The abrasive screech of tires on a rare section of dry pavement with extended blast of car horn should have prompted him to turn his head to investigate. Considering he walked along Lexington Avenue at 54^th Street, those sounds were as un-sensational as birds chirping in a quiet corner of Central Park. Normalcy was easy to ignore here in the city of cities. The only thing capturing his attention was the icy wind whipping around the corner to slap his face with the full force of January. One block further and his journey turned south down Third Avenue, shielded from the bite of the unforgiving wind. He hunched his shoulders against penetrating cold, refusing to remove his hands from deep in his pockets and continued to walk. A different warmth was in his future.

Steam rose from holes in manhole covers dotting the streets, illuminated briefly by never-ending parade of traffic; their misty forms pulled into grotesque shapes with each passing vehicle. It was not snowing. Too goddamn cold to snow, he thought to himself. The flow of pedestrian traffic bunched up in front of him forming an impatient crowd waiting to cross Third Avenue. With typical New York impatience, several brave ones stepped off the curb in advance of the crosswalk signal's permission. Before he followed, he looked for oncoming taxicabs and the infamous bicycle couriers who peddled like hellions at all hours of the day and night. Turning to look for traffic immediately labeled him as an out-of-towner. Natives never looked, they just went. He was unable to comprehend why there weren’t more fatalities than there were with so many practicing this careless habit.

"Help a poor man eat tonight?" asked a panhandler, shoving a very fine quality, gloved hand out toward him.

He ignored the beggar. Giving him money implied removal of a hand from the warmth of his pocket. No way was that going to happen. Besides, the son-of-a-bitch probably would wind up sitting next to him at Smith & Wollensky’s with a $200 bottle of Cabernet in an hour or so anyway. Help a poor man eat – my ass, he mused.

Turning south, he won a reprieve from torturous winds by the western walls of another concrete canyon. A brisk pace seemed easier to maintain when not fighting a gale. His eyes stayed down-turned, as he pressed on toward his favorite steakhouse and a bottle of Guenoc cabernet. He was a creature of habit it seemed. Whenever he found something he liked, he stuck with it. That life quality included more than food and drink. His choice of women also received the same attention. In fact, he’d go to great lengths to make sure his habits were maintained to his satisfaction. When he did cows died, fermented grapes were consumed and his woman smiled a satisfied smile. Thinking of her forced a crooked little grin onto lips becoming more chapped with each step he took.

Wrapped in the warmth of images of his lover, he continued to maintain the pace set by the other frozen souls on the crowded sidewalk, each heading toward their respective destinations. The cold contrasted with another thought that popped into his head reminding him a hot steak dinner was waiting for him. A rogue gust of frigid air dipped under an awning in front of an Irish Pub, as he walked with renewed emphasis, focusing on the remaining two blocks between him and the steakhouse. Crowding into his head was another thought that transitioned the grin to a broad smile and caused a stirring in his loins; she would be there to dine with him this evening.

He looked up into the night sky and saw a full moon peak momentarily through a gap in the swiftly moving clouds. There’d be no need to speak through that silvery disk this night. His confessions of love and lust would be delivered in person. He knew the next two days would be a continuous confession in that regard. The lovemaking they’d share would begin the instant he laid eyes on her. It always did. Even before they fell into long anticipated first kisses they’d fuck each other. They’d fuck with their eyes. They’d fuck with breath that mixed when they were close enough to kiss. They’d fuck each other with words of lust shared generously throughout their meal. Fucking was not just something they did; it was what they became when they were together. It was a continuum on which they existed. Their essence was Fuck. It was like that with them.

* * *

"Hey sailor," Sandy said, as he stepped through the revolving door at Smith & Wollensky’s.

"Hey, baby," he replied. "Sorry I’m a little late. I got a late start leaving the Fitzpatrick and..."

She stepped toward him and held his face, kissing him lightly, stifling his excuse for being late. As he struggled to unbutton his topcoat she replied, "It’s okay, lover. Another five minutes doesn’t matter after waiting patiently for you for almost two months."

The last button finally gave way, and he held open his coat to her. "Step into my parlor and squeeze me like it’s been two months," he said. Without any hesitation she stepped into the gaping coat and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her eyes turned up to his and in total silence the fucking began. Neither of them said a word for several seconds. The shared looks communicated everything they needed to say.

Finally, he spoke, "Hmm, I think five minutes does matter. Let’s see, five minutes translates into how many kisses?"

"Kisses where?"

"Where’d you like them?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

She surprised him with her response, "It depends how you have me tied."

"Oh my," he replied, leaning closer to her face to brush her lips with his as he spoke. "I’ll tie you tonight, but not for 100 kisses. No ma’am, I have another plan for you, and I do believe it’s something you’ve been wanting for quite some time now."

It was her turn to utter a reply. "Oh my!"

"You gonna check that coat, or should I just get you two a room," interrupted the impatient woman standing behind the coatroom counter. She stood there with her head at a jaunty angle, abusing a piece of chewing gum with a vengeance. Even without the heavy New York accent, he knew she was a native. The towering heap of moussed hair on her head combined with bigger-than-life boobs spilling out of a too-tight dress was more than enough to validate his guess. The open-mouthed gum smacking served only to punctuate the correctness of his assumption.

"Yes, thank you," he replied. "And you look lovely this evening too."

"Yeah, yeah," she said rudely, snatching his coat and handing him a claim check. She turned away to hang his coat on the rack behind her and mumbled something sounding very much like a request for him to commit a carnal act with himself.

"God, I love this city," he said, turning back to the subject of his evening’s pleasure.

"What a bitch," Sandy muttered.

"No," he disagreed, offering a touch of Irish accent, "no a bitch me tinks. I mean...consider how you'd feel after standin’ behind a coat check counter all th’ evenin’....w' an obvious 42DD stuffed into a 38DD...under wire a cuttin' ya deep...chonkin' on gum tha has ta be mor’en four hours old. Tha’ young lass is twenty-five pounds of potatoes in a fifteen pound sack."

Sandy laughed. "Okay, you’ve made your point. How silly of me not have recognized her obvious affliction. And by the way, I’ve never heard an Irishman with a southern accent before."

He ignored her critique of his fake brogue and offered his arm to her, which she accepted readily. "C’mon, lover. Let’s go eat."

"Right here in front of everyone?" she asked in mock surprise, flashing a dirty sweet grin.

"Hmm, baby, you know dessert comes last."

They walked toward the maitre'd arm in arm. She hugged him close, crushing her left breast against him, feeling the strength in his upper arm. He loved walking with her like that. It was like she was glued to him. The balance of their time together would be much like that – always touching. Her hip was tight against his, as they strode up to the crisp, white jacket manning the podium.

"Reservation for Sellars," he announced.

The jacket checked his list and nodded, "Right this way, sir." He turned sharply on his heel and headed for the rear of the restaurant.

He looked at her and whispered, "Hmm, called me sir! Must be from Connecticut."

"No," said Sandy, slipping into a respectable Irish brogue of her own, "me tinks his undies are just a fittin’ him a wee bit improper."

They laughed out loud. They always found something to laugh at when they were together. The sound of her voice when she laughed was one of the most beautiful sounds to him. Of course the sounds of her crying out when she met his thrusts during what she called primal fucking sounded good too. Those flashing thoughts of what was to come only sharpened the edges of the smile etched on his face. Being with her was easy. She was an addiction of the highest order, and he was an addict; hopelessly hooked on this woman.

* * *

"Are you going to permit me to order for you?" he asked, knowing he didn’t need her permission. Anything and everything was acceptable just as long as he was touching her.

"Well, that depends. I’m really hungry for a meat dish." Her wicked wink was not necessary. He knew what she wanted. And what she wanted was part of his plan later in the evening.

"How about surf and turf? Something like ahh...the house specialty? Trouser trout is in season tonight, and...maybe a side of pocket perch and cheese?"

She leaned closer to him and whispered, "How about thick cock and crème?"

"Hmm, there you go again, baby, talking about dessert before we've even had dinner."

The waiter took their order. The wine of his choice was not on the list, but before he could get disappointed, the reserve list was presented to him. There it was – a 1990 Sonoma Guenoc cab. His selection raised an approving eyebrow from the waiter. Perfect. The filets would be perfection too. They always were here – not that either of them would notice. In reality, the meal was only a delay between them and the course they both craved. It almost seemed like a shame to rush through a quality meal and an excellent bottle of wine in order to get to the consumption of each other. No matter – this was a celebration. Every time they were together was a celebration. Everything crossing either of their lips would be savored to the utmost, be it dinner from a menu or desserts of the flesh.

He opened her napkin for her and leaned over close to place it in her lap. The back of his hand purposely brushed her left breast on the way. She sucked in her breath, as his hand slid across what became an instantly hard nipple.

"Touch me like that one more time, my love, and this place could burn to the ground," she cautioned in a soft whisper.

"So if I were to tuck this napkin down between those awesome thighs, you’d spontaneously combust?" he asked in a whisper.

"With a flash and a bang," she replied, nodding slowly.

"Hmmm, then giving you my little surprise would place all these other patrons in jeopardy I suppose," he pondered aloud, looking out across all the other diners.

"Sweetie, your surprise is anything but little," Sandy corrected him.

He reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit coat and produced a small sealed envelope.

"No, this little surprise."

"Oh, I like little surprises too. Can I open it now?"

"Certainly," he said, dropping his hand onto her thigh.

"Careful down there," she warned, "I can’t be sure if I remembered to wear any panties this evening, and I wouldn’t want to burn your hand."

The exquisitely manicured, sex-red nails flashed as long slender fingers opened the envelope and extracted a folded note. He watched her face, as she read silently. The pupils of her hazel-green eyes widened as she was touched by the words. Lips parted slightly just as her breath wedged sideways in her throat. She held the note to her chest and turned her head toward him. The tip of her tongue licked the dryness off her lips before she spoke.

"Yes, I brought the scarves. Promise me this is what you’ll do to me. Promise me you’ll do it exactly like you’ve written it in this note."

"Promise," he replied, holding up three fingers. "Scout’s honor."

She squirmed in her seat. He knew he was on target. He knew she’d been waiting for him to take her to this new place. He also knew the sweet pussy tucked between her thighs was soaking wet in anticipation of what he’d just promised to do.

"Tell me," she whispered.

"Tell you what?"

"Whisper it in my ear right here. Tell me what you’re going to do to me."

He smiled. She loved it when he verbalized things he would do. It gave her an incredible rush to have her man tell her exactly what it was he wanted from her. It was a toss up deciding which of them loved this kind of play most. It really did not matter though. Nothing mattered when they played their games of lust with each other. After all, It was a celebration of lust. It always was.

He leaned close to her, pulling her hand into his lap, placing it on a rapidly hardening cock. Once again her breath snagged amidst a thickening presence of desire boiling inside of her. With his lips close to her ear he began to whisper, but not before drawing a deep breath, consuming the scent of his woman.

"From the instant I bolt the door of our hotel room, you belong to me. I’ll orchestrate every second of pleasure you’ll give to me. I’ll use you. I’ll use your body for purposes of my own selfish pleasure."

Her eyes closed, as she listened intently to his description, hanging on every word spoken to her. The cadence of his voice was slow and measured, just like his mouth would move later when he kissed her pussy. She pinched her thighs tightly together, stealing an instant of personal pleasure.

"You will not resist my desires. Each instruction I give will be followed exactly as I describe it. If you fail to meet my demands, your privileges will be limited. To insure your complete adherence to my instructions, I plan to take the necessary steps to overcome your tendencies to be the undisciplined, unruly, and most impatient woman I know you to be."

He sat back in his seat when the waiter returned with the wine. It seemed like it took a millennium for him to extract the cork from the bottle. The dark ruby cab snapped smartly, as the waiter poured a sample into his glass. Holding the stem of the wineglass, he swirled the rich, dark liquid, admiring the way it clung to the interior of the glass. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, holding the glass beneath his nose. Tilting his head back, he tossed the sample into his mouth, swishing it around and over his tongue. Perfect. Placing the glass back onto the table, he nodded at the waiter. Both glasses were filled expertly with the final pour culminating in practiced roll of the bottle to halt the last drop lingering on the lip.

He turned and looked into her eyes before speaking his confession. "This wine is very special to me. With all of the wines on this earth, this is only one I crave. It’s like you. I’m unable to drink it and not be filled with longing I get when I find myself crazy with desire to be...to be eating that sweet pussy of yours."

"Oh, Gray. I love you," she whispered.

He lifted his glass and toasted to their celebration. They both took long draughts of their wine, savoring the dry nectar and reveling in the hint of pepper for a perfect finish.

"Tell me more about what you require of me," she begged.

"Ah yes," he replied, placing his glass down and leaning close to whisper the rest of his agenda.

"Let’s see. Where was I?"

"Undisciplined, unruly and most impatient if I’m not mistaken," she said quickly.

"Yes. In order to overcome these deficiencies of yours, I’ll use the silk scarves you brought to bind your wrists behind you, but not before I've undressed you."

He paused for a brief moment to take another deep draw on his wine.

"Did you bring the lavender slip like I asked?" he asked slowly, after swallowing the aromatic liquid.

"Yes." She smiled at memories of the last time she wore it for him.

"Good. I’ll undress you completely and then put that slip on your naked body. After making a quality check on how slippery your nipples feel against my lips, you’ll be bound as I described. My decision at this point is for you to kneel in front of me, rather than sit in a chair. I gave this much consideration as of late and have decided you shall kneel before me. You’ll be pleased to know I was able to snag some herb. With regard to that, I’ve decided you’ll not smoke any of it. I’ll smoke it for you. I’ll breathe it deeply into my lungs and then exhale it into your mouth. I’ll penetrate you with the smoke from my lungs. I’ll fuck you with my breath until you’re high."

Her hand closed on his cock, squeezing him. He reached down and placed his hand over hers and held her perfectly still. When her eyes rose up to meet his, he flexed in her hand. Her eyes widened along with the smile on her lips.

"Yes, my love. That’s your cock for the night. And after I have you sufficiently stoned, I’ll let you see it. You’ve told me in so many words how badly you want to suck me. I feel tonight you shall have your wish, but it’ll only be under my terms. However, I don’t think sucking me is what this will really turn out to be. You see, I have another idea."

She looked at him with a look bordering on disappointment. He knew how badly she wanted his cock in her mouth. She’d already proven to be a good student; a most willing student in fact. Prior to meeting him she never had the desire to take a man into her mouth. Prior to meeting him she’d never had a man show any interest in sharing the incredible art of consuming another person. Prior to meeting him, she never knew what power lay dormant within her. He changed her. He awakened the power of the animal sleeping inside of her. He taught her how to unleash her lust. By giving everything he had toward fulfillment of her personal pleasures, he awakened a part of her that longed for the feel of his magnificent cock. Initially, she fell in love with the way he spread her legs open with his powerful hands to eat her, licking, sucking, and kissing her a hundred times. His willingness to give her pleasure like that without expectation for anything was the key that unlocked a new sense of desire in her. It surprised her when the desire to have his cock in her mouth became an obsession. She craved it. She wanted him to use her just like he offered himself up for her satisfaction.

"I’ve decided I don’t want you to suck my cock. Instead, I’m going to feed it to you. You’ll take it as I decide to give it to you. That's the primary reason I'll have your wrists tied behind your back. You will not be able to touch me. You will not be able to interfere with the feeding I want to give. I’ll stand in front of you and make your wish come true. I’m going to fuck you...fuck your mouth. I’ll teach you how to eat my cock, and you’ll consume me, as I desire it to be done...at my own pace...satisfying my own desires...fucking your sweet mouth until I decide it is time to come."

Her hand tightened around his cock once again. He was almost fully erect, doing his best to remain discreet. Thoughts ran through his head about canceling dinner and heading back to the hotel. Evidence of his anticipation raged in his pants. Her lips were dry from breathing through her mouth. They both took another drink of wine. Her hand trembled slightly, as she placed her glass back on the table.

He leaned close to finish describing his plans for her.

"Just before I come, I’m going to pull out of your mouth. I want you to look at my cock. Watch it throbbing on the edge, waiting to explode in your mouth. If you can convince me, I’ll let you have my come. You’re going to have to ask me for it. Who knows, I may even make you beg me to come in your mouth. I’m not so sure you’ll be able to do this. If it turns out that you cannot ask me convincingly, then I’ll be forced to stop. I will stand in front of you and finish it myself...with my hand. You will remain kneeling in front of me and watch me fuck my hand until I shoot my load. I’ll waste my come in front of you, denying you and what I know you want."

She turned to look directly into his face and said, "There will not be a drop of you wasted tonight, Gray. Not a drop." To make her point clear to him, she squeezed him again and moved her hand along his length

"That’s my girl," he said, smiling.

Dinner crawled by. The filets were incredible. He’d done a good job with his teaching. She made love to her wine. She made love to her filet. Everything about this evening was alive and part of their lovemaking. Every sense flooded her with excess. She knew, as did he, that neither of them had control over the lust about to consume them when they arrived at the hotel. This visit would be different than any other. Every time they were together he took her someplace new. Every time he awakened something more incredible in her being. It was time. It was time for her to show him just how much she wanted him. It was time for her to practice the art of consumption.