A Forfeiture Of Intellect

A Forfeiture Of Intellect

By Mantis

“Wow! You… you...” I stammered. Try to breathe, Mike. And for the love of God, choke back that caveman-esque grunt of approval forming at the back of your throat. Are you not a civilized man after all? “You real pretty!” I croaked. 

That was my opening line upon weaving my way through the hyper crowd at Nicky's Tavern and arriving at Kelly Hanson's table for our coffee date. What a line! I was convinced she'd fully understand if I suddenly excused myself to return to a mammoth hunt.

Sadly, the poetic overture I had spent the better part of the prior evening crafting to perfection just for this moment – a touch of charming humility here, a dash of wit there – went straight out the window when I laid eyes on her.

It was that brilliant coif of corn-silked blond hair which shown with the appeal of a lighthouse beacon there to guide a wayward seaman floundering amidst the dense fog; and it was that bright red sun dress she wore, embroidered in a fashion to deliciously cup and uplift the swell of her breasts and below hold tight to her midriff, and below that extend well short of her knees. It was the sight of those exquisite thighs and those toned calves and that high-heel adorned foot dangling up and down expectantly upon a crossed leg. It was that vision, in its entirety, which completely demolished my poor overture, now a thing forever forgotten.

“Hello, Michael. Wow...Thank you!” To her credit, she did manage a lovely smile – that is when the giggles ceased. What a line! She sipped her mug of Nicky's sensational cappuccino and flicked her cigarette in the ashtray, no doubt thrilled our municipality still permitted such depravity as smoking in a tavern. Her huge blue eyes beamed at me, dazzling sapphires that illuminated a roguish grin emerging on her face. “You're late, mister.”

I was currently mesmerized by her legs.

“Hello? Anybody home?”

“Huh? Oh... sorry. Ahem... you're very welcome.” I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead. “Shit, I'm such an asshole to keep you waiting. I won't make excuses. I'm an ass… and I apologize.”

“Jeez, brighteyes, don't take it so seriously. I know the traffic can be a bear.” A playful twinkle peppered her eyes. “It just gave me more time to flirt with that waiter over there. Look, you see him?” Training her gaze towards the waiter, she purred a sexy growl, then, to tease me further, licked her lips. It struck me what a cavewoman-esque gesture that was, and I instantly knew she was my kind of gal.

I glanced in that direction and saw a young, long haired hipster wearing an apron around his waist. The large hoop earrings he wore, making his ear lobes hoops themselves, tended to annoy me, mainly because I wasn't nearly as hip as him. “Yeah, he's a fine specimen... I guess. Shit, I think even I'd suck his cock, he's so pretty.” I erupted in an over-embellished chuckle, just to make sure she got the joke. I took the seat across from her.

She eyed me and took a deep drag on her cigarette. “'Manly', more like it. You, on the other hand, are what I'd call 'pretty'.”

“Hmm… I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered by that.”

“Accept it as flattery. That way you won't be an up tight douche bag for the rest of our date.” Well, I could see she didn't pull any punches. How refreshing. “Plus,” she continued, “I like pretty boys just as well as manly types.” There was that twinkle again. “Just depends on whether I'm in the mood to service... or be served.”

I flinched, suddenly glad I wasn't sipping coffee at that moment, a sure bet to come spraying out. “I see,” I said, hard pressed to stay cool. Dammit! That was a hot thing to say.

So it's youthful frivolity she's chasing? Save love and romance for another time? Okay, fine by me. But she certainly didn't strike me as a bimbo. Sex minded? Yes. Air head? Far from it. I'd been right to hold suspect the opinions of what few co-worker friends I'd made since moving out here.

“So then, just to clarify, if I happen to make any headway with you on the sexual front, I'll be in for an evening of servitude? Is that it?”

“Most likely.”

Christ, how she dazzled when she deigned to be coquettish. It felt like I was floating as the blood drained from my head. “Well then, Ms. Kelly, your wish is my command.” There was no caveman-esque grunt in the back of my throat to qualify that statement, but rather a little squeak of sexual submissiveness. But that was okay. My sexuality often ran the gamut between the extremes of sexual roleplay, and quite comfortably at that.

“Ah, excuse me, darling pretty boy, but you've got to make headway first, remember?” She was enjoying this, wasn't she? It was she after all who instigated these sexual overtones, right? Then again, so was I. But I knew who was keeping who on a leash here. I just hoped my collar wouldn't fit too tight.

She re-crossed her legs, removed my hand from her box of cigarettes which I'd taken to toying with, and lit another. “You've got a long row to hoe, mister… despite those dreamy eyes of yours.”

Her combination of playfulness, sass and sexuality enlivened me, drew me back to my childhood self with all the curiosity and wonderment of the world returned to charge me anew with excitement. She was sharp edged, and came off as unattainable one moment, yet inviting the next, and that juxtaposition I found very alluring. My buddies were dead wrong about her. 

“Yeah,” I said. “But considering my prettiness and charming personality, surely we can skip the formalities and move straight to the good stuff, no?” My hand returned to fiddle with her cigarette box, the old cravings suddenly returned with vigor.

“Do you really take me for being that easy?”

“That's the word on the street,” I blurted, unthinking.

“Oh, is it now?” She peered at me, her gorgeous eyes transfixing me in my seat. I couldn't discern if her expression was one of amusement or indignation.

“It's what I've been told, to be honest. I think it's bullshit... considering how many times you've rejected my advances.”

“And if I'd agreed to this little get-together with you right off the bat? Would you have been inclined to believe your knucklehead friends?”

“Not necessarily… not when you consider what a 'pretty' man I am, and the unlikeliness for most women to resist for long.” My cockiness began to surprise even myself. Instinct alone urged me on in that vein. “It would have been merely expected had you jumped at the occasion, and I'd just have to see for myself how easy or not you are... you know, based on how long it took to get you in bed.”

“Ah… I see we have a dreamer here.” She laughed. Apparently I tickled her.

“But, such as things are, I'm inclined to think you're anything but easy.”

“Such as things are?”

“You know, such as you're stubbornness to agree to this date. And...” I hesitated, thinking this time.

“And?”

“And such as you're obviously NOT just a blond bimbo.”

She smiled knowingly. “I get tagged a blond bimbo all the time.” Then she frowned. “But why do you think they peg me as 'easy'?”

I considered a moment. “Because when they cum in their draws just by the sight of you, they figure you don't wont for lack of sex… and in their neanderthal brains, that equates to you having constant sex with as many different partners as you can muster.”

“Why should they think that?”

“Because they're men… and that's what they'd do if the opposite sex found them as appealing as you are.”

“Ha! You're so right.” She sat back relaxed and motioned to 'Mr. Manly' so I could wet my whistle, her breasts secretly beckoning to me without her permission as she did so. “You know, if you continue being this prescient and keen of mind, I may just start to become wet.” The collar of my leash seemed to tighten just then. “Nothing turns me on like smarts,” she added.

That sounded like a provocative challenge to me, and my mind raced with that particular piece of intel, storing it away like some key to eventually unlock her. “Well, if my keen intellect makes you wet, I guess it would only be decent of me to commence with my servitude. And don't worry, sister, I can do that… just for you.” I beamed brightly at her.

“Awe, what a sweetie! But the problem for you is that you're too smart for your own good. You're right about how base and misguided your associates are. Which means they're dead wrong. I'm anything but easy.”

“But my keen mind… and your wetness,” I cried with high hopes. “Surely...”

“You're gonna need a lot more keenness than that, fella! We're talking Einstein quality here.” Kelly giggled and stamped out her cigarette, clearly implying the same should be done with any further attempts to impress her with my intellect.

I took one of her Marlboros, lit it and took a long, satisfying drag, then settled back in my chair. “And what makes you think I want to work that hard?” There… take that! Ah, what a seminal tactician of flirtatious repartee I was, wasn't I? Er… or was I?

“Because I'm a keen and prescient woman myself,” she shot back. “And I know that in the next few minutes, you'll stop at nothing to try to win me over with your vast intellect. I can see it now, your brain is gonna overheat with the strain... probably be on the verge of complete meltdown before this date is over. I just hope you don't break anything inside your noggin just to impress little ol' me.” She belched out a hearty laugh, and I nearly fainted in my desire for her.

***

It is deep into the night now, and I have achieved so much.

She's had me tending to the myriad erogenous zones of her voluptuous body for a long while now, playing the role of mistress to perfection, and I have finally pleased her enough where it has been 'suggested' that I now begin administering to the core of her femininity.

The dish she serves is a banquet overfloweth, and I am reduced to a ravenous incubus feasting with relentless abandon, feral, intoxicated, gluttonous, alarmingly on the precipice to losing the last vestiges of decency. And yet, awe and admiration of her hold sway in the undercurrent of my emotions, predominant above all else, and the purity of those emotions vex that unwitting demon inside me, tame it, render it powerless to ever befoul my dignity. It strikes me how Goddess-like she truly is, beyond the mere roleplaying, possessing the qualities to at once invoke my inner beast, then smite it and save me from myself.

I become spellbound by the way her pelvis gyrates and undulates round and round and up and down against my dampened lips, her movements fluid and hypnotic; a ballet of feminine wiles so sensual that it taps into the most primitive facets of my mind, resonates there in that same place where high art resonates. She soars like some Impressionist painter, able to capture the expression of purest Erotica upon the brush strokes of her body, enrapturing me in the process.

I sense the sexual tension in the feel of her trembling, taut fingers as she palms my head and runs them through my hair. She's undecided which she prefers more: petting me affectionately, or clutching handfuls of my hair and mercilessly pulling me to her, selfishly demanding expediency in my efforts to please her, as do the best of mistresses. She may be unsure, but I've decided I prefer the pain. Bearing pain for her simply excites me. 

“Dammit, Mike,” she stammers between uncontrollable moans of mounting ecstasy. “You're so fucking hungry for me, baby... sweet... sweet... baby,” she ekes out the last syllables each emphasized by convulsions at her hips. 

I take her around the thighs and scooch those dancing hips upward, leveraging her against me. How do I sate this hunger? I begin pressing and rubbing my whole face against her pretty pussy, the only way my dazzled mind knows how to become more ensconced in her. I breathe her in and delight in the tickle of her soft bush grazing my face from forehead to chin. To nuzzle against her like that, to cuddle lovingly between her legs reveals nuances of bliss I've never known before. Yet I hunger still.

There is a pleading in my love making. A pleading for her requited love, a need for her to know and accept that I am shattered and overwhelmed by her. A pleading for her to take me farther still, to invoke the greatest charms of her femininity – charms as yet hidden from me – to make it so that I am granted the satiation I have earned.

And I'm exhilarated to see that I have rallied her desires to a point where she now urges me forward atop her.

Face to face, I can't hold back the words: “I'm yours.”

She yanks a tassel of my hair again cocking my head to the side, electrifying my senses, commanding my attention. “Yet another smart thing to say,” she teases me. “Will your intelligence never cease?” Her breath lavishes hot against my face, a sultry breeze that seems to carry flirty, seductive whispers to my mind affirming the wisdom of my willing thralldom, laughing all the while. Drunk with her own desire, she doesn't wait for a reply, only pulls my head towards her parting lips, and I can see the reflection of my lust in her sparkling sapphires.

My mouth crashes upon hers with urgency. The wetness of her kiss, the delicate velvet of her tongue, the onrush of sweet scented breath all drive me to euphoria, my eyes going up in their sockets as if seeking Heaven itself to bestow my thanks. I lose all sense of time and place inside that kiss, all sense of self, knowing only that on some heady plane, a Goddess has chosen to regale a man.

My member, animated now, dancing with a life of its own upon pulsing throbs set to the beat of her rhythm and stiff near to the point of pain, draws close to her womanhood like iron to a star-forged magnet.

And I'm rocked to the core when it doesn't simply ease into her, but instead snaps into place deep inside her in an explosion of sensation, both of our bodies shuddering in unison. I have been fitted to her, clicking in place like lock and key, and I realize, looking down at her there below me panting and breathless, seeing the immutable desire painted in the lines of her face, that the pleading has somehow shifted from me to her.

I thrust into her, strong with a desire to please her with my virility. But she's possessed of her own sort of virility, and the strong muscles of her sex have a powerful grip all their own, and they take firm hold of me, remind me that I'm not going anywhere until she says so. Aggressively, maddeningly, they constrict around me, massaging and milking with voracious hunger, countering every back-thrust of mine, taking me captive and demanding the release of my hot, precious seed, that it may fill and saturate and warm her insides.

And as I fuck my precious Kelly for all I'm worth, my mind drifts to a recollection of our memorable date earlier.

Never before have I been as prescient and keen of mind as I was this evening at Nicky's Tavern. On stage there, auditioning for a place in her heart, what a remarkable performance of reasoning and intellect I gave. I kid myself now that I may have indeed broken something inside my noggin, recalling her words.

But never has my brain toiled so hard, never has it been so taxed in an effort to extrude every last ounce of intelligence and wit I possess, to proffer such extravagant theories on the ways of the world and vocalize my explanations with such eloquence, and to postulate with such deep conviction on the machinations of the human condition – all brought to bear from having been simply overcome with the need to win her over; that demanding woman of high expectations, forever leaving me unsure whether my performance was worthy, nonchalantly projecting doubt that I had what it takes. But in the end, I did have what it takes! My intellect did make her swoon with desire, just as she'd announced such a thing could do.

But worn as my tired mind may now be, I judge it acceptable that some vague essence of my intellect may have been surrendered in forfeiture upon the strain of that rousing performance, an exchange made to gain inroads to the intimate knowledge of her body, as well as her heart, and the privilege to serve all her sultry desires.

Now, my only plea to the Gods of Fortune is that I'll no longer need to persevere in such prescience and keenness of mind in order to continue on in these endeavors with her; for a mere pretty boy like myself can procure only so much enlightenment in one lifetime, and I fear I have used up my allotment in one fell swoop – a once in a lifetime transcendence of mind that now remains but a wisp of legend hanging in the ether at Nicky's Tavern, along side the photos of memorable patronage hanging on its walls.

Word count: 2998