Junto Magazine Vol2_Issue2 - Page 25

Junto Magazine, Volume 2 Issue 2 however, she did appreciate the nuanc- es of its theatrics. She’d learned that ev- ery guy had a go to move, something he must’ve done once in his past to a spe- cific girl to make her scream with sexual abandon, so, therefore, he assumed every girl after liked that targeted kink. As Vik- tor rubbed her knee and sang off-key to Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas,” she wanted him to know that she didn’t need her nipples twisted, her toes sucked, her asshole fingered, her clit flicked, and she definitely didn’t need to taste herself as if she existed in sample cup atop a tray in the mall outside Teavana. She thought of her husband and his insistence on spank- ing her and felt a rigid pang lodge in her throat. Yes! Men’s alacrity for sexual in- eptitude had cooled her to the idea of sex in general, but she had gone on with its mechanical process, as fucking seemed to be an indelible inconvenience of life, part of a ritual in the emotional game of give and take that adults danced to while they figured out what they really wanted from one another. She barely had time to appreciate the white lights snaked through the oak spi- ral staircase in the foyer before Viktor’s hands were on her. He didn’t give orders, but she knew what he wanted, for her conjecture was absolute. She spun around and grabbed the polished oaken banis- ter, waiting for her dress to slide up her back—which it did. There was a mere second between the jingle of his belt and his entrance. As predicted, his thrusts had only one pace: aggression. Even his palm against her cheek to make her completely submissive had been foreseen in her fore- cast, along with him sputtering fragment- ed nonsense in his native tongue. And then it began. In being correct with her ability to tell the story to herself before it happened, she welcomed the impulse of her own de- hands and singing on Christmas morn- ing. Viktor returned and took the coffee from her. “Let’s try again. Why is this beautiful, mysterious woman in my bar on such a cold and family oriented evening?” “Your bar? Isn’t it called Tony’s?” she said, knowing the entire backstory. “Tony? Tony’s back in Youngstown. This is my bar now.” Waves his hand. “I kept its Italian tradition to entertain me. To remind me of my prize.” He pushed her dress up and spread her legs, so he could lean between them. He smelled like her dad’s friend, the one that hugged her too much at her fifteenth birthday party. “So, how did you find out about my prize? Hmm?” “Yelp,” she said, thinking of the terror of the one reviewer, stating how he was scared for his life after he had knocked over the drink of a man who made no qualms about revealing his holstered gun under his custom made suit coat. “I am not familiar with this, Yelp. Like something for dying dogs, or whiny children? My accountant must have do- nated to this failing organization for tax purposes. But if this silly fiscal pursuit brought you to me, then maybe I won’t kill him.” She waited for him to laugh, to present this threat as a joke, but the laugh never came. His understood propensity towards violence prompted her to pat his hand. She ordered two more “Drwinks.” Her at [\]\X[XYH[HY B\\H\ܛYY] Hܘ\Y\˜\H\[\Z\ [YY BY&]Z[ Hۙ]\H\Y™˂\HݙH[H\XK BY[YXYH][[&\^ܙX\ \\Y][HYۙHݙ\HYX\]\\ؘ[[]\]X\XZH^\XK\H][][]\Y]X܈\