AN: Have you ever wondered what it'd be like if Sookie was the predator and Eric was the prey? Well, Thyra10 did, and when she laid out the big bucks for me in the Support Stacie auction, she won the right to see how I'd interpret virginal/shy Eric and "yield to me" Sookie. She has very generously asked that I share it with all of you. So I hope you enjoy this romp into the world of Playmate Sookie told entirely from Eric's POV.
And yes, PMR, I do appear to have a fetish for bunny rabbits.
"Are you kidding me right now? You're three minutes away from every red-blooded male's wet dream, and you're trying to back out on me?" the tiny half-naked blonde asked, as she waved her hands frantically. "What is wrong with you Eric? I mean it. What in the hell is wrong with you?"
I looked ahead at the never-ending traffic on our way to Holmby Hills and let out a sigh. "There's nothing wrong with me Pam, I just don't see the point in going to this party."
She let out an exasperated sigh as she shifted in her seat to face me. "You don't see a point in going to a party at the Playboy Mansion?" she shrieked. "You're a 26 year old, single, straight male, and you don't see a point?! You do realize this means a ton of hot, half-naked girls running around with little sense and even less inhibitions, right? No wonder you're still a virgin!"
I laughed and turned onto the winding road that led up to the Mansion. The street was empty now, but I knew that in a matter of hours, there would be a string of cars waiting in line at the security check point to get in to the Midsummer Night's Dream party; all of which would be worth at least five times the 2004 Honda Accord we were sitting in.
"I'm not a virgin, Pam," I said with a laugh, as we pulled up to the security gate at the infamous Mansion. "Just because I don't whore myself around like you do, does not make me a virgin." We were waved in when they saw Pam's pass.
"Close enough!" she said. "How long has it been? Three years?"
"Pam! It's only been six months."
"Six months. Three years. It doesn't make a difference. It's too fucking long to go without getting laid Eric. You need to get it over with."
"I have my reasons," I responded.
"Well God knows that I'm not the reason. You know I'd be willing to pop your re-sealed cherry Eric, even if you do have a certain body part I try to avoid. But, I'd be willing to take one for the team Eric. For you."
"Gee, thanks for the offer of the pity fuck again Pam. But I'm going to pass. Again."
"Come on, don't you want to say you got to fuck a Playboy bunny?"
"Pam, you're going to be walking around a party at the Playboy Mansion wearing nothing but body paint. That hardly makes you a Playboy bunny."
"Close enough. Who would know the difference?"
"Pam. I am not going to have sex with you. You're my best friend, and there's that one little point that you're a lesbian."
"That only makes your story better!" she said, and rolled her eyes. "Having sex with a hot lesbian is the ultimate challenge. I can have Thalia join in if you'd like. A threesome with two hot lesbians? Oh, yes, we should definitely do that."
"No!" I practically barked. I wanted to have sex again. Believe me I did. But I hadn't waited 25 years to start indiscriminately screwing women just because they were willing.
It's not as weird as it sounds that I had been a 25 year old virgin. And no, I wasn't the type of guy that lived in my Mom's basement and collected dolls, or rather "action figures." For all intents and purposes, I had been your average 25 year old guy. I just hadn't had sex.
I'd been offered the chance plenty of times, from the way Arlene Fowler had propositioned me in ninth grade when my family had moved from Sweden, to just last week while I'd been out with Pam in Pasadena. It wasn't for lack of options. It just felt…weird.
It's not some weird Jonas Brothers purity ring thing. I hadn't been saving myself for marriage, or because I thought some person in the sky would strike me down if I did. No. The problem was that I'd known way too much about sex to actually want to do it. Where your average fifteen year old boy thought of nothing but the satisfaction of busting a nut, I'd seen and heard of way too many things to even dream of having sex. My dad was a gynecologist, and my mom a therapist. I'd seen more pictures of women's vaginas by the time I was twelve than your dedicated porn enthusiast. There were no boundaries, only "opportunities for learning." Needless to say, by the time most of the boys my age were doing anything to get into a girl's pants, I knew way too much about what could – and likely would – happen.
College wasn't much better. Chalk that up to a manwhore of a roommate who had collected quite an impressive array of STDs by Christmas break of our freshman year, even the incredibly limited editions. His itching and burning was enough for me to keep it locked up for awhile longer.
When I was 25, I met my ex, Felicia. She was from a small town, had good morals, and most importantly wasn't put off when I said no to sex the first time. We dated for a good three months before I finally sealed the proverbial deal. It was good. Who am I kidding? It was fucking amazing. I understood why so many of my friends had been willing to stick it to anyone who was, well…willing. We were going along great, until four months later when I found her in bed with a director; fucking her way up the ladder. Needless to say, that was the end of that.
Six months later, and an endless string of vapid fame-seeking dates, and I was just about burnt out. Maybe I needed to get out of LA. Maybe I needed to go back to some small town and meet a nice girl who wasn't focused on breaking into acting by any means possible.
"You're such a prude Eric," Pam said, with an exasperated sigh. "You're staying for this party."
"I need to –"
"No excuses," she said with the voice that meant business. "You, my friend, need to get laid. What better place than at the Playboy Mansion?"
"I can think of a lot of places that would be better than the Playboy Mansion," I said under my breath as we pulled into the spot the big, behemoth of a security guard had directed us to.
"It'll be a story to tell your grandkids. Well, if you ever have grandkids." She hopped out of the car and was halfway into the house by the time I caught up with her. "You do realize you have to have sex to have grandkids, don't you?"
"Not necessarily," I quipped. The look she gave me could have frozen hell. Knowing that Pam was a ball of joy when she was pissed off, I quickly changed the subject. "What am I supposed to do while you're getting painted?"
"You can watch," she leered with a suggestive laugh.
"Yeah, no thanks."
"I dunno," she said with a shrug. "Wander the grounds, go sit by the grotto. You've got your pass; no one is going to bother you."
I looked around the grounds at the busy worker bees and shrugged. If nothing else, it'd be a great story to tell Bill to rile him up. Maybe I could get a picture or two with a Playboy Bunny, I could take to work and perpetuate the rumor I'd started that amounted to me banging a different girl every weekend. Hey, better to perpetuate a false rumor than be the butt of every joke in the office, right?
I strolled through the grounds, reluctantly admitting to myself that it surprised me. Oh sure, I'd seen documentaries that the Mansion wasn't all naked ladies and orgies, but seeing it in person was completely different. There was enough to look at without the Pam Anderson clones running around, and I had two hours to waste until the party started and I had to play nice with the hundreds of scantily clad people that would soon arrive.
If there was one thing I wanted to see at the Mansion, it was the menagerie. Of course, the one thing I couldn't find was the menagerie. No, instead I walked in circles. I let out a frustrated groan as I spotted the infamous grotto for the third time. It shouldn't be that difficult. I mean, 18 year old drunk, blonde bimbos could figure it out. I figured that I, a Stanford educated 26 year old, could.
"You there," a sticky sweet voice called out. I turned to find the owner of the voice and nearly tripped over my feet. There, lying on a towel wearing nothing but a teeny tiny string bikini was the woman that had been named Playmate of the Year. Hey, I was a guy, I may not think much of women like her, but I could look and admire from a distance.
"Me?" I asked, looking behind me to see if there was someone she knew.
"Yes you silly," she said with a giggle and sat up, the sunlight glinting off of her blonde hair. I wondered if it was natural. It looked natural. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be helping set something up, or take something down, or whatever it is that the hired people do?"
"I don't work here," I said, taking a step towards her. She continued to survey me with her cool, blue eyes, devouring my body as I advanced towards her. Now, you'd think a strange man coming towards you might make her uncomfortable, but this woman had the confidence of a pampered princess. She knew that nothing was going to happen to her, not in these hallowed grounds.
"Then what are you doing here?" she asked, twirling a blonde lock around her finger. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."
"I'm a guest of one of the painted ladies." There, that should be enough information to satisfy her.
"Which one?"
"Pamela Ravenscroft."
"Yes," she said, biting her lip and nodding. "I know that one. She's quite pretty."
That was the understatement of the century. Pam was the single best looking woman I'd ever seen, and that was saying a lot in LA. Though maybe this Playmate was competition for that title. Still, despite her girl next door look, and amazing body, there was something about the way she was looking at me that was frightening. Almost predatory.
"Are you her boyfriend?" she asked.
"Not exactly."
"Interesting," she replied, sitting up on her legs and flashing me one of those trademark smiles. "Then what are you doing here?"
"I'm her date for the night," I answered. I knew how to handle myself around women like this, and the less information they had about you, the better. They couldn't twist things around to fit their mold if they had nothing to work with.
"Aren't you sweet?" she responded, her Southern drawl heavier with every word.
"Not especially." I took a step back, nervous by the way she was looking at me. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she thought I looked like a tasty meal.
"Are you looking forward to the party?"
"Maybe."
"I'd be interested in," she leaned forward, inadvertently – or maybe explicitly – deepening her cleavage, "getting to know you better."
"I'm sure you would," I responded warily. I'd known plenty of women like her. Women who thought they could get anything they wanted with the snap of their perfectly manicured fingers.
She threw her head back and let out a loud laugh. "You have no idea. What's your name?"
"'Fraid I can't tell you, "I responded with a half smirk. Her eyebrows rose in question, and I continued, "My mom told me not to give my name out to strangers."
"Smart mom," she said with a nod. "Well, Stranger, I look forward to seeing more of you."
**
Think of everything you've ever heard about a party at the Playboy Mansion, and multiply it by six-thousand. That doesn't even come close to what it's really like.
First of all, the dress code is very strict. It's lingerie or pajamas, and while I'm sure I could pull off a nice outfit from Frederick's if I was looking to troll West Hollywood, it didn't seem to be quite the thing to try and pull off at the Mansion. Pam had very kindly (ha ha) brought a pair of pajamas for me to change into. Oh, and did I mention she just brought pants? Typical Pam. Thankfully I had an undershirt on, because while I wouldn't have been the only guy walking around without a shirt, I felt like I stood out enough as it was.
I couldn't even tell you the names of half of the people there, despite however many Lifetime movies they'd had bit parts in. The women were like walking advertisements for a silicone factory. I wouldn't have been surprised if a plastic surgeon was walking around handing out cards to anyone that got poked in the eye by the size of some of these women's breasts. Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate the female form, but there is something less than desirable about a woman whose boobs were bigger than her head.
And then, of course, there were the bunnies -- the elite few that were brought out to be gawked at; to entertain and enthrall the lowly vermin, who were lucky enough to be graced with their presence.
This brings us back to Miss January, and the recently announced Playmate of the Year, Sookie Stackhouse. I mean, her name sounds like a centerfold, doesn't it? I could just imagine her father sitting around reading Playboy while her mother was in the final stages of labor and coming up with a name like that. Well, that, or watching a very special episode of Cops.
Despite the name, Sookie was about as attractive as they came, and it was only fitting that she was their Queen. Or was it Princess? Hell, it could've been Sheriff for all I knew. If there had been a massive throne for someone to sit on, she would've been right there. As it was, she sat at the VIP table. Well, she sat on Hef's knee at the VIP table. I wondered how many Viagra he'd have to take to get it up for a girl like that.
"You've spotted her, haven't you?" Pam asked, stopping by me as she made her round.
"Who?" I asked, trying to feign innocence.
"What do you mean, who? Sookie fricking Stackhouse. The blonde bombshell whose pants everyone wants to get into."
"More like, whose pants everyone has already gotten into," I said sarcastically.
Pam threw her head back and laughed. "Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd say there was a hint of jealousy in that. But, sadly, that's not the case. While Sookie has, shall we say, gotten around… she has always been selective. Only the best for her."
"Eighty year old penis is considered the best around here, is it?"
"Well, yes around here," Pam said, shaking her head. "But everyone knows Sookie doesn't have sex with Hef. Though she did apparently fuck the guy from that TV show that everyone is always raving about. What's his name?"
I shrugged my shoulders. I wasn't much for TV.
"Oh pah, you know who I'm talking about. The really good looking one? Well, if you're into that I guess…"
"I'm not. You know me, I only like women."
"And barely that. Jesus, you're at the party of the year, with half naked women running around everywhere, and all you've done all night is sit here and stare into your beer. No wonder you can't get laid."
"What's that?" an amused, yet annoyingly familiar voice said from behind us.
Pam whirled around and giggled (yes, actually giggled) when she saw who was addressing us.
"Hey Sookie!" she said, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the blonde's cheek. "I haven't seen you in awhile."
Sookie simpered and smiled, flashing her eyes towards me briefly. "It has been too long Pam. You're looking great." Her eyes dipped low to take in Pam's exposed breasts before turning to face me.
"Who's your friend here?" she asked, issuing a challenge with one look.
"This is Eric," Pam said with a smirk. "Eric Northman."
"Pleasure to meet you," I said.
"Oh, I believe the pleasure will be all mine."
Pam looked back and forth between the two of us before turning to face Sookie. "Can I ask you a favor Sookie?" She nodded. "It's just, well, I brought Eric here as my plus one, and with all the work I need to do, I hardly have the time to pay attention to him. Would you mind seeing to him? Maybe show him the ropes?"
I was going to kill her.
"Of course not!" Sookie said, a little too eagerly. "Don't you worry about a thing. I'll make sure that Eric here has a real good time."
"Yes, do that," Pam said with a smirk in my direction. "Well, I must be off. Don't you two get up to anything I'd disapprove of," she called out over her shoulder, disappearing quickly into the crowd.
"So, you're Eric?" Sookie said, taking one step closer to me.
I nodded.
"Isn't it much easier now that I know your name? I'm Sookie," she said, placing the palm of her hand on her chest and drawing my attention to the scant coverage she had there. I would wager every dollar to my name that Sookie's beauty was not the work of any plastic surgeon. No, she was perfect just as she was, albeit a little too sure of herself for my taste.
"Yes, I knew as much."
"Good. It's very important that you know it."
"Why's that?"
"Well, when I make you scream later, I want to make sure you're calling out the right name."
I laughed and shifted nervously. "What makes you so sure of that, Sookie?"
She shrugged. "I have my way of getting what I want. And I have decided that I want you."
"Do I have any say in it?"
"You'll yield to me Eric. Before the end of the night, you will yield to me." She said that nonchalantly, as if she was sure that she'd get exactly what she wanted. This apparently was me. "Drink?" she asked, quirking her eyebrow.
"Sure. Gin and tonic." Maybe a little alcohol would help me get through the night.
"Coming right up," she said with a wink and flagged one of the painted drink girls down.
"So," she said, once our drinks were delivered. "Tell me something about yourself." She took a sip of her drink, swirling her tongue around the straw that suggested something else entirely. I nearly choked watching it in hypnotic rotation.
"Um," I said, nervously licking my lips. "I've never been to a party here before."
She rolled her eyes. "I could've told you that. Something else," she said, leaning forward and giving me a good view down her bra. Not that I needed her to lean forward. This was the fricking Playboy Mansion. Her outfit left little to the imagination.
"Um…" I took a sip of my drink as I scrambled to come up with something that would be interesting to the Playmate of the Year.
"Let me start," she interrupted, leaning forward to offer me a view of her deepened cleavage.
Fuck me.
"This is all natural," she said pointing to her body.
I laughed and shook my head. "Yeah, and I like long walks on the beach and candlelight dinners."
She threw her head back and let out a loud, barking laugh, and when her eyes met mine, they were full of mirth. "Oh, this is fun. I'll play. What are your biggest turn-offs?"
I looked around the room and waved my hand in a big circle.
"Really?"
I shrugged.
"Interesting. Turn ons?"
"I told you already." She quirked her eyebrow. "Long walks on the beach, candlelight dinners…"
"Oh hush," she said and slapped my arm playfully. "How do you feel about pickup lines?"
"You think I've been picked up before?" I asked with a smirk.
"I know you've been picked up on. A guy like you… makes a girl want to do things. But we've already gone over what we'll be doing later. How do you feel about them?" she demanded.
"I don't know," I said. "I don't think they work."
"Depends," she said with a shrug. "I've got one that has never failed me."
"Oh yeah?" I asked. "Do tell."
She giggled and leaned back, swirling that damned tongue of hers around her straw again. I had to admit, the longer I was around her, the more I liked her; and not only because she had her breasts on display. She seemed to have a brain, or at least a sense of humor.
"Do you know what winks and screws like a tiger?" she asked with a wink.
"Your boyfriend?"
She giggled and shook her head. "I don't have a boyfriend. And my last one was a tiger in the boardroom maybe. Definitely not a tiger in the sack."
"Looks like you wouldn't have a problem finding someone willing to take his place," I said, inclining my head in the direction of two guys panting in our direction.
She looked over her shoulder and turned back to face me. "I'm not interested in them," she said. "I'm interested in you."
"So you said. I'd hate to keep you away from a sure thing."
"I'll risk it. So, Eric Northman, tell me something. Why did you come to the Playboy Mansion if it wasn't for a chance to score with a Playmate?"
"Curiosity?"
"Seeing us in our natural habitat?"
"Something like that." I lifted my hand, ordering another drink.
"What would you say if I told you I hated the whole thing?"
I chuckled and shook my head. "I can't say I'd believe you."
"It's true," she said nonchalantly, sipping that damned drink again. If I saw her tongue dart out one more time, I just might change my mind about the whole thing. "My friend Amelia sent my picture in. Don't get me wrong, I like the attention, and I like getting my way, but it gets old after awhile. I like a challenge every now and then."
We sat in silence as the painted lady dropped the next round of drinks off.
"Have you fucked Pam?" she asked.
"What?" I asked incredulously, nearly spitting out my drink. "Where did that come from?"
"Just curious," she said, twirling her straw in her glass.
"No. Definitely not."
"She's beautiful," she started.
"Yes, she is." Sookie's face fell. "But she's more likely to get in your pants than mine, if you know what I mean."
"Oh!" she said, her full lips forming a perfect circle. "I don't know why I'm surprised by that."
And just at that moment, the two guys that had been gawking at Sookie came swooping towards us, sitting on either side of her, a little too close for convention. "Hey," the big, muscle-bound one said. I was fairly sure that was the only syllable he could utter.
"Hey yourself," she said with a dimpled smile.
"You're Sookie Stackhouse," the other, smaller, and more intelligent one said, his eyes never leaving her boobs.
"Aren't you clever," she asked drolly, looking over at me with annoyance.
"What's that supposed to mean?" the big one asked.
"Nothing," she said. "Can I help you two?"
"Depends," the smaller one asked. "You know the difference between a hamburger and a blowjob?"
I couldn't help but laugh. How these two idiots thought that would work with anyone, much less a girl like Sookie Stackhouse was beyond me. I was rewarded with a dirty look.
"I reckon I do," she said.
"Care to show us?"
"Oh, sorry gentlemen," she said, pushing off from her seat and standing up. "I already told this guy here that I'd help him out with that exact problem." She walked over to me and took a seat across on my lap, and let me tell you, my body had exactly the reaction she was looking for. My hands had a mind of their own as they reached out and clasped her waist, pulling her closer as she wiggled against me and draped her arms over my shoulders. "Isn't that right, lover?"
"Uh… yeah," I said, nodding, uncertain I could get anything else out. Not that I needed to. Before I knew what was happening, her mouth was on mine. My eyes widened in shock and I was frozen until she whispered, "play along," against my mouth. Not that I needed much prodding at that point. She buried her hands in my hair, angling my mouth against hers. I tasted the cherry of her chapstick against my lips even before her tongue pressed against them.
The guys across from us were instantly forgotten. All I could think, all I could feel, was Sookie Stackhouse on my lap; her tongue in my mouth. Her fingers tugged at my scalp and she let out a groan as she wiggled herself closer to me.
I didn't know how long we stayed like that, locked together in the midst of the craziness around us. All I knew was at that moment, I didn't care who she was, or what she stood for. A deep, primal instinct rose to the surface.
"Let's get out of here," she groaned against my mouth, pulling me out of my haze.
"What?" I asked, looking over to see that her two admirers had given up and left.
"Let's get out of here. I've got the entire Playmate house to myself. No one will bother us," she said, tugging at my hand until I stood up.
"I can't-"
"You can," she said, taking a step closer to me and pressing her body fully against mine. "You can't hide that," she ground her body against my erection. No, I definitely couldn't hide it. "Why not let it come out and play?"
A vision of Pam flashed before my eyes, taunting me to do it, to give in and do something without thinking about the consequences. It wasn't like Sookie needed to sleep her way to the top; she was already at the top. And who cared about how she got there? As long as she was clean and we used protection, did it really matter?
A part of me thought it did. But that part was overridden by the rest of me, and Sookie's hot mouth as it pressed against every inch of my exposed skin.
I didn't resist as she led me through the throng of bodies in various states of undress, gyrating against one another to the beat of the latest hit song. The noise of the party drifted off into the distance as we neared the darkened Playmate house until all I heard was Sookie's rapid breathing, or maybe it was my own. I wasn't sure. She let go of my hand when we reached a secluded door long enough to punch in the security code.
No sooner was the door open than she was on me. She flew at me with the grace and speed of a gazelle, wrapping her legs tightly around my waist as her mouth devoured mine. I stumbled across the dark room, clumsily running into furniture as I followed the scant directions she gave me between kisses.
After the fifth wall I ran into, she eased her legs from my waist and led me in the direction she wanted. She reached out and flicked a lightswitch when we reached our final destination, and what could only be classified as "mood lighting" illuminated the large bed that dominated the room.
She turned around to face me with a wicked smile on her face. "Like what you see?"
"It's quite nice."
"Only nice?" she asked with a pout, taking a step away and twirling around.
"Beautiful."
"Much better lover," she said with a nod, stepping forward and pulling my face down to meet hers. "The bed," she said, a little raggedly, and I nodded. Before I could do anything else, she pulled me roughly across the room, pushing me down on the bed with an ease that didn't seem natural for a woman her size.
Our clothes – or what little we were wearing – were removed in haste, thrown into a pile on the floor as we scrambled towards each other on the rumpled sheets. Her hands were everywhere, touching, groping, and pumping in a primal rhythm as mine did the same. She screamed out in pleasure as my fingers danced across her sex, pushing herself against me and stilling her own ministrations to my body as she was overcome in pleasure.
"My God," she panted.
"It's Eric," I grunted against her ear as she picked up where she left off and began to stroke me quickly. "But you can call me God if you want to."
She giggled and pushed me onto my back, reaching over into the nightstand and pulling out a foil square. "Compulsory," she said, waving the wrapper in front of me.
"Of course," I said back, reaching to grab it from her hand, only to have my hand slapped away. She tore the package quickly, and had me sheathed in record time, both in the rubber and in her body. Our grunts harmonized as we moved together, bringing each other closer to our mutual goal. I felt myself reaching the brink and reached down between us, determined to get her there again. I may have only had one lover before, but I knew what was right. My fingers moved in circles, eliciting louder sounds of satisfaction until she screamed out again, only this time she screamed my name.
I followed quickly, shouting out her name in a string of words that were better suited to a Tourettes clinic than a bedroom, she was that good.
She fell on top of me, our bodies entwined in a hot, sweaty mess. Our breathing was loud and out of sync – her inhalations met by my exhalations – and only when I felt my heartbeat return to the human realm, I let out one syllable. "Wow."
She giggled and rolled off of me, propping herself up on her elbow. She watched as I made my way into the nearby bathroom and disposed of the condom. She had a huge smile on her face when I turned around, her shoulders shaking with mirth.
"What's so funny?" I asked, climbing back into the bed.
"Nothing."
"Tell me," I prodded, gently tickling her side.
"I was just thinking that you were a tiger in the sack."
"I'm not a tiger," I said defiantly. I fricking hated tigers.
"Okay, okay," she said with a giggle. "You're not a tiger." She paused for a moment. "But, if I'd known you were this gorgeous with your clothes off, if your butt was really as good as it looked, I would have tried to do this sooner."
"I don't know how much sooner you could've done it," I said, leaning over and placing a kiss on her shoulder. "You got me in the sack the same day you met me. I'd say that's pretty darn quick." Especially for me. But she didn't know that.
"What can I say? I'm talented."
"Yes you are." Our mouths met again, this time at a leisurely pace, our knowledge that we'd get there as surely as we'd done the first time enough to slow us down.
"I told you you'd yield to me," she said, pulling back and looking up at me as the moonlight illuminated her face.
"So you did," I replied, pushing her onto her back and bracing myself over her as her giggles filled the room. "Now it's your turn to yield to me."
And she did.
AN: I'd love to hear what you all thought of aggressive Sookie. She was pretty fun to write!