DCM A/N: We were very fortune and happy to have DreamQuill (formally CitizenCullen25) step in this week to squeeze us. She is really stretching her writing wings this time and giving us something new. Make sure to check out our blog to see her picture prompt www . dirtycheekymonkeys . blogspot . com Ready, set, squeeze!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Squeeze My Lemon~~~~~~~~~ 07.27.11~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Edward Cullen's Weekday Schedule:
• 5:30 AM Wake up
• 6:00 AM Running and exercise
• 7:00 AM Shower and get dressed
• 7:30 AM Eat breakfast and Misc.
• 8:30 AM Arrive at office
• 12:00 PM Lunch
• 12:30 PM Answer personal emails
• 5:00 PM End workday
• 5:30 PM Errands
• 6:00 PM Watch television or play X-Box
• 7:00 PM The Bella Hour
• 8:00 PM Dinner and reading
• 9:00 PM Morning preparation
• 9:30 PM Feed the fish and lock up
• 10:00 PM Sleep
EPOV
She's waiting for me in the parlor when I arrive. I don't bother taking off my jacket, instead choosing to walk up behind her and put my fingers where they've been dying to roam all day. Her insides are already scorching and damp.
Isabella Swan is like the finest Absinthe: good going down but will drive you mad.
We don't talk much outside of the needed commands. As I bend her over, I notice that she has on the long blonde wig today. I prefer her natural brunette bobbed hair, but I never complain, because what we have is too perfect for me to screw up by being picky.
Sex, lust, fear.
Isabella takes the initiative and moves her garters aside. She's wearing black lace. That always drives me crazy. The bright lights in the room illuminate her porcelain skin, which is a perfect contrast to the darkness of the lingerie.
Before I can begin, I have to taste her. Slowly, I insert my middle finger deep inside. Isabella wiggles a little, but she doesn't moan. I slide my finger out, lick the wetness, and insert it again. This time I use more force. When my finger can slide in easily, I stop and unbutton my pants.
Usually I change before coming over for the hour, but today I come to her still in my work suit. I know that Isabella secretly likes it when I dress up for these meetings. I've seen the way her eyes devour me in the rare occasions I wear something formal.
I carefully fold my pants and put them on the antique footstool in the corner, and my jacket, tie, and button-down soon follow.
Bella's parlor is fancy. It's like stepping back into the nineteen forties. She meticulously collects fashionable furniture from all around the world to display in her home. Though, I'm the only one she invites over.
"Edward."
That one word goes straight to my fully erect dick. She rarely speaks my name, but when she does, I feel like I'm going to burst on the spot. I have so little self control with Isabella.
With trepidation, I place my trembling hands on her shoulder to help turn her around. She raises her chest a little so that she can wrap her full, red-painted lips around my cock. I know that she wears that color stay stuff that women use to make sure their lipstick doesn't rub off, so I'm not worried.
As Isabella's hot, little mouth engulfs me; I look over at the large, round vintage clock. We have a little more than forty minutes left. The pendulum swings in time to Isabella's throat constrictions. It's oddly comforting to me.
Time is the only thing I can control, I think warily.
Isabella is very determined. She bobs her small head up and down on my thick shaft. I hold her head down and feel her gag on my cock. I know I am large and it can't be easy for her to fit my girth in that small mouth.
All too soon, her small hands join the party. She relaxes her throat and lets me thrust deeply. It's the best feeling in the world. I tense up as I feel her manicured nails slowly scraping my danglers. She notices and pulls back, licking the long vein so that I can catch my breath a little.
It isn't long before I'm leaking into her mouth. Without warning, she engulfs me again, this time humming a little as she goes about her task. I like the way she coughs and sputters as I go deeper down her throat.
She is nasty.
As my balls tighten, I fight the urge to whimper. Soldiers do not whimper. I will not give her that power over me. It is bad enough that I have to use an hour in my schedule to see her every day. I hate her for reducing me to this baseness.
At exactly six-thirty seven, I begin to orgasm. Isabella gathers the cum on her tongue and shows it to me. I wince and look away. She is always so vulgar at the end. I prefer not to see these things.
"Delicious," she says before swallowing.
A few minutes later, she tries to stand but I put pressure on her head while swiveling her around. She groans a little and spreads her legs for me. Now she's in the same position she was in before the blowjob.
Watching her shapely ass up in the air makes me hard again. I stroke myself while looking at the clock. We don't have much time left. Isabella does not care about the time, but I will not break my schedule for her.
I reach and pull Isabella's black corset down until her small breasts spill from the top. I do not remove the garment completely, because I like the way it shrinks her waist. She knows my preference and doesn't argue.
"I'm going to enter you now," I state coldly.
Isabella holds her breath until I am all the way inside her slickness. Then, she wiggles a little and adjusts until we're both comfortable. I hold on to her hips as I begin long, deep thrusts. Soon, I am sweating and groaning like a stuck pig.
I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.
The only thing keeping me rooted to the Earth is the pendulum of the clock. I have to finish quickly, or I'll leave Isabella waning. As much as I loathe her, she does not deserve that kind of torture.
Leaning heavily on her back, I begin stroking her clit. It's hard and protruding, letting me know that she is so close to her rapture. I press down and pinch it as I roll my hips around. She makes a noise that sounds like dying as her muscles clench around me.
Sweat beads on my forehead as I notice the clock hit six-fifty. Desperate now, I lift her a little so that I can pinch her nipples with my free hand. The force of my pounding is so strong that it makes Isabella's wig slip. She has not secured it tightly enough.
"Fuck," she screams, pushing back against me. I do not acknowledge that word.
At exactly six-fifty six, Bella falls apart. I close my eyes as her insides tighten and trigger my own release. I do not like coming inside of her, so I pull out, letting my cum coat the expensive dark lace of her corset and underwear.
When I am done, I hastily throw on my clothes. Isabella keeps her body bent as she struggles to catch her breath. I loosen the corset a little to help her along. She gasps and inhales.
I do not wait to see if she okay, because our time is up. As I walk out the door, I gaze at the pictures of her adorning every wall. Isabella is a famous Burlesque dancer. She is here in Forks to clear her head and kick her addiction to pain medicine. The only way I know that is because even I can't avoid all the town gossip.
At seven on the dot, I arrive back at my own home. One of the reasons I can do this is because we live very close. We have no other neighbors this far out in the woods. Isabella and I both have modern mansions. Most of the other townspeople live in old houses nearer to Main Street.
I go upstairs and clean up a little before making dinner. Tonight is fish and vegetable night. I do not taste the food going down, but I trust that it does its job of nourishing me. My dinner beverage is always lemon water.
As I eat, I read the local newspaper. There is some trouble with young people trying to start local gangs, but nothing major. I have several guns and even a few grenades. I am well protected in case something goes wrong.
Former Colonel, Edward Cullen can handle anything. Those days are over. I am now a civilian.
While I load the dishwasher, I let my phone voicemail play out loud. I know that I don't communicate as well as I should anymore. The Bella Hour is the most social thing I get up to these days, and even we are strangers.
The first message is from my mom Esme: "Edward, dear, please call to let me know how you are doing. Alice, Jasper, and their kids are coming this weekend. I would love it if you joined us for dinner. Call me, sweetheart."
I press delete and start the next message. It's from my father. He's saying the same words as my mother, but I can tell he doesn't mean them. Carlisle will never love me again, because I failed to save my baby brother from the harshness of War. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me.
The rest of the messages are unimportant, so I delete everything and close the dishwasher. My mind tries to wander, but I keep myself focused. The dinner hour is over.
At nine, I begin getting my briefcase and notes ready for tomorrow. I'm meeting with a Russian firm that needs security for their Forex trading website. I own and manage a successful high- level internet security company. It's the only job I've felt qualified to do since I left the military.
Don't think.
Half an hour later, I go down to the den and get out the fish food. My Angelfish are awake and swimming happily. Their tank takes up almost the whole wall. The fish are one of the few luxuries I allow myself.
Riley loved Angelfish.
Pushing the thought out of my head, I go back upstairs, lock the door, and get ready for bed. Before I close my eyes, I open my oak nightstand and take out Riley's Silver Star. It was awarded for Gallantry in Action. I miss my brother, but he died a true American hero.
Sighing, I put the medal away and close my drawer. I do not deserve to look upon my little brother's greatness. Sometimes I wonder if Isabella knows about my failure. We never talk about things like that with each other, though.
~~~oo~~~
Wednesday morning, and the routine begins again. Before long I am in my office eating a bland lunch. My firm is one of the biggest employers in Forks, so I know everyone. Women flit through my office throughout the day, bringing various things for me to sign. I know they wonder if I'm gay, into kink, seeing someone, or a psychopath. I let them think whatever they want.
Today I can't concentrate on hacking and codes. I crave Isabella. It makes me sick to need her so much. For a minute, I even consider breaking my schedule and going to see her. I know that she will not refuse me, but I do not like showing weakness.
By six, I am a wreck. I spend the whole hour pacing the floor instead of watching the evening news. Tonight, I'm wearing jeans and a tee shirt. I don't want Isabella to get spoiled into thinking I'll always dress up.
At five minutes to seven, the door opens. I go still as she enters the room. She is wearing a sixties style beige dress with a red belt around her waist. I can tell that she has forgone the corset. She isn't even wearing a bra.
Wordlessly, I take her hand and lead her up the stairs. She slips her red flats off before we enter my room. I fight the urge to smile because she is wearing her natural hair. I like that it's short and bouncy. Long hair on women is unattractive to me.
Isabella and I undress at the same time. I can barely concentrate as she pulls the dress over her head, which exposes a red thong. My eyes lift slowly, taking in the flush of her pale skin and the hardened nipples.
"Where?" Bella asks. She knows that I like to choose her position.
I point to the bed and say, "Lay down," as I finish taking off my jeans.
I am too wound up to wait, so I eagerly climb into bed. Isabella spreads her legs and looks up at me as I guide my cock head inside of her. I purposely avoid her stare. She sees way too much of me. I can't give her anymore than this.
Isabella throws her head back as I fully penetrate her. Her mouth opens in a silent scream that quickly becomes real and loud. Gritting my teeth, I put my large hand over her small mouth. Today's lip color is pale pink. She closes her eyes slowly and goes still.
I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.
I'm very glad she doesn't make me use condoms. I have never liked them. Isabella sleeps with other men, but I do not want to know about them. She promises me that she is safe, and we are regularly tested. In the two years we've been doing this, I've never caught anything from her.
Right now, the urge to kiss Isabella is strong. I remove my hand and lean down. Then, I brush my firm lips against her supple ones, but I do not take it further. She bites the corner of my mouth and smiles gently. I do not like to see her happy, so I look away.
We establish a slow, steady grind. I keep my forearms on either side of Bella's head and my eyes on the nightstand clock. We have thirty minutes.
All of a sudden, Bella groans loudly and her inside juices coat my shaft. I pinch her nipple while raising her arms over her head. She shudders violently, almost knocking me completely off of her. Somehow, I hang on and manage to hold her in place. I am not ready to finish.
"Say it. I need to hear it, Edward," she moans, bucking her sweaty hips against me.
I hate this part. I am not the only one with a messed up head. Isabella also has needs that are not easy and comfortable. I know I am not worthy to touch any woman, so I give her what she wants.
"You are ugly. I hate you. You are the vilest whore known to man. It disgusts me to see all this fat on you," I say in a monotone voice, pinching her waist. In truth, there is no fat. Isabella is perfectly proportioned, like a doll.
"Yes! More!"
"I wish you were dead," I whisper sadly.
She screams and finds her second orgasm. I do not know why Isabella needs to hear these words, and I don't ask. I am just happy she doesn't make me do this all the time. It only happens about once a month.
Later, I'll feel awful and only eat half my bland supper as punishment. I deserve to go to bed hungry for what I just said. The only part that was true is my hate for her, but that's my fault, not hers. Of course I don't ever tell her these things.
It's six-forty eight. I have to wrap this session up, so I raise Isabella's legs and place them over my shoulder. She whimpers as I really begin pounding her. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall is loud in the otherwise quiet room. I make a mental note to move it later.
For the next five minutes, I watch my glistening shaft slide inside and outside of Isabella's pink folds. She's muttering and cursing under her breath as I play with her clit. I long to taste her again, but there isn't time. I never understand how an hour with her can go so fast, but yet so slowly with everyone else.
Watching Isabella bite her lip, I come gloriously, squirting my seed all over her lower stomach. She dips her finger into the thick globs and begins licking it all up. I find this disgusting, so I look away as she finishes the task.
"Edward, I have a favor to ask," she says slowly.
I hold up my hand and roll to the side. "I can't. We have a deal, remember?"
Silently, she nods and goes into the bathroom. When she returns, she slips on the dress, places her underwear into a small purse, and walks out of the room. I stare at the clock and wait for the last two minutes to pass.
It's seven and Isabella is gone. I wish that I could cry, but that is one of many emotions that I can't ever express. Instead, I wash up and go downstairs for dinner, remembering to cut the portion in half.
Halfway through the hour, my cock begins to rise. Not bothering to leave the table, I unbutton my jeans and let it free. I think of Isabella's lips and breasts as I stroke my shaft. I use the pre cum as a lubricant and squeeze until I ache.
I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself..
Thankfully, there is an overhead clock. I focus on it as I begin to orgasm. It's eight-forty two, and I'm miserable. Groaning, I stand up and go to the bathroom to wash myself. Then, I return and load the dishwasher.
Everything continues in the same manner until bed time. I fight the urge to call Isabella, but the need wins in the end. She doesn't answer her phone, so I go to the window and pick up my binoculars. I am somewhat of a voyeur, and Isabella indulges me.
As usual, her balcony curtains are open. I watch as a muscular man opens the doors. They are now outside. Bella is wearing a robe. The guy quickly slips it off of her and drops to his knees. Her nakedness is magnificent under the full moon. The way her hips flare out from that impossibly small waist drives me insane.
I open my window so that I might hear and see better. Isabella places her hands on the rails and looks over to my house. I watch her spread her legs as the mystery man explores her body. We lock eyes.
She's never let another man take her in front of me before. This both startles and disgusts me, but I don't dare look away. I know that Isabella needs more than the daily hour that I can give her.
She hates me. She hates me. She hates me.
The man doesn't know where to look, so he can't see me. Isabella smiles as he begins licking her flesh. I feel jealous and that scares me to the bone. She is not mine. I can't let her have my schedule. She will ruin me.
After what felt like hours, the man stands up, puts on a condom, and aligns his dick. I see that he goes for Isabella's other hole. My eyes widen as he pushes into her. I watch her big hazel eyes roll back into her head. They fuck loudly. Fuck is the only word I can think to describe it.
A little while later, I step away and lock the window. I can tell that Isabella is close, and I don't wish to see another man bring her to orgasm. She looks…hurt, as I close the curtains. Internally, I smile.
~~~oo~~~
Thursday is more of the same. I wake up and run like the devil is chasing me. The light drizzle feels good on my heated flesh. As I round the corner, I see the muscular man's car is still in Isabella's driveway. They're not even discreet enough to use the garage.
Whore!
At the office, I avoid people and concentrate on my work. Soon, I'll be able to hire another dozen people. If nothing else, my career is going great.
I do not think of Isabella, my family, or my dead brother.
Later, I rush home and watch television before going over to Isabella's house. When I get there, she is in her bedroom, where less than twenty four hours ago, I watched a man fuck her in the ass. I am livid, but I hide it well.
"I didn't think you'd come," she says, not taking her eyes off the fashion magazine she's reading.
Today she is wearing only a medium-length curly red wig and white peep-toe heels. With her free hand, she twirls a blue glass dildo inside of her depths. I know that she's been at it a while because her thighs are drenched and her nipples extended.
I shrug and remove my clothes. "Nothing better to do."
DCM A/N: *picks up mouth off of the floor* wow, just wow, so dark and hot! Thank you so much DreamQuill for stepping in at the last moment to write this. Please show her some love!
Next week we have a new author to SML, busymommy.
Keep those author recommendations coming in on who you would like to see write for SML. dirtycheekymonkeys at yahoo dot com