#lorcisse

The elevator ride was so long, Lola had almost talked herself out of it before she reached the top floor.

Because of course Stéphane Narcisse lived in the penthouse.

The inside of the elevator was all mirrors. It didn’t help Lola’s nerves to see her anxious expression everywhere she looked. She was beginning to second-guess her wardrobe choices as well—a pink dress that, at first glance, looked quite modest with its cap sleeves and round neckline and skirt that fell past her knees. Unless of course, you looked again and saw that the fabric was thin and slightly sheer and clung to her in all the right places.

He would like the dress, she knew that. But did she want him to like the dress—and, by extension, her—in that way?

It was Kenna who had first showed her the sex blog—Poppy’s Sex Journal—which documented an anonymous woman’s sexual exploits in the wealthy social scene of the city.

Lola had thought it was all fictional, until she recognized one of the men Poppy had written about. She never named them, but how many others had a butterfly tattoo on their left wrist?

And when Lola had confided in Kenna that Poppy’s ‘best fuck of 2022’ was a man with whom her father sometimes did business, Kenna had said that it was fate: “You have to do him.”

And thus the dance had begun.

After a few ‘chance encounters,’ and Stéphane’s expressed interest, and Lola almost dying of embarrassment after she got drunk in front of him, here she was, wearing a nothing dress in an elevator to his penthouse.

It was fine.

The doors finally slid open, and Lola stepped into a large foyer with dark wood flooring and green patterned walls. It gave the impression of a deep dense forest.

Footsteps approached, and there was Stéphane, tall and slender and smiling. It was a warm smile, but under it lurked the part of him that simultaneously frightened and fascinated Lola. She had only seen hints of it, but if Poppy’s Sex Journal was accurate, it was certainly there.

“Lola!” he said, embracing her briefly. “Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Lola said.

“Of course.” He pulled back to look at her properly. “My, don’t you look—” He paused, letting his eyes roam before raising them to hers again. “—utterly ravishing.”

She flushed. “Not what I would normally wear, but I—” She didn’t want to say that she wore it because she thought he would like it. She couldn’t be too honest, too easy. “I thought it time for something different.”

“Well, if this is the direction your wardrobe is taking,” he said, offering her his arm. “I certainly won’t be complaining. Come, I’ll give you a tour.”

Stéphane’s penthouse was not exactly extravagant—though Lola thought the floor-to-ceiling fish tank in the bathroom was a bit much—but it did speak of a man who was exorbitantly wealthy and was not afraid to show it.

And yet, he knew the names of every artist whose works he had on his walls and displayed on shelves. “Marisela, I met her at a speakeasy three years ago,” he’d say, or “If you want to see his current masterpiece, it graces the outside of city hall, much to their dismay.”

Lola was beginning to realize that there was a lot more to him than his particular tastes, as described by Poppy.

They had circled back to the kitchen. “Have you had lunch?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, I– I hope you didn’t…”

“No, that’s good,” he said. “I have something in the oven for dinner, but that’ll be a bit yet.”

He cooks?

“Shall we maybe pass the time with a game of pool?” he asked.

“Sure,” Lola said. “But I’ll warn you: I’m not particularly good.”

His eyes glittered and he grinned. “All the better.”

They had passed by the pool room briefly during the tour. It seemed made for this specific purpose—perfectly shaped and sized.

Lola ran her fingers over the smooth wood of the edge of the table as Stéphane arranged the balls. She crossed to the stand where the pool cues stood and had just selected one when Stéphane asked, “Lola, why did you accept my invitation?” and Lola nearly jumped at how close he sounded.

She turned around and found herself looking up at him. Trying to regain her composure despite his closeness, she countered, “Why, did you hope I’d refuse?”

“Coyness is for those who don’t know what they want,” he chided. “And I think you came here for a very particular purpose.”

Lola breathed out slowly, heart thumping wildly. “Perhaps I did,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Then perhaps…” He leaned in and she had to tilt her head back more to look at him. Her lips parted of their own volition. Then he stepped back, grinning. “Perhaps we should play by my house rules.”

“House rules?” She felt light-headed.

“For pool.”

“Right.” She blinked. Her grip on the pool cue tightened as her mind whirled with possibilities. “What are your house rules?”

Stéphane selected a pool cue. “Whenever one of us sinks a ball, the other takes off a piece of clothing,” he said casually, chalking the tip of his cue.

God, he had such long, graceful fingers.

“And what if we sink the cu- white ball?” she asked.

A slow grin spread over his features. “If I sink the white ball, you get to come. If you do, you don’t.”

“So nothing happens,” she said, a little disappointed.

“That is not what I said.”

She blushed when she realized what he meant. “What if one of us sinks the other’s ball?”

Stéphane stepped closer, almost predatorially. “Do you like rules, Lola?”

“I like to know what to expect,” she said as coolly as she could manage.

“The same as if they had sunk their own.”

“And at the end?”

“Dealer’s choice—or, I suppose, winner’s choice.” He held out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Lola hesitated. “I reserve the right to quit whenever.”

“Of course,” he said. “I would never hold you against your will—unless you wanted me to.”

“I don’t,” she said bluntly and shook his hand.

“Wonderful.” He turned away. “Do you want to break, or shall I?”

“Gentlemen first.”

He leaned over the pool table, a graceful and practiced movement. The balls clacked and Lola groaned internally as two slipped into pockets.

Stéphane looked at her with a lazy smile.

A thrill ran through her, but, as calmly as she could, she stood on one foot to slip off a shoe, then did the same with the other.

“Do shoes not come in pairs?” Stéphane asked.

“Yes,” Lola said, rounding a corner of the table toward the cue ball, bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. “Pairs of two.” She began lining up the pool cue, then looked back at him. “Come now, Stéphane, you have done the same calculation I have. Do you really think I am wearing more than seven pieces of clothing right now?”

“Fair enough,” he said with a generous look over her.

Lola hadn’t been lying when she said she wasn’t good at pool. But she wasn’t terrible either. She sank one and smiled sweetly at Stéphane, who removed one shoe.

And he was wearing socks, she realized. One more shoe, two socks, shirt, undershirt, pants, underwear. Even if she won, she wouldn’t get him naked until she sank the 8-ball.

Whereas she wore a dress and panties. Two more and she’d be naked. And while Lola was a little competitive, especially when it came to him, the idea had her nipples hardening—visible through her dress.

“Enjoying the game?” Stéphane stage-whispered as he passed behind her closely.

“Excessively.”

He surveyed the table carefully, before walking further down the side. Then he leaned over, snapped the cue against the cue ball, and looked her in the eye as he sank another ball in the pocket she stood behind. It knocked a breath from her.

“My lady,” he said, coming around the table with a sweeping bow.

Lola took a breath, adrenaline coursing through her body as Stéphane watched her intently. She hiked up her skirt a little, hooked her fingers around the waistband of her thong and pulled it down her legs. It was a tiny scrap of fabric, but she felt very bare without it. Stéphane seemed to feel similarly, judging by his intense gaze—and the bulge at his crotch.

She stepped out of the thong, letting it lie on the floor. “Pick your jaw up from the floor, Stéphane,” she said, sashaying toward him—heart hammering—and turning to the table. She leaned over, flushing deeply and trying to concentrate despite his scorching gaze on her.

Stéphane’s eyes took in the sight. The dress was slightly see-through, he had noticed that initially—immediately. Now, as she leaned over the pool table, he could see her individual buttocks. His pants were straining, and he had to press his hands against his thighs. He had presented the rules—he had invented the rules—he had to follow them.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t… help things along a little. He stepped closer to her, just far enough to not touch her, and leaned over her, arms braced on either side. “And here I was hoping you’d left your panties home on my account,” he whispered.

Lola nearly didn’t hit the cue ball at all, but managed to concentrate long enough to hit it.

And while she sent the ball she had been aiming for into the corner pocket, the cue ball followed right after it.

Lola sighed and began to stand up, but Stéphane’s body was still hovering over her.

“Do you remember the rules, Lola?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yeah, you have to take off your other shoe.”

A dull thunk sounded behind her. “Done. And, what else?”

She swallowed. “I— I don’t come.”

He placed a hand on her back, pressing her down as he took the pool cue from her and tossed it to the ground. “Try not to disturb the balls on the table, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We have a game to play after.”

Lola laid her head on her arms, his hand heavy on her back. His other hand slowly pulled up her skirt and slipped between her thighs. She hadn’t realized how wet she had become until she felt his fingers there. He hummed in approval, and she could hear his smile.

“Have I mentioned—” he began to say, sliding his fingers between her folds. “—how incredibly pleased I am—” He brushed her clit, and she shuddered. “—that you accepted—” Again, he circled it. “—my invitation.”

“I couldn’t string you along too—ah—long,” she gasped at his touch. “It was starting to get a little sad.” She moaned as he firmly rubbed over her clit.

“A pity acceptance?” he said, increasing the speed of his fingers. “I ought to be insulted.”

Lola pressed her hips back against him. “Is this… how you treat those… who insult you?” she asked between sighs and moans.

“Oh, no, Lola.” He leaned over her, breath hot on her neck. “You’re lucky I like you.”

His touch was maddening—a consistent rhythm against her, firm and deft. It was one thing to know he know how to touch a woman, but another entirely to experience it. And because she knew he could’ve sent her tumbling toward her climax already, it made it even more frustrating.

He knew what he was doing—and she wished he’d just do it.

He brought her a little closer every time before letting her drift away. His weight was on her, his fingers were insanity-inducing between her legs. Then his other hand tangled its fingers in her hair.

“Maybe I’ll make an exception to the rule.” His voice was low. “Since you whimper so sweetly.”

“Mm?” she hummed hopefully. She was so focused on the feeling of him that she was willing to believe him.

“If you ask nicely,” he said, smooth as silk, pulling her head back by her hair.

“Please,” she whispered, eyes hazy and half-closed. “Please.”

“Please what?” His fingers were rougher now against her, touches almost painful.

“Please, let me come,” she gasped. “Please, Stéphane, please.”

“Perhaps,” he said, touching her exactly as she needed him to. Just a little more. She was seconds away when he pulled his fingers away. “But I suppose rules should be followed.” She fell onto her arms again, feeling boneless, legs trembling.

“Perhaps we should—” Stéphane began to say, a note of concern in his voice.

But Lola pushed herself off the table and turned to him. “Your turn,” she said, steadying herself with a hand on the edge of the table. “Maybe you’ll get to finish the job.”

He shook his head and grinned. “Maybe,” he said.

He did not, of course, sink the cue ball—nor did he sink any others, however, so Lola was still clothed when her turn came around again.

She managed to sink two, and he took off his socks, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness. “I should have worn earrings,” she said. “Or a bra.”

Stéphane’s eyes dropped to her chest as though it was not incredibly clear she had nothing under her dress.

“And whyever did you forgo undergarments for this particular visit?” he asked, setting up his shot.

“I guess I was hoping you’d fuck me tonight,” she said casually, and watched in delight as his hand slipped and sent the cue ball rolling into the pocket.

She smiled innocently. “What happens if you sink it again?”

He set his pool cue against the wall and walked over to her with firm strides, grin pulling up the corner of his mouth. His hands grabbed her waist and pushed—nearly lifted—her back against the wall. She hit it with a gasp, which he captured in a bruising kiss. He sucked at and bit her lower lip as his hand crept under her skirt.

She was still wet—wetter, even, than before—and his finger slipped easily inside.

The second one too.

Lola groaned as he began to fuck her against the wall.

“Do you know—” he said, voice rasping. “—how many times I have imagined how you would sound when I touched you?”

She whimpered.

“How many times I jerked myself off imagining how you’d feel?”

She was so close—again—and he was not letting up. He even added a third finger, each thrust drawing a moan from her throat.

And when she came, she came hard, collapsing into his arms, shuddering with the aftershocks he pulled from her with a few final thrusts.

He held her there, against the wall, as she came back to herself. His fingers slipped out of her and her skirt fell back into place. Her eyes were hazy when she looked up at him. She had to blink a few times to see him more clearly.

“You’re a demon,” she told him, breathless.

“I would argue,” he began to say, stepping back and bending down to pick up her pool cue. “That with the amount of pleasure I have given and will continue to give you this evening.” He handed it to her. “That I am, in fact, an angel. Your turn.”

She felt rather wobbly, walking over to the table and, to no one’s surprise, did not sink any balls.

Stéphane sank two on his turn, a solid and a stripe. He grinned and began to unbutton his shirt and Lola wondered if he’d done it on purpose. He revealed a broad, hairy chest that Lola wanted to press her face into and tossed his shirt aside.

“And you?” he said, eyes sharp.

Lola approached him, then turned her back to him. “Unzip me?” she asked, pulling her hair over one shoulder.

His hands were gentle as he held the zipper at the top and slowly pulled it open. His hand followed the zipper, sliding down the newly-revealed skin.

Lola slid the sleeves off her shoulders and let the dress fall in a pool at her feet. Completely bare, she took a breath before turning to face him.

Stéphane’s eyes were darting all over, from her breasts to her legs to her stomach, like he didn’t know what to look at first.

“Lola,” he breathed, shaking his head. “I’d pick you up and take you to my bed right now if I was not extremely determined to finish this game.”

That sounded perfect to Lola. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “We can finish it later,” she suggested.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, I would keep you there until you couldn’t walk anymore. That would hardly make the game fair.” He said it so matter-of-factly, but his eyes showed his desire—he was entirely serious. Again, he handed her pool cue to her. “Your turn.”

Lola’s ability to play worsened considerably, especially after she sank the cue ball again, and again Stéphane left her panting on the table, wanting.

She managed to sink a solid on her next turn and Stéphane took off his belt—only his belt—and Lola felt her mouth actually water.

Stéphane sank a stripe, but Lola had nothing else to take off. Stéphane let it slide with a promise to “make you pay that toll later.”

Only four balls remained—one solid, two stripes, and the 8-ball. Technically, they were quite evenly matched, which made Lola think that Stéphane was toying with her.

And it was Lola’s turn.

Very aware of his gaze roaming her body, she walked around to the other side of the table. Nothing was lined up well for her, so she just tried to not sink the cue ball, which she managed.

Naturally, Stéphane sank the two remaining stripes. He looked over at Lola and shook his head sympathetically. “Two more that you owe me,” he said.

Lola laughed again at the absurdity.

“Do you yield?”

She glared at him. “Of course not.” She surveyed the table. “You haven’t won quite yet.”

“Hm.” His gaze lingered on her ass as she leaned over, breasts pressing into the table.

With a clack, she sent the cue ball toward the solid blue ball. It skimmed it, but did not propel it to the corner as she had intended.

“A valiant effort,” Stéphane said. The three remaining balls were lined up beautifully.

But all he managed to sink was her remaining solid. The 8-ball slowed to a stop inches away from the corner pocket. Lola nearly squealed.

Stéphane chuckled ruefully. “I spoke too soon.” He leaned his cue stick against the table and began to unzip the fly of his pants.

Lola waited with bated breath as he slid them down his toned legs and stepped out of them. He wore black boxer briefs, tight around his ass—and tight around his hard, straining cock.

He strode over to her and took her face in his hands. Lola turned her face up, expecting a kiss, but instead he turned her face aside and whispered in her ear, “And what will you request of me, darling, when you’ve won?”

She trembled as he stepped away, heart pounding. Slowly, she pulled her gaze from him and directed it at the table.

It was an easy shot, but Lola made sure to take a breath before. Whether he was playing with her or not, it would be satisfying to beat him in this, at the very least.

Lola sent the 8-ball swiftly into the pocket.

She turned to look at Stéphane and found him right behind her. He held her face gently and, this time, he kissed her. He pressed her against the table, her bare chest against his. His hands slid down her back, grabbing her ass and then her hips, pulling her closer, closer, to him.

They were both breathing heavily when he pulled himself away.

“Congratulations on your victory, Lola.” He smiled eagerly. “What will be your prize?”

Lola swallowed, then looked up at him. “I want… whatever you were planning to do if you won.”

Stéphane looked like he wanted to protest, so she continued.

“You invited me here, you suggested this game, with an intention, Stéphane. You never to anything without some final goal in mind.” She stepped closer to him again, lowering her voice. “What was your goal with me, Stéphane? What do you want?”

Something changed in his eyes—something determined and wanting. His mouth was on hers again, his body pressing her back. Once she hit the table, he lifted her so she was sitting on it, and stood between her legs. His still-clothed cock ground against her. She began to wrap her legs around him to pull him closer to her, but he pressed her down onto her back.

“Stay there,” he said and stepped away. Breathless, Lola laid on the table, legs hanging off the edge.

In a moment, he was back, condom in hand. But instead of rolling it down his cock, he grabbed a pool cue and began to slide it onto the wide end.

Lola hardly breathed as she watched him.

“What I like about pool,” Stéphane said, eyes on the pool cue. “Aside from its elegance and ability to make beautiful women bend over, is its versatility.” He looked down at her. “Without very much imagination, each of its pieces can be used for… other pleasurable activities.”

He reached out and slid his fingers between her folds, coating them in her wetness. Then he wrapped them around the pool cue until it glistened.

“This is what you wanted when you invited me?” Lola asked.

“Oh, no, Lola, I invited you here so that I could decide if I wanted to pursue this further.” He placed the end of the cue between her legs.

“And what have you decided?” It felt very cold against her.

“I have decided—” With his other hand, he spread her lips and twisted the cue against her entrance. “—that I am intrigued by you.” She whimpered and he grinned. “And I would adore more time to investigate.” He pressed the tip inside her, slowing to a stop as he watched her reaction.

She breathed out slowly and looked up at him.

Somehow, he read in her eyes what she didn’t know how to say.

And he pressed further, slow and steady.

Lola knew everything felt different—fingers, a cock, a rubbery toy—when inside her. Fingers could curl and move, toys could vibrate. But the cue did not give or bend. It was solid and unrelenting.

Stéphane too was unrelenting. He pressed it further and further inside her, eyes flicking between its progress and her face with the utmost interest, noting every whimper and gasp. At one point, he pressed his hand to her abdomen, smiling when he felt it inside her. Lola groaned then, at the knowledge of how far it was inside her, of how much she had taken.

“You’re doing very well,” Stéphane murmured, pausing his progress a moment to kiss her stomach. “I believe we will have a lot of fun together, Lola.”

Then he began to fuck her with it, slowly at first, which already had the volume of her moans rising, then faster.

Already sensitive from the teasing and the previous orgasm, and the constant arousal of the past game, it did not take much for Lola to come, shuddering on the pool table. But Stéphane continued to pull and thrust it inside her until the sensation was almost painful.

She wasn’t sure if she came again or if her orgasm simply continued. All Lola knew was that when Stéphane finally pulled the cue out of her for good, she was trembling, the table beneath her ass was wet, and Stéphane was looking down at her like he wanted to worship her.

He let the cue fall to the floor and hopped on the table with her. His boxer briefs were gone, and he knelt between her legs.

“Wait.”

Stéphane stopped, looking at her curiously.

“If you want to fuck me tonight—”

“Which I very much do.”

His earnestness made her smile. “Then you need to wipe away the three favours I owe you.”

“What favours?”

“The three balls you sank that I had no clothing to answer for.” She sat up slightly. “I am not a fool, Stéphane. I know what it is to owe you a favour.”

“I wouldn’t use those—”

“Then it should be no problem for you.”

He hesitated, then smiled widely. “Lola, you no longer owe me three favours.”

Lola slid down the table a bit so her legs no longer hung off the edge. “Then, I would very much like it if you fucked me right here on the table.”

“I would hate to have you as an opponent,” Stéphane said as he followed her.