Just So

This is a work of fiction, loosely based on the real person, Russell Crowe. No insult or injury is intended, this story is for entertainment purposes only.

This story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit sexual situations and adult language. The writer is not responsible for any "discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these situations.

Just So

by: Darrin Lee Hutton

Fantasy proposal:

Okay, so you’re at some big mucky-muck high class Hollywood event and Mr. Crowe has been hanging around you half-chatting, half-flirting with you for some time. He's made it obvious to you that he finds you not only attractive, but sexy and has been having a little fun with sexual innuendos and being an all-round bad boy horndog. You've had a drink or two or three and are feeling quite naughty yourself. Of course, his attitude towards you isn't helping, because just being in his presence is turning you on and with his affectionate attentions, you are about to burst!!! Finally, after one more sexual innuendo from him and a sexy wink along with his sexiest smile you lean into him and whisper these words into his ear, "So is it true, Russell? Are you as good a lover as rumor claims you are?"

His voice dips to that “fuck me now” tone you fell in love with a long time ago and he says, “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

With the barest of hesitations, you nod. Fuck, this is something you’ve been thinking, dreaming and writing about for what feels like forever and there’s no way you’re saying “No.”

Limo waiting outside, hushed instructions to the driver and then he’s ushering you into the vehicle, his large hand heating your hip as he guides you in. Your heart is pounding hard and you can’t catch your breath, so when he offers you some champagne, you practically gulp it down, in the most lady-like way possible, of course.

Not a word is spoken. Just heated glances. And his hand caressing your cheek. He leans in and pulls you in for a kiss. His tongue nudges your mouth open after he tastes your lips. He smells wonderful. Like a man. Like the man you’ve always wondered about. His free hand takes your glass from you and he sets both of them aside. You know that the kiss is now going to get serious.

He places his hands on either side of your face and pulls you in firmly. You forget to breathe. You forget to think. You can only feel. His tongue in your mouth. The response of your body, skin now sensitive to every touch, slick wetness between your legs, throbbing pulse in your clit and the sense of him you’re getting as your hands roam all over him. Over the tuxedo jacket, under the tuxedo jacket, his taut nipples arching into your hands through his shirt. His hands dropping down now, one staying to caress your neck, the other going further and gently kneading your breast, lightly flicking his thumb across your excited bud, causing an electric slide directly into your cunt, causing you to arch into his tender grip on you.

He pulls back as you realize the limo has stopped and the driver has discreetly knocked on the window, asking permission to open the door. He’s obviously driven Mr Crowe under these circumstances before. You actually don’t care. This is all about you and you don’t care at all what happened yesterday or what will happen tomorrow. You’re just living this moment. This night. One night with the Alpha Male you’ve fantasized about so sweetly. Bring it on. Just so.

Exit from the limo. Skirt hitching up and his lustful glance at your thighs. Walking through the lobby; the interminable wait at the elevator. Key in the slot for the Penthouse Suite. Heart thudding harder. Breath short. Oh fuck, this is happening.

Door closing and he pushes you up against it. Hands now free to explore each other. Clothes dropping in a heap on the floor. Smiles exchanged, then kissing you again. Only half undressed, he picks you up and carries you into the bedroom.

And now, dammit, now you’re going for it. You want to see, feel and taste what you have built up in your mind as the ultimate Cock. Falling to your knees before him as he settles onto the bed, you stroke and caress what has turned out to be, yes, THE Alpha Male Cock. Large in length and girth, throbbing with a life of its own, and you can’t take all of it into your mouth as you had always imagined. Stroking what’s left with one hand, caressing his balls with the other, your tongue performs a dance on him that you’re so happy to hear him moaning and grunting at. Getting a shock of salty liquid as his precum invades your mouth, you continue stroking him and he grows harder, now bucking his hips up into your mouth, fucking your mouth, holding your head against him, wanting more of you that you’re barely able to give. But you do. Fucking Christ, yes.

Moments of sheer erotic joy pass. You hold his orgasm in your hands. You can feel his tense frustration as you keep him on the edge, backing off when you feel him get too excited, gentling him back down to a low hum, then building him back up to that precipice he must fall over, and then, at last, you let him, you keep going at him, speeding up the pace, letting him know that this time he’s going over by the movements of your hands and mouth and tongue.

And, fuck, he’s cumming. With a low roar, he’s cumming into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with his hot spew, grunting harshly with each spurt of his hot, creamy liquid, and you’re gulping it down as fast as you can.

He slows. He stops. He sighs.

“Thought I was supposed to be showing you a thing or two,” he says softly.

You giggle. Can’t help it, he’s so male. He’s so very all male.

“Come here, woman.”

Russell pulls you up onto the bed with him, cradling your body in his arms, touching you everywhere. And you’re content now to let him be the attention-giver. You stretch out before him, letting him caress your body into an even higher state of awareness. You find yourself purring as he heads south along your abdomen, kissing every inch of you he can reach, pausing at your belly button for a one-sided French kiss of that little orifice and you feel it directly connected to your clit. Fuck, you could cum right now if he’d only…

He touches you tenderly, drawing up some of the abundant moisture that is weeping out of you uncontrollably. As he encircles your little bundle of nerves with his thumb and forefinger, you cum hard against his hand, writhing with utter abandon in this moment of crisis he’s brought on just by being him.

“You’re so fucking ready for me, luv,” he says, his voice low and full of danger. “You’ve got a lot more cumming to do, baby, ready?”

You don’t, can’t, answer. Just nod ever-so-slightly, barely able to think. You’re whole body is centered on your clit. As is his mouth. His tongue runs the length of your slit and you moan in hedonistic heat. Light little touches against your clit and at the same time, he slowly pushes his finger into your opening and fucks you gently.

Oh, God. Finger-fucked by Russell Crowe. Your deepest fantasy.

And you relish it. Try to focus so you can remember every agonizingly wonderful second of it. Tongue rubbing your clit. Finger, now fingers, fucking you. In….and out…Long, beautiful fingers driving you wild.

Your climax rises, your belly clenches and your walls contract around him, your clit tightens and, oh FUCK, you’re cumming, bucking your hips into his mouth, your ass rising off the bed, loud, harsh cries escaping your lips.

“Oh, God, oh, fuck, oh, RUSSELL!” Cumming and cumming as he continues to relentlessly suck at your clit and driving his fingers into you. Your entire body focuses on your cunt, the source of your cries, your moans, your only sensory input.

Finally, he releases you. You can’t breathe.

He crawls up over you, chuckling evilly. “Come back to me, baby. I want you to know what’s happening to you.”

Your eyes clear. You can see Russell goddam Crowe in all his glory. Gorgeous chestnut mass hanging down, his rough beard soaked with your juices, smiling that smile you’re so in love with, you think your heart will burst with the sheer joy you see in his face and feel through your body.

Then he thrusts himself into you. One smooth, liquid slide right into the very center of you, you can feel the head of his cock kiss the entrance to your womb, he’s so huge. He sheaths himself to the hilt with a satisfied grunt. Rooting you, good and proper. Just so.

Heated friction of his hard length gliding in and out of you and you wrap your legs and arms around him, holding him to you. He tucks his head next to yours and whispers in that gravelly, honey and whiskey drenched baritone that will be the end of you if he keeps it up. Which he, of course, does.

“Can ya feel it, luv? Can ya feel how hard I am for you? God, you feel so good, soft and fucking wet, so goddam wet. That’s all for me, isn’t it? All that coming out of you, just for me. I own you now. I fucking own you. You won’t ever be satisfied with another man, you know that, don’t you? Cum for me, baby, cum hard around my cock, yeah, now, baby.”

And you do. His voice drives you over the edge and you stare briefly into the black abyss of cumming and then fall. Screaming his name as you tumble through the darkness.

“That’s it, luv, yeah, baby, I gotcha. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of you.”

And he rolls the two of you over, onto his back, you now the pace setter. And you ride him. Ride him for all he’s worth. All you’re worth. Still cumming and you feel tears running down your face because it’s good, so fucking goddam good. You can’t get enough of this sensation, of him inside you, filling you, completing you. This is why you have a hole, so he could thrust into it.

And suddenly you’re on all fours and he’s fucking you hard from behind. What kind of control does he have not to have cum yet? You can feel sweat dripping from him, mingling with yours and he’s pounding into you now, heedlessly. And you know he’s going to cum, he has to. No one has fucked you this hard for this long and not cum.

“Baby, give it to me. Give me what you’ve got. All of it. I want it. Now.” And he shoves spasmodically into you, grunting and groaning and then roaring as you feel hot jets of his heated liquid filling you. And you cum again. Hard. Almost cramping up from the intense feeling he’s wringing from you.

He collapses on top of you and you sink to the bed, all capability of staying up gone from you now.

When you can both breathe again, he rolls to your side and pulls you in to him. Arm circling your waist, his other arm under your neck, that hand grasping yours. Drifting into sleep because you can’t do anything else.

Five a.m.

You sneak out of his embrace and grab your clothes from the other room. You debate harshly with yourself.

And compromise with leaving your email address and cell number on a piece of paper you leave by the phone. The ball’s in his court now.

For the next two days, you receive hundreds of roses. Each vase contains the same message.

You, I need. Love, Russell.

You smile. This ain’t over. Not by a long shot.

Just so.

THE END

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