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</div><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#4d4dff"><span style="font-size: 18px"><b>MICHAEL BRUNO REMINGTON</b></span></span><br/><hr class="bbc-hr"/><span style="font-size: 12px"><i> "You just going to stand there all night or are you going to fuck me?"</i><br/>
<br/>
The coarse and blunt question earned Riley a raised eyebrow from Michael, twisting to address the woman as he closed the bedroom door. He didn't bother locking the door, knowing the flow and ebb of swinger events -- anything could happen and usually did, if only left to take its course. All the man wanted was some alone time with this young woman who, by any standard, ranked as one of the oddest Michael had ever encountered. Her distance, her brusque manners, her expeditious schedule for fucking: she came across as sex addict uncomfortable in her own skin. Moreover, Michael's intuition screamed that they were not alone -- Riley carried something embedded within her, some grave pain. But, such were Michael's uninformed musings. That moment was neither the time or the place to confront or disentangle the fussy rake of a woman before him. Talking and comfort were not activities she cared to pursue, apparently -- most needed to feel some type of connection, however slight and nuanced, before plunging headlong into the arms of sexual tryst. <i>A true freak, perhaps</i>, Michael thought, wondering if she was one of those rare creatures that derived pleasure purely from physical manipulation and conquest. The lack of a safe word caused the man's eyebrows to furrow slightly, and he paused at her admission that nothing could be done to her that hadn't already been inflicted. <br/>
<br/>
<i>Odd</i>, he thought.<br/>
<br/>
No matter. There would be some time to play with her before they would need to share the bedroom. The bold would rise first from the couch area, if they didn't treat spectators to an exhibition of sexual delights right then and there. The initial batch of intrepid couples or groups tended to gravitate toward empty rooms with more privacy, and being joined by others in heat became a matter of necessity, rather than choice. They would not be alone for long, and soon enough a combination of depravity and carnal fulfillment would occupy unused space on the king-sized bed. Michael had enjoyed the ability to stay erect for longer, and could outperform his male counter-parts -- an salacious opportunity, when he approached sex-slicked and hard when neighboring ladies wanted more after their "dates" finished early. Michael was not above sloppy seconds, or thirds, or fourths. He'd done them all, and rarely had the motivation or idea to consider a woman his alone for the taking and keeping. Such was the mindset in Michael's mind as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, walking up to Riley who stood waiting for him. <br/>
<br/>
A flush of anger pervaded Michael for a moment. Was it her demeanor? Her face that looked like it needed to be slapped? Her base attitude toward fornication? The reason eluded Michael, but as his shirt fell to the floor, he kept the tie in one hand. At that moment, Cynthia was likely being spit-roasted by the two Africans she disappeared with, and her deepest sexual fantasy has been fulfilled twice over in an exponential manner. Michael had <b>had </b>this before; he had screwed beautiful, aloof women that gave off ice-cold shoulders to every man they encountered. <i>What the fuck am I doing?</i> He didn't want this; he wanted connection and depth, to care for a soul worthy of his affections. But, that wasn't going to happen -- at least that particular night with Riley. A weight of bitterness coiled in Michael's gut, the tang of harsh emotion infusing his muscles as he disrobed Riley. The spaghetti straps over her shoulders were knocked aside with a tinge of disgust, and his digits roughly tugged down her black dress until it was a pile around her ankles. The strapless bra she wore simply got in the way, and he reached around -- his strong hands snapping the thing apart, not wishing to apply the patience and dexterity to unclasp it like a gentleman. Tossing the brassiere on the floor next to his white shirt, Michael quickly snatched Riley's wrists and cleaved them together by her exposed bosom, binding them by lashing his tie in a series of simple knots. Once tight enough without restricting circulation, his steel fingers clenched Riley's jaw and made her look into his eyes. <br/>
<br/>
"You listen to me ... you may not care about this, but I do. No limits mean that you're mine." <i>Ten men make fuck you raw tonight, but you'll remember me above all the rest. </i>Taking her throat in a firm clasp, Michael forced a kiss onto the woman, not really expecting her to reciprocate given her attitude. A lewd sneer broke his visage and he pushed the helpless damsel onto the soft, pillowed bed. Michael often found that it was hard to practice rough sex with others around -- an expression of love others found unsettling. The flock of boring urbanites just outside would be appalled at what he planned to do with Riley, but that was immaterial. Michael commanded nothing of value that evening: no future, no love, no fantasy. He commanded only one thing: Riley. Michael clawed at the laced panties Riley wore, keeping them to the side as he removed his trousers. He took his time, yet knew their time alone was precious. Clad only in boxer shorts, Michael kept his eyes fixed on Riley as he buried his pleasing lips and tongue between her legs and shaven sex. <br/>
<br/>
<i><b>Mine</b></i>, he thought as his tongue sliced past her folds.<br/>
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