Big Chicago

Big Chicago part 14.….by Samayel

This skirt is so short that, if I had I a religion, you could tell which one it was! Don’t know what I was thinking when I bought it. Oh…that’s right…I was thinking: ‘When Harry see me in this Catholic schoolgirl-meets-bondage slutwear, he’ll fuck me ‘til I need hip replacements.”

I hope I’m mostly right. About all of it except the hip replacements.

I haven’t used the cherry red lipstick yet…I think it will do. He’ll be back in a couple hours, and I already warned the girls to duck for cover, because I’m meeting him when he steps in the door of the entry hall…and this isn’t going to be a Disney flick! I have nine-inch heel-destroyers on and I really can’t wear them for more than a couple hours before my legs and my arches ache. Of course, it’s not like I’ll be doing any acrobatics in them. Mostly I’m hoping to just vamp the hell out of him just in the door, do whatever it takes to get him hard again and let him serve up a good and proper up-against-the-wall fucking to me.

The shirt is meant to be worn short and showing midriff, tied off well above the bellybutton, but it’s kind of reminiscent of the way I wore my shirt in the pen. Especially since I’m not bothering with anything more than a bra. No need for realism here, I want Harry’s attention on my ass and nowhere else. I don’t like the association with the past, but since I’m in my present and future, surrounded by luxury, wearing clothes that look sensational on me, giddy on raw lust and sucking up a mimosa to get a little tipsy while I primp in front of the mirror, I can handle the memories. The past is the past…and Harry will be back in less than an hour.

Little belt made of handcuffs…check. Little tie that is obviously supposed to be loose and for show only…check. Tartan skirt so high you can see panties…check. Fuck-me-now-daddy heels…check. Make-up and accessories matching…check. We’re ready for take off!

For the first time since I left prison, I lubricate myself in advance. Too many little reminders. It’s a little unnerving, but I think I can tell what’s different. Love. I do this because I want to…desperately, not because the threat of force is looming over me every fucking second. What was torture and misery only a month ago is luxury now. The irony is staggering. One tiny shift of perspective and everything is different. A cute, little, greased hole waiting to be fucked…miserably…is now a cute, little, greased hole waiting to be fucked…eagerly. Fucking surreal. Dadaism’s got nothing on my life!

There are a few sparse pieces of furniture, minimalist and decorative only, in the entryway, and from here I can wait for Harry’s return in comfort. There are two chairs and an end table, as well as a lamp, and a few magazines. When I bend down to pick up a copy of Saveur, I can feel the breeze from the central air across the cheeks of my ass. Perfect. I mean to be ridden hard and put away wet before dinner even hits the table tonight…and this outfit is the perfect vehicle to get me there! Harry means to celebrate my newly confirmed freedom from latex, but he won’t be expecting this.

Perhaps, after we’re through, I’ll talk about Blaise. I have plans. Loose, informal plans that took a backseat in my imagination the minute I saw Harry’s face again. It’s the kind of thing we should speak of before we leave town at least. I want revenge. Preferably with me laughing as Blaise goes down in flames. I could ask to have him killed…I guess. I could tell Harry everything in the worst possible light, and he’d be furious on my behalf. So chivalrous. He’d kill for me. I know he would. It’s…horrifying…and intoxicating.

That kind of power can go to anyone’s head. My lover is a killer. The professional kind. Anyone who hurts me could become a corpse if Harry hears about it. How much power is that? But…I don’t want dead bodies. Not on my conscience. I want justice. Nothing more…nothing less. I know what I want.

Blaise Zabini needs to go to prison. I don’t care how…or for what. All that matters is that he goes…for years. The more the better. Not just some crummy little state facility either. I want him in maximum security federal hell, fending off daily assfuckings! That would be fair. He stole seven years from me, and now I have a lover who can make him pay. Am I wrong to want this? Just because it’s within my grasp? No. I don’t think so. Blaise Zabini bought me a one way ticket to rape and fear, nightmares and scars that have to be surgically removed. At the end of the day, he may be a criminal, but that doesn’t mean shit! This is entirely, purely, completely personal…and he will rue the fucking day he betrayed me.

Maria just poked her head into the entryway, giggling because she knows what this outfit means. Senor Harry just buzzed in, and I won’t be waiting much longer. I give Maria the thumbs up and a conspiratorial wink, and then she’s gone, and all that remains is for me to strike the pose I want.

Back turned to the door so my ass is right in the line of sight, white panties easily visible, tempting with the knowledge of what they cover. Head turned back and looking toward the door. One hip cocked like a challenge, hand on hip, mouth just barely open like a promise is waiting on its lips, and eyes shrouded and lazy, poorly disguising a desire that smolders and fills the room with an atmosphere like incense. Harry…come home. Come here. Or just come anyplace you feel like, as long as it’s inside of me when we’re finished!

That’s my man. Walking in the door in that fine black suit. Poor thing…he looks like he just died and woke up in heaven, confused about how he got there. Then that killer smile spreads across his face and I know he has his equilibrium back.

“Welcome back.”

“I guess so! Looks like I should have brought champagne! Can I just assume we’re celebrating Doc Snape’s report earlier than planned?”

I stalk the distance between us like a tigress, and lean into him while I pull his tie slowly out of place and twirl it through my fingers.

“Celebrate? That’s a good idea. Tell you what…you are the champagne…and I’m going to pop the cork. I like the way you’re looking at me. Let me show you how much.”

My hand is already kneading the stiffness in his slacks into something more forceful. I silence him with a kiss that is pure wickedness. He’s powerful…I like him that way…but I have power too. This is mine.

His hands have already slid down past my waist, warm fingers on the skin of my ass cheeks, and I can tell he’s savoring the way it feels when he touches me there. That’s a pleasure for him. He likes to touch, my Harry does, and how fortunate for him that I enjoy being touched by him.

I slip buttons through holes with a practiced hand, even while my mouth is busy pillaging his. In my mind, one of the great accomplishments of mankind is lipstick that doesn’t smear easily. Just brilliant. I’d kiss the person who invented it, male or female, if I knew who they were. My other hand can feel that perfect prick of his hardening and it’s time to open that fly and let me play with what I want before we get to the serious parts.

He must already know that I’ve warned off the girls. He doesn’t protest at all, because he knows I planned this myself. When I fish his cock out of his boxers and through the fly of his slacks, he flops back against the wall, well aware of what’s about to happen when I dip low and let my nails rake across his chest on the way down.

Cock-sucking, too, can be an art form. Painting, writing, music and all forms of human expression deserve equal consideration, and sex can be artful just much as any other human endeavor. This is my other art. I suck his cock as lovingly and with as much passion as I kiss his mouth. There is no part of Harry that I don’t hold dear, but this part…this part is special. I treat it like I would his soul, every tiny flick of the tongue a reminder that I hunger to be close to him, to please him, and that he pleases me just by being near.

But will I let him come?

No. Not yet. I may like the hands that riffle through my hair, and I may adore the sound of his head thudding back against the door while he grits his teeth, but I know by feel whether he is or isn’t hovering on the edge of orgasm, and I make sure he stays on the brink, but never crosses that threshold into release. When he’s actually growling low in his throat, tensed from head to toe, and his hands are flexing helplessly, then I can relent. Now it’s time for more. Only when he’s so savagely hungry that he’ll give me the kind of vicious, perverted fucking I urgently need…only then can I stand up and put my hands against the wall, arching my back sharply and coaxing him with a breathy whisper.

“Don’t you want to fuck me, Harry? I’m ready for you. Fuck me right here…right now. You know how I want it, don’t you? I want you to fuck me hard, just like this. Don’t fuck around…just come here and take me.”

He responds predictably…and thank heavens for that. Hands that fumble, pushing the skirt up and the panties down. A warm mouth that meets mine while my head is craned back and turned. Hungry lips that slide down my neck. A soft bite that makes my body suddenly ache for the want of him in me. His prick is out and stone hard, slick with my spit and poised for entrance. Hot, living flesh pulsing indelicately with lust, fiery against the sensitive skin of my ass.

I make it easy for him. The first nudge…the instant he’s safely inside of me…I shove myself back, impaling myself on his cock as quickly as I can, starved for the feeling of him inside of me.

“Fuck me, Harry! I want to feel you come! Come for me, Harry. Please!”

And he delivers. Slow and steady at first, but he knows I need more than that. It’s a good thing there’s a wall to hold onto, because before he’s finished, my ass will be bruised tomorrow. He’s sweating and whispering sweet words to me. They’re only special because they’re from him, and because of that they are true. They’d seem shallow, or corny, coming from anyone I didn’t love as desperately at this, but now they’re like music…or sweet wine.

The kind of fucking where my bangs have fallen into my eyes and sweat makes my hair stick to places where it tickles but I can’t get a hand off the wall to do anything about it. The kind of fucking where my vision blurs and sometimes it’s hard to breathe right and I think I might be hyperventilating but who the fuck cares at a time like this. The kind of fucking that touches off a prostate orgasm and leaves my knees weak and shaking while I flat out cry with relief and don’t feel ashamed of it. That’s what I wanted…that’s what he gives me.

When he comes I’m suddenly wrapped in his arms while he thrusts deep and shudders from head to toe, and maybe I can’t feel it inside of me, but I know it’s happening, and a weird, warm glow fills me, knowing that it’s just a little part of him, warm and alive inside of me. His life. His come. He’s kissing my shoulder, and I can feel the small droplets of sweat on his hair, cooling on my skin now.

“God. You’re incredible, Drake. I love you. You are what I’ve been missing my entire life. I knew it. I could feel it. Do you know how glad I am…that you stayed? There aren’t even words.”

I love that he has to pant for breath while he’s speaking, flopped against the wall with me crushed to his chest and trembling just as I am. I love that he’s still inside of me, and I can feel the heat and pulse of him, alive, still coming inside of me. I wish we could curl up like this forever, except that we’re up against the wall of the entryway, and eventually reality will kick in, and he’ll have to pull away, taking that perfect cock out of me. But some of him will stay. It will have to be enough. I roll my head back onto his shoulder.

“I know. Words just don’t do it, do they? We both needed that. I wish you’d come earlier. Before…everything. But who knows? Maybe I wouldn’t have been this happy to find you…if we’d met then. I’m happy, Harry. I’m not used to it, but I’m so fucking happy. You know this can’t end, right? Not without destroying me in the process. I belong to you. Just…take care of me…okay?”

“I can do that.”

It’ll have to be enough.

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Naturally enough, after I’d mused over it in his presence, he got reservations to Charlie Trotter’s with nothing but a phone call. God help me, but I love a man with clout. Another shower was called for, given that I was sweaty, sticky, sore and faintly leaking cum into the otherwise perfectly nice pair of panties I’d worn. For Charlie Trotter’s, I can travel as myself. It’s dressing up in my very best boy clothes tonight. I do tend to be a little flashier than Harry, but that’s alright. I’m built for show, and he’s Mr. Subtle. It works. We look great together, and even Ron is sweet on the way there.

“Looking sharp, boys. Must be a quality place. I’m guessing we’re not talking steak and a beer, huh?”

Harry chuckles. I do love that sound. “You might say that. Probably not your usual fare, Ronny, but you can come along if you like.”

“Nah…you two lovebirds enjoy yourselves. I never feel right in those ’upper-crusty’ joints. Just behave yourselves and try not to scandalize the place the way you do me, kapiche?”

I roll my eyes with mock frustration. “What? One little blow job in the back of the car, and he thinks it’s the last days of Rome. Give a queen a break, tough guy. You need to get out more!”

It’s nice like this…laughing with them. I fit in here now. This is where I belong. Ron seems like he accepts me completely, and maybe he’s still a creature of necessity, like Harry, but they don’t make me feel like a stranger in a strange land.

Dinner is the stuff of legends. The Michelin ratings people didn’t give this place enough credit. Their wine cellar must be very respectable, since I remember just enough from when I was younger to know what some of these vintages are…and they don’t come cheap. This is the kind of place where the prices are all round numbers, because they don’t quibble over change. If you even made it through the door, you have enough money to make a meal here nothing but pocket change. The wait staff here are just incredible. They’re lucky and they know it. These people make the kind of money from tips that would put their kids through college. In exchange for that, they work damned hard to please guests.

Inevitably, the wait for food turns to talk, and the time seems ripe. We have wine, and a quiet place to sit together, and I’m supremely content. We’d been speaking of my artistic endeavors, and Harry means to take me shopping again, this time for more than just clothing. Now is the time to talk of Blaise.

“Maybe I was a little…needy today…but I have my reasons. I didn’t tell you who I ran into last night. The club was marvelous, but the company left a little to be desired.”

“Was it…I remember…Pansy? You seemed pretty exasperated about her attention as I recall.”

“No. That might have been preferable. Turns out…the owner of the place is Blaise.” The look on his face is like ice. “Yeah…that Blaise. He was a perfect gentleman, but I guess I got the answers for a few questions I’ve carried around for a long time.”

“Really? And those answers were?”

He sounds so calm, but I’m not fooled. The atmosphere has shifted, and I can tell that the thought of Blaise makes him think dangerous things. You’d think it would make me happy, but it doesn’t…not really. It makes me remember that when he has to, this man can kill. This was the man who smiled while he broke Flint.

“He knew what was happening. He was being set up. Some internal rivalry thing. He sent me in his place…because he knew I wouldn’t talk…if he was on the line. He knew what would happen to me…and he did it anyway. He apologized. And you know what? I even accepted it. Spirit of the occasion and all.”

“That was very generous of you. An apology…for seven years in that dump? That hardly seems like a fair exchange.”

How can I not smile? He knows what I’m thinking. Not all of it, I’m sure, but he knows I want more than that before I experience ‘closure’. He isn’t reading my mind…he just ‘knows’ me. How I think, what I feel. I feel so much more comfortable, knowing that he invites further comment.

“I love it when you know what I’m thinking. I quite agree. Not that he didn’t offer a lot more than words, but to be honest, he only has one thing I want. He’s capable of suffering. I want him to suffer. Like I did. I want him in a federal prison, wishing he could walk out every single, miserable day, and just living with it. That’s what I want from him.”

“That’s a tall order. You’re sure you don’t want me to consider him a ’problem’. Because I’m pretty good at solving those. Not that making him miserable is off the menu. I’m just saying…it’s a little more work to do this the hard way.”

Tough question. He sounds so calm about it. He’d kill for me, just to give me revenge on the man that nearly ruined my life, and could have gotten me killed. I don’t want death on my hands. Not even for this. Maybe he’d die in jail, but turning Harry loose on him would be just like killing him myself. As clear as if I’d pulled the trigger on a living gun. No…I don’t want that.

“No. Not that. Not because of me. I know I shouldn’t ask for something like this, and if it’s too much, then forget it. I want him to be in prison. Like I was. Is there a way to make that happen? I have a card with his number…if that would give people something to trace him by. It isn’t too much…is it?”

I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. Something about the fact that I don’t want him to kill because of me. He looks…he looks…concerned. Or curious. I can’t tell.

“Alright. If you’re sure that’s what you want. For the record, I’ll have to work on this after we get from Michigan. I need approval to do something like this, and it will take a special kind of effort to arrange this the way you want it. That reminds me. You’ll be meeting a few people after we get back to town. I thought I’d have some of the team over for a night. Dinner, drinks, some poker. They’re an interesting bunch. Not much like me. They handle more of the technical and logistic support. I handle…the more direct parts, but they make it possible to do things as smoothly as we do. I think you’ll get on famously with them.”

“I’m sure I will. If they get along with you, then I’ll like them for that alone, if nothing else. It would be wonderful to have company. I assume it will be okay for me to be a gracious hostess?”

“If you want to, but the effort might be wasted. They’ve all been over before, and we don’t stand on ceremony.”

Dinner passed as smooth as silk. Superb. Frankly, who could resist overeating here? Poached New Zealand Cockles with Preserved Celery, Serrano Ham & Roasted Mayan Scarlet Peppers. Swan Creek Farm Lamb Shoulder with Garlic, Aged Manchego & Parsley. Red and white wines carefully chosen for each course. My taste buds get the workout they so richly deserve. Even Blaise never took me places like this. When I was fifteen I was just too young and too bored and jaded to properly enjoy food the way I do now. I almost want to thank Blaise, since this wouldn’t be so heavenly if he hadn’t sent me to hell. Misgivings aside…I’ll feel a lot more forgiving of Blaise after he’s wept alone in a cell with a sore and throbbing asshole, after being whored out to some son of a bitch’s thugs because the guy in charge of that block felt like amusing himself by watching someone else’s misery.

But I’m not bitter. Heh! It’s time to smile and enjoy the dessert chocolates. I’m fairly sure that even revenge won’t taste this sweet.

Our final toast of the evening rounds out a bottle of Bordeaux. Lafite…1865. Ironically, that was the year my ancestor first fled the ruins of the Old South and made his way to Chicago. Harry couldn’t know that, but the coincidence is wonderful. A toast to new beginnings, with a wine that dates back to my family’s arrival in this town. Delicious. A memory I’ll carry for a lifetime, drifting across my palate in my dreams forever after. Thank you, Charlie Trotter’s. Only in a place like this could I have experienced culinary ecstasy while scheming for vengeance. Those five star ratings weren’t a lie.

As surprising as this may sound, I finally feel content. Between good food and the sound of Harry’s voice, I’m no longer so frantically lonesome that I require constant sex. Mostly it’s that I’m absolutely full, and so is he, and there’s nothing we could do that would excite us enough to do more than kiss. I don’t mind a bit. To be perfectly candid, I’m actually bracingly sore from earlier this evening, and a nice break from screwing like bunnies suits me just fine. We are headed for a vacation after all. I can continue my quest to exhaust Harry’s libido when we get where we’re going.

Tonight, we read quietly, and talk of art, both mine and the art that inspires me. We cuddle, pajama-clad and comfortably full, enjoying the fact that we live together, and that we can be so close so easily. Such a short time. A few weeks in a shitty cell, a few stolen nights together here, and yet we fit together like two pieces of a puzzle that were lost and alone until they clicked into place seamlessly. It isn’t about sex now. It isn’t uncontrolled lust blinding us to each other’s true nature. It’s about two people who are entirely comfortable together. That’s the ultimate proof that I chose well. We are as well matched in silence and peace as we are in the throes of passion, and this night, sated and content, sex off the menu for a little while, is what proves it.

But who am I kidding? There’s no way I’m letting him get out of that bed until he’s made me come at least once…tomorrow morning!

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I’ve been in a lot planes, but they were private jets and international flights with Father and Mother. Four seat, two prop Piper seaplanes weren’t any part of my experience. Harry looks thrilled, throwing our luggage into the space behind the seats. We didn’t pack much, since it’s only a couple days that we’ll be gone, but it looks awfully small in there. Ron has already gassed the thing up, and keeps running small checks on instruments and other things. It looks like this kind of plane takes an awful lot of checking…or maybe I’ve just never seen this stuff done before. At least the big goof looks competent and comfortable.

Harry picks up on my nervousness. Bless him. He is sweet, but I don’t really want to be thought of as afraid…at least not of something like this. He steadies me with a hand to hold onto while I climb in from off of the dock. The plane is actually on pontoons that keep it afloat, so it can take off and land on water. It looks a lot trickier than a runway, and Lake Michigan is notoriously fickle, full of choppy days with waves that have whitecaps. Fuck it…I am scared. This is crazy!

“Shhh. Don’t worry. Ron knows what he’s doing, love. He’s taken off and landed a hundred times in planes like this one. It’s a calm day…we already checked…and it’s supposed to be perfect flying weather most of this week. We’ve got flotation gear and more, and a plane this size can practically act like a glider without engines.”

Ron shouts from the cockpit, while putting on earphones and adjusting his mike. “This plane’s been checked every way it can be. It’s in perfect working order. You’ll be fine. If it helps, think of it as a taxi cab for the sky, and up there, the traffic is a lot easier than downtown. You got nothing to worry about, kiddo!”

What am I gonna do? Back out of a vacation because little planes make me nervous? Not with Harry here. We deserve this time off. I’m going and that’s all there is to it!

Harry climbs into the back seat beside me, instead of taking the co-pilot’s seat by Ron. I’m not going to admit it out loud, but I’m damned grateful to have a hand to hold while Ron starts the plane off. Harry leans in for a kiss that I know perfectly well is meant to relax and distract me. It works…mostly.

“Don’t worry about a thing. You’re gonna love this once we get over the lake proper. You’ll be fine…because I say so. Okay, love?”

Lips. He has really nice lips. When did the engine start on this thing? Ron is shouting over his shoulder.

“Now cut that out! I didn’t bring airsick bags, and you two are lovey-dovey enough to make anyone puke! Here we go!”

Bouncing across small waves, shaking like a monkey on a stick, picking up speed as we go. The weirdest and most familiar moment is that second when we go from skipping across waves to genuinely flying. One second we are of the earth, the next we are in flight. You can actually feel the loss of that connection to the earth. Uncanny. Suddenly, it’s not so bad, and I’m curled around Harry, looking out the window at the clean blue lake beneath us. Freight ships on the horizon. Small fishing boats along the coastline. Endless, deep, dark blue water.

Lake Michigan is one of five Great Lakes in this part of the country. Carved out by glaciers during the retreat of the last Ice Age, the Great Lakes are easily the among the largest sources of fresh water above ground anywhere in the world. It’s a miracle of nature when you think about it, and the people here take it for granted every day. Lush croplands, vibrant swamps and forests, plentiful fishing and wild game. It’s all owed to these lakes. Also…miles and miles of beaches and coastline. It’s beautiful from up here, if just a little chilly, but at least with Harry to curl around I can stay warm.

We’d have been driving all day to get here in a car. Just under two hours in flight, and this Saugatuck place is near. Ron brings us down after radioing his landing coordinates in, and the approach of the water and land at high speed is enough to make me curl back into Harry’s arms and try to keep my gorge from rising. Bouncing across water while the plane lurches because Ron brought the nose up a hair at the last second is NOT my favorite activity. Still, once we’re slowed down and zipping toward a dock, this isn’t really so bad. Even so…I’m glad it’s over and we’re here.

Saugatuck turns out to be cute, in a slightly surreal way. It’s so small, and touristy, and yet it seems very cosmopolitan. The pride flags and rainbow decorations that pop up all over are surprising. One doesn’t see a lot of small towns with gay friendly banners all over the place, but apparently the gay population here is so entrenched, and has been here so long, that people have become very comfortable with it. Kind of like Boystown, where people have long since learned that gay men walk hand in hand or kiss in public, so it stops being a surprise to anyone.

Now that I think of it, that’s all anyone could ever hope for. Not to be a special, protected minority, but to be just an ordinary person. To kiss when you feel like it, just like any other couple anywhere in the world. That’s worth working toward. The best of all possible worlds would be a world where being gay meant nothing, because no one else cared about who loved who or who was attracted to who. That would be my perfect world. Places like Saugatuck, San Francisco and Boystown give me a glimpse of what that world might be like…and it’s beautiful.

I think I’m about to have a very, very nice time.


TBC!!!