Cardinal Sins

Michael finished tearing off the corners of his napkin.

Two raps of his knuckles caught the attention of the bartender. The other man frowned, picked up a freshly cleaned glass, and made sure that the beer's head was enough to tell Michael that it would be his last for the night.

"Long day?"

Michael's glass had almost reached his lips. Turning, he looked leeways to reach the eyeline of the rust-maned woman who spoke to him. It looked right for her to be in a bar. She was slender, small breasted, and casually tapped her short heel against the side of her stool. Curiosity made her dull green eyes slightly widen; both lips parted to show her genuine interest. A dark, rather transparent blouse covered her top to tastefully show that she was wearing a fashionable bra underneath. Below her lithe abdomen were equally transparent stockings covered by a slightly frilled skirt that ended mid-thigh. She maintained a black tone throughout her threads which allowed her style to clash harshly with the prim way she held her hair back.

"Something like that." Michael's voice was raspy from his workings at the local steel mill, slurred from his constant drinking that night, and slowed from the need for eventual sleep. An inspection of his mug showed that he had only been poured about half a cup's worth; the rest was dissolving in the fizzing bubbles beneath his nose. Again, he made to drink what little he had been given and was interrupted once more.

"I'm Grace." She said. A little lean brought her hands across his front. She reached for the napkin he had been systematically destroying. "I'm new in town." Both her hands started to work on the napkin in the same way he had before. Each pointed edge was made dull, then sharpened by a crease to be dulled again. Her fingernails were well polished and held the same dull-red as her hair. "What's your name?" The little scraps from the napkin she was making were falling into their own designs now upon the polished wood.

"Michael - Look...Grace?" A sideways glance showed that he was bad with names. "There's a few others here that might be better for your company." Gesturing with his mug, he motioned her attention further down the bar. Two women were doing a fantastic show of interest to a man far younger than Michael; occasional laughs and giggles broke the relative silence of the near-closing establishment. One woman had her shorts dipped well enough down her spine to display her stamp. The other was allowing the man to lick some alcoholic glaze off her chin before returning the favor with on his boyish face. "They look like the adventuring type."

"How gauche." Grace took in the sight; leaning back towards Michael as she watched with indignation. "As if I'd ever stoop so low to enjoy friends in such a way. You've been in here for a few hours already. What do you think, Micheal? I see Lust and Gluttony over there at the end of the bar. What do you think the third one is?" Her lean made her faint scent of cinnamon waft between them while she neatly sidestepped his polite recommendation.

Michael took on her challenge and stared at the way the boyish man suckled eagerly on a puddle of liquor between one of of the girl's breasts; noting how one hand was lodged between her legs as he worked her under the bar. Squinting, he saw the man held a sports ring of some kind. The barest beginnings of a football team's tattoo was also displayed on the wrist of the same hand.

"Pride." Once again he tried to bring his paltry drink up to his lips only to have it be swiped from his loose grip by Grace's snatching hand; leaving him with a belt elbow and unwetted tongue.

Grace tenderly put the mug down in the center of her finished design. It was geometric, seven points, and the top three bits of ripped paper were clumped closer together than the others. "I think you're right, Michael. If you had said Sloth I was going to dock points for lack of creativity."

Despite her displayed body, she didn't talk like a prostitute. For years Michael had seen more than his fair share of women who were all "new in town", as Grace had explained, coming and going from the bar he sat in. Where was the offering of flesh-for-cash? The typical desperate grabs? Intelligence glimmered behind her eyes that she barely seemed to blink and it caught him off guard.

She drank merrily from his mug and gasped to help offset the sting in her throat. Only a thin line of beerish dregs remained after her swallows.

"You know the drill, Michael." The bartender's voice broke his concentration as the large man retrieved his stolen glass. "You don't gotta go home..."

"...but I can't stay here. Yeah, yeah." Michael finished the expression; grunting as he lifted himself up on his boots to stand on shaky knees. Grace had cleverly rose with him to steady him with a resolute hand. "I can walk just fine, thanks." Once more he turned to address her over his shoulder though he was thankful for her bracing touch.

"You're drunk." Grace wrapped an arm around his hip and let him lean more into her. "But, at least you don't smell." She was grinning, nudging her hip into his side to spur him to walk. "You have a good night now!" She called to the bartender while giving a low wave.

Michael didn't hear the bartender respond. "She said good night." He said, making sure his voice held a tone.

The bartender finally looked up from his dish washing and stared at the space that Grace occupied.. "Go home Michael, you're drunk; and clear out, you lot!" A dirty rag fluttered towards the three still laughing and milking the closing hour for all it was worth.

"It's fine, Michael. Come on." Another spurring touch went to his side so he went with the motion to let her lead him into the fall weather outside.

-----

Michael's boots were steel-toed and heavy. They gripped the dewy sidewalk easily to help him keep a staggering balance. Comfortable jeans and a loose jacket adorned the rest of him to give him a casual look of non-seriousness; professional enough for a date, relaxed enough to wear at a bar. Grace had put her hand in his far pocket and was using it as a handhold to help keep him upright.

"Why do you drink, Michael?" Grace's voice came with a hushed tone as she led him along. Her body was smaller, but she was no weakling. Wherever he lived must be close since he hadn't moved towards one of the cars in the lot nearby. If it was within walking distance then she could help him hobble along.

A ruffed sentence passed his lips. "It keeps me calm." He was holding his own when it came to his walking, but it was becoming clear that if he had drank that last mug that he would have passed out by now. "I'd go crazy without it, especially on nights like this." He cleared his throat and took another deep breath, fighting off his drunkenness, and alluding to a difficult work day.

On they went. Michael began to go through a transformation as the physical exertion of movement allowed him to sweat out some of his inebriation; it let him stand a bit taller and take broader steps. Slowly, they were making their way towards the northern parts of the city where the suburban apartments were becoming thin. Grace held him tenderly, almost motherly, while they continued with the heralding clicks of her small heels. They walked quietly. His silence was comfortable as he retreated into a drunken state of near-consciousness. Grace didn't seem like the sort that needed to constantly be speaking in order to feel content.

"Here." A halting step brought them to the stoop of his two story house. It was nestled on a corner, sitting comfortably between two other businesses with a quaint appearance. "I guess you want to come inside?" Michael's voice slurred gently and his tone was neutral enough to give her the option to decline.

Grace continued to hold an arm around him before nodding once. "Absolutely. I'm always interested to see how people live. It lets me covet their things in secret." Her voice was whispy and thoughtful as she made to help him up the steps.

"Just don't steal anything." It took some fumbling with the keys before he shoved his door open. His house was well planned and rather tidy. Steel artwork hung from his walls in intricately savage shapes to show that he had an artistic flair when not actively working at the steel mill. A broad couch dominated the living space downstairs and his bed could be seen in the lofted upstairs room.

Michael had sobered up enough to walk unassisted but was still incredibly inebriated. Deeply throbbing steps caused his hardwood floors to bend under the force of his booted shamble while he made his way to the alcove of his kitchen. It took some more struggling motions before he found his sink and was able to start preparing an aspirin from his cupboard. Twice he felt his fingers slip on the child-proof top so he eventually bit into the furrowed plastic in an aggressive flash. A scattering of white pills rolled across the counter top.

"Need some help?" Grace came up from behind him to wrap her arms around his hips. Her breath was on the back of his light jacket as she slowly searched for some of the pills. "You just focus on standing up big guy, okay?" She found two, dunked them in the lukewarm glass he had poured himself, and let the medicine start to dissolve by itself. Her hands went back around to hug him; letting her weight ease his front against his counter.

Michael could only let her dote on him. His head was hung while he simply focused on keeping his knees from crumpling. Her hands were delicate but held a sense of power in them as he watched the way her tendons worked in her wrists. A slow fizzle turned into a lazy bubbling as the aspirin continued to disintegrate inside the cup of water.

"All this strength of a man made useless by a few drinks." Grace's hands were roaming while she spoke. They dipped around the front of his belt and began to work on the clasp. Her hips were pressed tightly into his broader frame to keep him leaning forwards. "What I wouldn't give to have such a strong, powerful, body." Her whispering words came huskily around her cinnamon scented perfume. "You have all these nice clothes, this great big house, and all these muscles..." She was almost cooing as she moved her hands with greater purpose.

He didn't stop her. His mind was beyond multi-tasked as he clenched his eyes shut; hoping it would make his feelings of dizzying vertigo lessen. The merry jingling of his belt buckle filled the air while Grace's smaller hands darted expertly down his crotch. It only took a moment for her palms to reach his cock before she started to give it a few forceful tugs.

"Let's get that blood flowing a bit more, hmm? Drink your medicine, Michael." One hand dropped expertly to cup his sack and to begin rolling him gently. She prodded his arm with her elbow to get him to finally drink his glass of dissolved aspirin. Her weight moved forwards as she stepped closer; urging him to bend to help accommodate her hands easier after he had taken several swallows. Her chin rested towards his shoulder while she worked him strongly and finally felt him hardening to his full length.

"Ah, fuck..." Michael coughed once after finishing his drink. Her ministrations made him tilt further and his boots spread wider. "...keep doing that." Prostitute or not, she was working him furiously and in the way he enjoyed it if he were to do it himself. No twisting, no extravagant motion; just the fast-paced kneading of both his parts between his legs. His drunkenness made it easier to be in a compromising position as the woman behind him was the one taking the dominant role. Soon, his hips started to thrust in time with her downward pressing to give him the feeling of fucking her hand.

"How easy it is to have a cock..." Grace was doing her best to grind herself on the back of Michael's strong legs. Her skirt made it difficult, but she soon managed to find a way to stimulate herself by humping him at a certain angle. "How great to just fuck whenever you need to." She was honing; tightening her grip and doing a marvelous job of creating an artificial pussy out of her palm. "I don't have that luxury, Michael. I need so much more to finally get myself off." Her words came with forceful thoughts as she confessed her envy of his body. "But you? You can just be jerked off and that's all there is to it."

A thin film of clear drool was at the corner of his mouth while he started to breathe heavily. He couldn't stop his hips from bucking and his stance made it easy for him to just grip the edge of the countertop as she worked on bringing him to orgasm. He could feel the tensing in his groin, flexing to make himself stay fully torqued, and shuffling a leg out more to let her hump against it easier. "Don't stop." He said with a voice that was used to getting what it wanted. "God...don't stop."

"I won't, Michael. I promise." She increased her pace even further at hearing his slight begging. She could feel her dark nipples harden against the tight bra she wore. Her set of black-laced panties were already darkened from her own wetness and she was spreading her dampness against his jeaned leg. "But, you need to promise to fuck me. Fuck me with that cock of yours so I can imagine what it's like to have one." Each vein was raised against his shaft while his nuts made a cycle of rising and falling; churning his spunk inside his body as she brought him to further heights.

The scent of sex started to fill the air as his pre held a heady scent against her own dewy desire. Even though they were both clothed it wasn't long before Michael could feel himself starting to hitch on his rising release. The fact that she was bringing him to that point so quickly astounded him as much as it frightened him. No woman seemed to understand him as easily as she did and he marveled in the sensation of such a rapid experience. "I promise. God, Grace, I promise to fuck you. Just don't stop now. Don't...don't stop now." His words were laced with that ever-burning need to finally cum. He was thrusting into her hands now and could feel his precum slathering his length from the way she spread it. After another minute he began to gasp. "I can't hold back." His voice was strained with the combination of erotic touches and alcoholic effects.

"Cum." She whispered to him. "I promise I won't stop. Just cum." She jerked him at a speed that would have been impossible for him to achieve with normal sex. "I want to feel your dick jump. Let me feel your hot jizz shooting out." She clenched his sack firmly while her fingers started to put pressure on the space at the base of his shaft. Her own arousal dribbled between her legs and stained her leggings.

After another few strokes he felt his body start to tense. With a groaning sigh he humped forward furiously in a way that mimicked how he would be fucking someone if he were inside them. One last thrust made him stiffen with his drunken orgasm finally arriving. Rope after rope of pearly white spunk shot forwards from his slit. It doused the wooden counter below his sink and pelted the floor before him with his spent seed as he breathed heavily.

Her hands milked him in such a way that he began to feel a strange sense of total release. Not only did she make him cum, she ensured that all of his mannish needs were fulfilled as completely as possible. Slowly, he brought his head lower while he rested on his elbows; descending a few more rungs down his orgasmic ladder as she let him feel more pulses than his own typical orgasm would have been able to achieve. Panting, spent, and drooling, he let out a final sigh before going completely weak in the knees.

Grace was prepared. Both her hands caught him deftly and helped him stay upright. "I got you, Michael. Come on, snap out of it." She patted his cheek and tried to rouse him from the post-orgasmic bliss she knew he was experiencing. "We're not done. Wake up." More pats, this time forcefully hitting him as she half-dragged him towards the large couch in his living room.

-----

He was heavy. It took more than a few tugs to get him properly seated.

Grace moved her lips to graze the peppery stubble that Michael had on his chin as she made to straddle him. Both his hands were weakly gripping her hips to give a few lazy thrusts of his naked sex up against her panties. Their waists were covered by her skirt, though both could feel exactly what was occurring beneath her lacy underclothes.

The combination of a powerful orgasm and aspirin-ladened brain was barely keeping Michael aware of his surroundings. His cock had gone somewhat soft, the remnants of his orgasm still dripping off the lower cupboard, but his body still responded like it was willing to fuck. Each grind of Grace's covered pussy brought another few drops of her arousal to seep through the thin fabric and onto the bottom of his lazily hardening shaft. Her breathing was warm, moist, and sultry as her chest pressed her small breasts out with her inhales.

After a minute of hard presses she finally reached into the folds of her skirt to offset her panties. His cock had finally gotten stiff enough to enter her and she was desperate to feel it parting her entrance. She let him feel her soft pubic hair, slipping it against the two ruby lines she kept around her pussy before finally aligning him.

Despite his state, he still had the mental strength to tip his head forward to feel he exposed parts of her nape. Calloused hands dipped down her spine to slip beneath her elastic waistband and to cup her petite rear in his grip. Some weak upward jabs made his cock head rise forwards and slightly enveloped her clit within the slippery tip he still had. A soft whine broke from his lips; his closed eyes pleading for her to assist him.

"Shh." Her hands went into the smaller hairs behind his neck to give her leverage. He was large, but she graciously accepted him after she moved to the proper position. Carefully, she lowered herself to impale his cock inside her wet folds. A squelching sound marked just how aroused she was as a gout of girlish white cream escaped her nethers. Her mewling in pleasure was light, airy, and grateful as she finally felt the head of him stop just before her back wall. There she sat for a moment, eyes closed tightly, and fingernails digging against the back of his neck for support. "Oh...fuh...fuck..." Her voice broke once as she tried to verbalize her feelings.

Some bucking let her know that he was still mentally present, just physically incapacitated. Brief pawing at her blouse opened her cleavage and he was quick to slip her bra from her shoulders to reveal her darkly tipped nipples. Both thumbs pressed on the sides of her areolas to slowly orbit around the sensitive skin of her chest. Her body was tanned, short-cropped hair coming loose from how it was pulled back, and he could feel the cleft of her ass settling at the top of his sack from where he sat. Their clothing had been pushed aside only enough to allow them to fuck. Grace could feel his belt buckle imprinting on her thigh in a way that would cause corduroy lines just as her skirt was furrowing against his exposed navel.

"Please..." He managed to speak, albeit slowly. She was a velvety glove around his cock and her pussy eased its grip down to his base as she started to grind and bounce herself. Her body was clean, her skin unblemished, and her kiss was sweet as she made to share their lips with one another. Even though he had just came, he could feel his body starting to churn its next release from the way she was riding him so perfectly, and pressing him further into the cloth of his couch.

"Cum." She told him softly while stroking his cheek with her palm. "It's okay. Just cum. Let it out so I can feel it." Her bounces turned into harsh drops of her hips. She wasn't just riding him, she was fucking him for what her body was worth as her knees began to quiver and her ankles lifted to catch on his knees. She knew he was close from the way his head rolled back and his fingers spread to lock on the notches between her ribs. This was what she needed. A powerful man beneath her that she could explore and marvel at with covetous intent. She felt along his clothed chest and gripped into the seams near his neck to further rut herself down on his rigid cock as she sensed his bucking was becoming stronger.