Scoundrel
Chuck banged his head hard enough on the door so that the sound resonated through the entire dressing room. He sighed audibly. A canary yellow dress flew over the door landing on his head. Gritting his teeth, he repressed the thousand violent threats simmering just below the surface as he saw the world through sun-colored tulle.
He grabbed the door handle shaking it in hopes that the cheap latch would slip loose and open. Behind the door, Blair Waldrof, aka Superbitch, was chanting viciously cruel curses at the attendant desperately catering to her every whim. Every time that she opened the door to grab new clothes or rant demands all she wore was her skimpy bra and panty set. She flashed him a wiry grin as she slammed the door and engaged the lock. The door taunted him blocking his all excess pass to Blairland.
The four hours of endless dresses, skirts, and blouses did not annoy him. The four hours of watching the prim and proper lady morph into Medusa did not faze him. If anything, he admired her fierceness. The four hours of answering useless questions that she never agreed with in the end did not anger him. It was the flashes of white skin, the whimsy smiles, and the warm curves of her feminine form that drove his wantonness.
"Waldrof, open the damn door now," he growled rattling the door.
The door suddenly swung open taking him with it. He ran into the surprisingly sturdy shape of his girlfriend. She shoved him back out of the dressing room. Watching her coast by on her way to the three-way mirror, he licked his lips when he saw the low cut back of the dress.
Chuck stepped up behind Blair automatically resting his hands on her hips. As his eyes climbed up the ridges of her spine, he decided that he was buying the dress no matter what she thought about it. Tracing the back seam of the dress to the zipper, he smirked meeting her eyes in the mirror. He grinned, "Let me help you with that zipper."
"The zipper is already up," she arched an eyebrow.
"I know," he lowered it an inch.
"Hands off, Bass," she commanded calmly.
"You're no fun," he pouted rubbing the newly exposed skin of her back.
"Stop acting like a scoundrel," she stepped forward out of his reach.
"Hhhmmm…scoundrel," he moved forward kissing her shoulder, "You've never called me that before. I like it."
"Why, my dear Captain Butler, you are the worst," she mocked in an exaggerated Southern accent. When she rolled her eyes, he pulled her body against his chest.
"Wouldn't you just love that if I let you drag me around the city acting like a glorified Southern brat?" he goaded in her ear.
"Like you wouldn't love an excuse to act like a cad," she challenged.
"Always with your silly movies. Always thinking life imitates art," he taunted harshly, "Though, you have to admit it's a closer match than any of your beloved Hepburn movies."
"Please like you don't do the same thing," she narrowed her eyes in disgust.
"You're right. Guess what kind of movie I want to relive right now," he rubbed his hips into her bottom.
"No, Chuck! Absolutely not!" she shook her head vehemently.
"Come on, Waldrof. The door has a lock. We can be quick," he coaxed rubbing her arms up and down soothingly.
"Quick! You always say that, and you're always lying," she stated with increasing volume, "You'd think that fucking your 'prudish' girlfriend in public was enough but not for you. You have to work me up into a frenzy until I'm practically begging for it. When you finally join me, you won't stop prodding me with your damn cock until I've come twice."
"Blair…" he interrupted.
"I'm sure you love this. God, I can feel you getting harder," she continued ignoring him, "Is this what you want, Chuck? Do you want to pull me into that room flipping up this dress, or are you thinking of ripping it off right here taking me on the spot? Are you going to push me up against the mirror forcing me to look at myself? Are you going to show me how to touch myself? Where it will feel good? Or, will you tell me how and where to touch my body? Will I have to keep touching myself until I beg you to help me? To relieve me? Then, you'll grab me by the hips and thrust as deep as you can go. You'll go slow driving me crazy. When I reach back to dig my nails into your ass, you'll pick up the pace almost giving me what I want. Yet, you won't let me finish, not until I scream 'Chuck Bass' letting everyone know who made me scream, you narcissistic bastard."
"While that sounds more than delightful…" Chuck replied with a cocky smile.
"Please! If I don't yell your name at climax, you roar 'I'm Chuck Bass' in my ear. You always have to claim your fucking conquests," Blair scoffed.
"Who is the real deviant, the person who pursues it or the person who allows it? What do you think?" Chuck turned to the attendant, who was red as a tomato after hearing Blair's detailed description.
The attendant fumbled unable to create a coherent statement. Blair's eyes went wide when she realized what had happened. Chuck had even tried to stop her. She ran for the dressing room snapping the lock shut. After Chuck dismissed the attendant, he laughed hysterically knowing he'd pay for it later.
Once he bought a scarf and large sunglasses, Chuck sneaked Blair from the store into the safety of his limo. She broke into self pity immediately, "Oh god! How could you let me do that! I can never show my face in there again."
"Ouch! Easy, Waldrof!" Chuck caught her arm as she unleashed her fury on him physically.
"You couldn't keep your hands to yourself! I never would have said those things if you hadn't provoked me," she tried to kick him.
"Calm down, woman! I paid the girl off. No one will know how filthy your mouth really is but me," Chuck calmed her.
"I still can't show my face in public till some other scandal happens," she cried in shame.
"I'm sure you'll think of a way to pass the time," he leered.