth in my reply.
"Well, I guess you'll be leaving, then, won't you?" Antony retorted, completely unaffected by my spite. Then he slithered his arms around me as I turned to leave, finishing his hug with a quick tug of my short red hair - another cheap act that only a well-informed lover could have pulled on me.
Defenseless. I was already rendered defenseless to his ways. With as much as this man knew about my stimulants, he might as well have stripped me naked right there.
"Felicia." He called my name again, like he had so many times in the wee hours of the morning. "Felicia, the reason I aimed all my affections on your friends was only to tease you. Well, perhaps myself too, a bit. It didn't excite you, did it?" He paused briefly, waiting for a response.
"You know what's truly amazing, Felicia?" Antony cupped my chin in his hand and looked into my eyes, half expecting me to answer. "The thing I find truly amazing is that I can feel your body heat through not one but TWO layers of clothing. Dear, what's gotten you so excited this evening? I know you haven't had anything to drink."
"What do you think, Einstein?" I swung back, regaining my composure.
"Oh, Felicia, you're cute when you're angered. You do know I always save the best for last, don't you? Besides, who was it that got me off so explosively last night? It wasn't any of your cute little friends at this party." Antony said this last with a patronizing lilt.
