Page 28 of Date and Switch

To be honest I can’t tell you much about how we spent the day in Buenos Aries. At dinner on Christmas night, Teddy and his wife convinced us to join them on their excursion taking tango lessons. We had no plans for any specific excursion, so we joined them. Probably not so wise given we’d yet to have sex, and only engaged in a few sessions of mutual masturbation that did nothing to whet our ever-screaming hunger. Throw in lessons to dance in a style that is one hundred percent sexual foreplay, we were practically ripping each other’s clothes off when we made it back to the cabin.

But Murphy’s law, we came back to a stack of messages. I had dozens of texts from people wondering how we were faring and wishing belated Christmas wishes, and Penn, of course, had pressing business questions for Bryce. Crazy, hang from the rafters sex was sent to the ice box for a cool off.

“I had dinner brought to us tonight.”

Bryce sat in one of the living room chairs, which he’d repositioned directly in front of the bathroom. I must not have heard him come in while in the shower. My dress for the evening hung directly behind him on the curtain rod. It had tiny silver discs sewn to a shiny gunmetal fabric. A floor length disco ball.

“We’ve seen enough of the Robertsons, and the Meyers, and every other laughing maw on this ship. We have more important things to attend to.”

He scooted down in the chair, spreading his legs open even further, highlighting the impressive muscles of his calves.

“I bought out every duty free,” He shook out a CVS Receipt length package of condoms with flourish. They unfolded all the way down to the carpet, in a pornographic version of paperchain dolls. “I plan on using every single one before we get to Los Angeles.”

Briefly, I wondered what would happen in L.A. I pictured us running Supermarket Sweep Style through every pharmacy within walking distance of the dock. There was a sassy comment on my tongue when he locked eyes with me, flipped the button on his shorts, and worked his cock out.

He sat, stroking his thickening rod, in a turquoise button down with his preppy fucking plaid Vineyard Vines shorts and his Sperry boat shoes. Yet there was nothing preppy about his seductive gaze, or his confident smile. He didn’t say anything more. Not a suggestion that I come closer or kneel at his feet. No request to suck his cock or drop my towel so he could see my body. He simply sat in his chair, with his legs spread wide, slowly stroking himself, watching me watch him.

“You smell nice,” he said, breaking the weighted silence. “Sweet, but it doesn’t smell like you. Like I’m used to you smelling.”

“How do I usually smell?” I asked.

My hair still dripped from the shower. Each droplet that escaped, running a jagged path down my body, skittered little tendrils of delight across my already sensitized skin.

“I can’t find the words to describe it.”

He locked eyes with me, raised his hand to his mouth, held me captive in the emerald forest of his eyes while he licked his palm and twisted it along the mushroomed head of cock. I could see the honeyed drips of pleasure melt across his features, but he never looked away.

He’d ensnared me. Paralyzed me with his ravenous gaze. I couldn’t move from where I stood, dripping water along the cheap tiles of the bathroom floor as well as along the threshold of carpeting where the living room began. He sucked his lip between his teeth, still not taking his eyes off me, but increasing the speed with which he handled his cock.

“It was soft, like sheets that were hung to dry in the summer sun. But seductive like a just bloomed queen of the night.”

“The perfume was a recurring gift from my grandma. It fell off the counter during the storm.”

I didn’t want to think about that broken bottle and all the loss it represented. How I usually got one every five years or so from my grandma. Now this birthday I wouldn’t have one waiting for me when I returned stateside because she’d passed away last year.

“C’mere, angel.”

As if he could read some kind of secret shift in my voice, he pulled me towards him with just a command.

“The towel.”

I raised my eyebrow in question, just as his fingers collected the hem and tugged.

“Gorgeous.”

He drew a line down my sternum with a single finger, his other hand still strangling his own weeping sex. The hand took a journey down my body but didn’t go anywhere near the obvious erogenous zones like my nipples or my clit, but rather, awakened every cell to rush sensation to the surface of my skin. As if they worked in tandem, solely to prostrate in servitude to the pleasure of my pussy.

The cruise ship tended to be quite noisy between general chatter of people in the halls, heavy footsteps, sounds of a ship in the water—however it was as if everyone on the ship knew Bryce and I were about to have sex in Cabin 1289. Other than the slick sound of Bryce’s hand against his cock, and my racing pulse, it was practically silent.

“Sing for me.”

It wasn’t a request. The question didn’t end with please or begin with, would you mind. It was a command. His eyebrow arched as I stared at him, like it was its own thinking being that raised in challenge to my lack of action.

“Wh—Now?”

“Did I say sing for me tomorrow? No. You’re a little songbird around that creepy, smiley man-child that forces you into the center of attention at every turn. I want that. For me. For my ears only.”

“But…now?”

---