Being Alexa (2)

His phone rang at 11:01 p.m. He debated answering it but decided to make her wait instead. In his mind he could almost picture her, pacing around her bedroom, likely, her long mane tossing in her annoyance. For it was a certainty that she’d be annoyed that she was actually making the call.

At 11:04 the phone rang again, and once more he smiled at the readout. Same number. Good, let her stew in her own juices.  Likely she’d thrown her phone on her bed in a fit of pique, likely she’d be stomping around growling. He’d researched her a bit since coming home. Her tantrums on various sets were increasingly frequent.

She had a serious case of “spoiled”.

He picked up the phone when it rang again at 11:36, but said nothing.

“I know you’re there.”


“I know you’re listening to this. I don’t need your bullshit crap. I don’t need to be told how to behave.  I don’t need your “I can fix you” bullshit lines. ”


“Why aren’t you answering me?”


“Why are you doing this to me?”

“You can clearly see that I’m doing nothing to you, nothing at all. All of these histrionics are coming from you, little one. Have you run down some now?”

“If you mean am I ready to sit here and play your fucking game, then NO!”

“Well, when you’re ready to have a conversation between adults, then do feel free to call me back. I don’t have time for the ravings of a child.”



He went to bed, putting the phone on mute.


His phone rang at 12:15 p.m. as he was working another speeding detail. He ignored it, focusing on the task at hand. He’d been on since 6, patrolling the Ventura hills area, and wouldn’t be off duty until 3 at the soonest. He did let a smile cross his face when he felt the vibe of the phone 30 minutes later.  And again thirty minutes after that. He sat in the cruiser under the shade of a redwood, relaxed.

By 430 he was at the gym, skin glowing with a sheen of sweat as he pumped his way through his workout. He did the final laps on the treadmill, then headed for the locker room. A shower first, he thought, though there was some appeal at showing up at Alexa’s all sweaty and damp, and making her lick him clean with that pert tongue of hers.

His cock tightened, thinking of that. Her mouth was beautiful, yet filled with bitter words. He knew just how to sweeten that hole. Fuck with the shower, he decided, and threw on his ratty tee-shirt. He left on his sweaty gym shorts.

By sheer coincidence, his phone buzzed as he picked up his bag, and headed out the door.

“If you’re ready to do this, meet me at the bar. You have 30 minutes, no more, no less. Wear a skirt.”

He disconnected, then slid into his car.


He was a rotten, fucking, asshole of a bastard. His mother had fucked a gorilla and birthed him. He’d been raised in a jungle by hyena’s. He was too damned sure of himself.

‘wear a skirt.’ She huffed out a breath as she slid out of her jeans, reached for the flared skirt she’d pulled out of her closet. Damn him.

He was a prick.

She applied her eyeliner thickly, a different look for her. It took away the “sweet face” look, and gave her a harder edge. She needed all the ‘edge’ she could get with that implacable fucker.  She knew his name was “Jeff” –maybe. Maybe he just made that up.

She was so fucking pissed that he didn’t answer his phone. In her world the phone was a lifeline connection…she didn’t know anyone who didn’t answer their ring quickly. Always desperate for the “reach out and touch” or the next movie to read. Maybe too much of her life revolved around the phone rather than actual people, but shit. This was HER world and HE’D intruded on it.

What was it about him? He was undeniably sexy. Not handsome the way her current co-star was, but there was just that compelling “it”…his eyes, gawd. They seared right into her mind. The way he looked at her, looked into her, looked through her. There were no facades with this guy. He didn’t give a shit how famous she was. He didn’t give a fuck if she was a movie star or a janitor.

There was this fucking….connection.

Why didn’t he answer his phone? She sighed, slid the diaphanous blouse over her tank top, slid into modest sandals. The bar she was going to was one step up from a dive, but he was going to be there, and for whatever reason, she felt safe. Maybe it was only about the “cop attraction” thing?

Shaking her head, she grabbed her purse and keys and headed out to the club.


He noted that she was in “movie star mode”. Perfect. The wolfish grin spread on his face as she came straight to his table. And frowned.

“What is that smell?”

He grinned.

“You got me after my workout. Look at you, all princessed up.”

“I’m NOT a princess. I thought we covered that last night. Though you do smell like a stable boy.”

Wrinkling her nose at him, she lifted her finger to her nose, turning her head.  He was amused. She was showing a bit of backbone rather than just expending emotional energy being pissed. She moved to sit. He blocked her with one foot.

“I didn’t give you permission to sit.”

Her mouth dropped open in an O of astonishment.

“Come here.”

He didn’t move, didn’t crook a finger at her, just the implacable tone of command. Hesitantly she moved closer.  He slid one ankle between hers.


Forced to part her legs, she moved a bit closer, his long limbs stretched between hers.

“Closer.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. He really was stinky. She moved closer, until she was almost straddling his hips. Her skirt settled over his lap, her bare inner thighs feeling the rubbing friction of his hairy legs. It made her feel vulnerable, exposed, and erotically excited.

“Lean down for a kiss, girl.”

As she leaned, he cupped her head with one large hand, then guided her down towards his mouth. At the last moment, he turned his head and her lips grazed his sweaty neck. He pulled harder, sliding her lips down his throat.

He tasted salty, smelled of hot man. It was strong, but not totally unpleasant. Yet he refused to release her. She pushed back against that hand.

“Lick it. Lick my neck, girl.”

Jesus. He didn’t just say that, did he? He wanted her to…lick his neck? Fucking weird. Yet her tongue slipped between her lips and touched his skin. The taste was stronger here, but good.

Her pussy lurched, awakened by his scent, his taste. She wasn’t sure that her g-string would absorb her juices if he got her any more excited. This was humiliating. Despite their being in the back of the room, in the dimmest part of it, surely someone could see what they were doing.

“Keep licking. Don’t stop.”

He craned his neck away, giving her access to where his neck and shoulder joined. Her tongue teased at the flesh, her lips pressed little kissed where her tongue had passed.

His free hand slid between her legs, slid into her cleft. His finger circled around her clit, making her gasp against his neck. He only played ‘rotary’ with that sensitive nub twice, before gliding deeper into her quivery valley. Unerringly, his fingers found her cunt, and slid inside.

Her eyes closed, and she buried the squeal that threatened to erupt against his neck.

“I said lick.”

She licked. His fingers twirled inside of her.

“I won’t be here long,” he murmured. “Just mapping you.”

He pressed against her cushiony g-spot, and she tensed, pressing her hips forward, attempting to keep him right there. 

He laughed.

“Oh now, little girl, it’s just not going to be that easy for you. You may stop licking now.”

His fingers slid from her body. She stood up, holding his shoulder for stability. She swore she could feel his cock seeking her, through the thin fabric of his shorts. She wondered how it would feel, to have him inside of her. His cock, rather than his fingers.

Frankly, she would take any part of him just now.



Busy weekend done? Check

Busy Monday ahead? Check

Time to write? *er…no*

sorry perv’s. This weekend was AWESOME. Work was good on Saturday, and I had a blast with family time on Sunday. Got a bit of gardening in before the rain rolled in, which was also nice. It is going to rain all fucking week.

Of *course* it is, because I just committed to working outside for 15 minutes each morning. It’s not tons of time but it sure is better than NO time, right? And 15 is the start. Gardening is like crack for us outside junkies. :O  You start with a little bit, then suddenly the garden gnomes get you, tie you up and make you work slavishly for two, three, more hours…and when you try to stand up you realize that you’ve been be-spelled and whoa…how’d it get to be lunch time already?


Really, it’s like that.

But this week, rain. So not slavish obesience to the gnomes, the yard fae or any of that. I’ll be housebound.

I do like being bound…but when it’s the house? Not so much always. Though there is a bit of peace and calming to making the nest tidy.

What else?

Master and nilla? No meet this past weekend. Sad face. Not pouting–just didn’t work out and we didn’t think it would. Then this upcoming weekend, who knows. Holiday forthcoming, and a busy weekend on tap once again. And then we’ll be rolling into June and who knows. I am SO hoping that we will get our playtime–truthfully? I’m feeling a bit desperate for Him. I still have my pinchy bruises but they are fading…and gosh, hell, damn and fuck…it’s not a BAD thing to be wanting Him.


I have no more ramble in my head. It’s late and I’m tired and need to be abed.  We’ll catch up again soon, okay?