Here’s hoping you’ll enjoy the opening sequence of Profane Grace, now available on Amazon from excessica publishing.

~~~~

“I’m being punished,” she said stoically.

Profane Grace coverShe was sitting on a white, leather sofa – spine straight, head held high – with an air of wounded dignity and a faint hint of long-enduring annoyance in her eyes.

Dorn raised a questioning brow.

“Inappropriate dress for a business function,” she explained.

He nodded. Understanding. Faint smile.

“I see,” he said. “I thought it was a party for Dwyer.”

Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight twist. It would probably reach halfway down her spine. Her makeup was moderate but skillful, creating a calculated air of austere sensuality.

“You do have a way of standing out,” Dorn said, with a judicious lack of commitment. “Even in exile.”

In the position she was sitting, her tight, black dress rode her hips heroically close to the apex of her crossed thighs. Her legs were long, fiercely toned and slender – anything but austere, in sheer black hose that gave her skin a dusky quality. Black boots came just above her knees, fitting tightly around her calves, with spikes that elongated her legs enough to force her to angle her shins to the side.

The dress was too elegant and tailored for typical club attire, but it was far too revealing to blend with the lavish surroundings at a retirement party for a prominent attorney. It was her legs that stopped Dorn in the doorway to the quiet salon and then held him there too long. It was the submissive disobedience in her softly chiseled face that drew him inside to ask why she was sitting by herself.

It didn’t take long to surmise she was the host’s trophy. Dorn had never met either of them, though he knew the name. He was only there because Dwyer Gemstone, the honoree, had been his lawyer for the past twelve years.

At the moment, she appeared none too happy about being anyone’s trophy, and Dorn passed on the opportunity to estimate how deep it ran.

“I’m a little out of uniform myself,” he said, referring to his lack of a tie. He was wearing a black suit – Italian cashmere – with a burgundy jersey. And sandals. She glanced at his feet and he couldn’t decide if the roll of her glacier-blue eyes was boredom or mild derision.

Off in the main room, a piano was tinkling with offensive mediocrity while the murmur of people pretending to enjoy themselves threatened to drown it out.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll miss meeting someone important if you’re hiding out here with the errant bitch of the manor?” the trophy asked.

Dorn stopped and regarded her. Carson’s wife. She looked off toward the bookshelves along the wall while he spent a few moments appraising her. It struck him she was used to it.

“Most often, the truly important ones aren’t in the middle of everything,” he suggested, “but off sitting quietly to the side.”

She almost looked back at him, and she waited a few too many beats before turning her head to focus on a spot somewhere three feet behind him.

“And then there are those whose moments for being important run on a schedule.” Her eyes never so much as flickered in Dorn’s direction as she spoke.

He looked at her thighs again. The sight of them made him hungry. She made him think of an aristocratic biker wench. “Some people are hopelessly misinformed.”

She still wouldn’t look at him, but she made a pretense of straightening her spine. As if it could have been straighter. Her entire appearance struck him as a statement of protest, and the notion was almost enough to lift his pulse. He was close to wanting to paint her, but erotic glamour wasn’t his thing. The critics would say he’d taken a dive for the tawdry, but as the image of her sheathed thighs dug a pair of long, sleek holes in his memory, he felt a flash of pity for the walking zombies who never saw the sublime all around them.

It didn’t last long, though.

“You’re that guy,” she said blandly. “That painter guy with all the lawsuits.”

“Yeah, I’m that guy.”

Her hand moved onto her thigh, resting near the edge of her boot. He wanted to ask her first name, but he hesitated.

“Ilsa,” she said, anyway.

“Ok…Ilsa.”

He was supposed to say his name now, but he knew she already knew what it was, that she knew more about him than his merely being “that painter guy”.

“They all talk about you, you know,” she said. “All your lawyers.”

“They should. I’m the reason those gangly motherfuckers can afford wives like you.”

She started to laugh, but caught herself in time. Dorn was becoming all but obsessed with her thighs, but he would’ve given his index finger to see her face break open the way it had threatened. That’s when he knew. She was important.

“You don’t like lawyers much, do you? For someone who depends on them so much,” she said.

“I like Dwyer just fine. I’m going to miss him. But the rest…lawyers are like toxic dump sites. The farther away they are from the general population, the less harm they seem to do.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm.”

Her foot began to sway ever so slightly, causing a faint flexing of the muscles in her thigh. Dorn forgot what they were talking about and stepped closer, just shy of breaking the barrier to her bubble of personal space.

“I don’t like being punished,” he said.

“Neither do I,” she said. “But then we wouldn’t be having this brilliant conversation now, would we?”

This time she did smile. Part-way, at least. It was the first time she’d looked openly at his face, but he was focused on her thighs.

“A minute ago I thought about painting you,” he said. He paced a slow crescent around the sofa, looking at her from each successive angle.

“So that’s why you’ve been looking at me like something hanging in the window of a butcher shop,” she said, sounding bored.

“No,” he shook his head. “I’ve already decided I could never paint anything as obscene as you. The establishment would accuse me of profanity. I’m only staring at you because it’s the kind of selfish pleasure I’ll enjoy long after I leave the room.”

She looked away, hiding her face. He patiently circled behind the couch and leaned uncomfortably close.

“Something tells me being an errant bitch is among your good qualities,” he stage-whispered, giving her a dose of warm breath against her slender neck.

By the time he circled back around the couch she’d uncrossed her legs. The hem of her dress was riding her hips without a prayer of coming close to doing its job. He stood back far enough to see between her thighs. There were no panties concealing the bald pussy under her hose. She was looking at his face now. Defiant satisfaction glittered in her eyes as he gazed at her thinly veiled slit like he had the right. Heat swarmed through his cock.

“Nature was especially generous in your case,” he pointed out. “You have an idyllic shape.”

“Is that the famous painter talking? Making an aesthetic appraisal?”

“No,” Dorn leered openly. “Just a man who thinks you have a perfect cunt.”

Ilsa bristled. For a moment, Dorn thought her face was going to turn red. It was as if the color in her cheeks changed its mind three or four times. She kept her thighs open wide and placed her hand over her mound.

“That’s a filthy word,” she said icily.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Really filthy.”

“Fucking nasty,” she nearly spat. “And you, yourself, are an arrogant fuck.”

“All true. But it doesn’t change a thing. Your fuckhole is sublime.” He gripped his cock through his trousers and gave himself an offhand squeeze. It was as much for her benefit as his, but his shaft was beginning to swell.

“You’re a pig.” The hand over her pussy balled into a fist, except for her long, middle finger, which snaked downward, tapping against the snug sheath of nylon across her slit.

“You have no idea what kind of pig lives inside me,” he said, patiently closing the gap between them. “But I’ve been thinking about introducing you since the moment I stepped in here.

He knelt down on the carpet between her boots, leaning forward to push his face toward her pussy. Her finger began to grind circles against the nylon while Dorn inhaled deeply, several times.

“Jesus, your fucking perfume slays me,” he muttered, growling low in his throat.

“What do you think of the errant bitch now?” She pushed her finger toward his mouth but he caught her wrist and gripped her hard enough to hold back her blood.

“Who the fuck taught you to use words like that about yourself?”

“But…you said…”

“Forget what I said. Do not refer to yourself that way in my presence. That’s true filth.” He let go of her wrist. Between her rising smell and her body heat, his cock was pulsing and rising fast. He stood up, the early stage of his erection already showing through the front of his trousers. She noticed the bulge with interest, but no surprise.

“Cross your legs like before,” he went on. “You look like a fucking slut wide open like that.”

She braced her palms at her sides on the couch and crossed her legs as instructed. “Better?” She looked up, her eyes convincing him she sincerely craved his approval.

“No. Just different,” he smiled. “Now you look like the prim little blue-blooded tramp who was quietly sitting here taking her undeserved punishment when I first walked in.”

“I don’t like being punished,” she said.

He touched her face and considered whether or not to believe her. After a moment, he pulled his hand away from her cheek and unzipped his trousers.

“Touch me before I fucking die.”

“Yes.”

She reached inside his pants with one hand, worming her way until she had his growing cock in her grasp. She pulled his meat into the open air and fondled him, studying the steady swell of his flesh. He liked the way her palm felt a little clammy with sweat. There was grace in her fingers as she tugged and stroked him. It was a profane grace, but the vacuous glaze passing over her eyes cast a shroud of angelic fire all around them.

Dorn was keenly aware of the wide open doorway behind him. Ilsa never so much as glanced at it. Her eyes were trained upward on his face, only looking down to study his cock as it began to drip sap all over her fingers.

“Everyone tells you how beautiful you are,” he assumed aloud.

She avoided his face, gazing instead at the prodigious knob jutting through the grip of her stroking fist. Dorn’s breath grew laced with guttural moans.

“Most,” she conceded. “A lot of people just don’t know how to talk to a woman like me.”

“I know,” he grunted. “I’m one of them.”

For the first time since he entered the room, Ilsa laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“It’s not that fucking complicated,” she said.

“Do you know there’s as much anger as perfection in your face? …fffuck!”

Her face was beginning to show the strain of the hard acceleration of her jerking hand. Dorn briefly imagined the sound her ass would make if he smacked it with an open palm.

“I’m afraid half the time,” she hissed.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked, almost wishing she weren’t stroking his cock. But the gliding caress of her slender hand was exquisite, and if they’d been doing anything else, they’d never be having the same conversation.

“Being wrong.”

“Tell me,” he sighed. “Keep stroking…and tell me.”

“Being the wrong thing. A whore instead of a lawyer’s wife. Saying the kinds of things that make everyone look at me like something they can’t scrape off the bottom of their shoe. Being beautiful, but never being the most beautiful one in the room to anyone.”

Dorn’s cock was ripe. Hard. Throbbing. Ilsa’s hand was twisting over his shaft, lacquering his tautly stretched skin with precum. “Are you afraid now?”

He was dying to fuck her mouth. She shook her head and closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them again, she opened her hand and spat in her palm, despite the profusion of ooze leaking from his tip.

“What do you think?” she sneered.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Ilsa braced herself with one hand on the sofa as she pounded Dorn’s cock. His shaft was slathered in precum and saliva – her hand like a tight mouth. His body started to lift while his spirit sank to her feet.

“What the fuck have you got to be afraid of?” Her voice had a brittle, glassy tone. She grimaced with the strain of her effort.

“Nothing…”

He put his hand on her neck and stared at her face.

“…is so fucking terrifying…”

She started to groan as hard as he was.

“…as sublimely inspiring beauty…”

The statement descended into a strangled growl of release as his cock rained thick spatters of cum across Ilsa’s Teflon thighs. She stroked and wrenched his rock-hard shaft until there was nothing left but a slow, oozing drab lacquering her knuckles.

When Dorn’s sight returned, she was looking up at his face, her eyes silently begging the question – had she been nothing more than a wicked secret, or had they shared something there wasn’t a name for yet?

She had a thin streak of cum across her cheek. The rest lay in conspicuous dollops along her finely clad thigh. His hand moved off her neck and fingered the spatter from her cheek. When he put the finger against her lips, she opened her mouth and sucked it like a cock.

She released him and he put himself back in his trousers, neatly zipping them up. He touched her face once more and wondered how much of the tender admiration he felt for her was showing on his own. Finally, steeling himself with a deep breath, he reached into his jacket pocket and laid a card on the empty cushion beside her.

“I want you to pose for me,” he announced softly. It wasn’t a question. “Be there by eleven tomorrow.”

He turned to go.

“I have lunch with a group of friends tomorrow,” she told his back.

“Cancel,” he said, without turning. Then he was out the door and gone.

Ilsa sat a long time after the artist left the room. The cum still felt warm, no longer from the heat of Dorn’s body, but from hers. She palmed the card off the cushion and got up. Instead of turning down the hallway toward the party, she quietly walked upstairs to her bedroom to change.

~~~~

As always, your time is very much appreciated. The complete story is available here.

One of the more inventive and inquisitive erotica authors I know, Emmanuelle deMaupassant, has been doing some incredibly interesting research into her curiosity to see what, if any, common threads exist among male authors of the genre. Naturally, this would lead to a curiosity to explore whether or not the differences we perceive between male and female voices are real or imagined, and Ms. deMaupassant has collected a series of excerpts from erotic works by an unidentified combination of male and female writers. She’s invited readers to see if they can guess each author’s gender solely based on the tone of their writing. When she asked if I’d contribute an excerpt to the experiment, the idea was more than I could resist, and the resulting comments have been surprising, to say the least.

Despite being someone who’s always believed that men and women are more alike than we generally like to admit, I was convinced in advance it would be easy work to separate the boys from the girls. I’m just really freakin’ smart that way, of course. Or so I thought. But as I read through the selections, I was completely at a loss to even venture a guess. I would have been taking blind shots. The only excerpt I was sure of was my own.

It’s a fascinating experiment, and the comments posted by more intrepid readers than I are as fascinating as the excerpts themselves. In the end, I found myself more inclined to connect with the selections that struck me as being good writing, regardless of the author’s gender. What I’m most curious to see are the names of the writers who connected with me so I can read more of their work.

Sometime in the near future, deMaupassant is planning to publish the results of an extensive survey of male writers’ thoughts and experiences, and I’m very much looking forward to seeing what she’s found.

The Male/Female Hand

“Mina. Come in here, please.”

Although he was in the next room, his tone was soft and low, as if he’d been standing beside her. He’d called her to the living room with the same words numerous times by now, and she was almost always apprehensive. So often, it seemed she’d done something wrong and he’d recite instructions with soft patience while she stood before his easy chair in whatever state of dress she happened to be in. Lately, he’d taken to calling on her late at night, like now, as she was wearing the sleeveless, cotton T shirt she’d taken to sleep in from his dresser drawer, and speaking to her in that calm, gravely voice that was comforting and unnerving all at once.

But tonight, she was quite certain she’d done nothing to need correcting. At least not outside the secret confines of her bed…in the dark of the latest hours of the night…hiding herself away from the world under soft, billowy sheets in what had been his guest room before he gave it over to her.

The blousy shirt scraped softly across her thickening nipples as she downed the last of her water. Braless underneath, the sheer weight of her breasts felt like a rebellion against her too slender body. At times like this, they would betray her at the sound of his call, flushing with heated blood as she thought of standing before him, his eyes carelessly roaming while he spoke of things that mattered to him. As if she mattered.

tumblr_lu8jzgJ8101r5cq2so1_500Sometimes tears would form in her eyes and she would blink them away before presenting herself. Clearly, he already knew what a flawed, unfinished thing she was, but he didn’t need to know where the tender spots were. It was bad enough the sound of his call left her with this odd sensation inside of crumpling and blossoming all at once while a sweetly tortuous ache fired deep in the pit of her soul.

“Coming, Mister,” she finally called back, setting her empty glass on the counter.

But she didn’t go right away. She stood a moment longer in the dark kitchen with pale shafts of moonlight streaming in the window and wavering across her body. The tile floor was cool on her bare feet, a relief from the brushfire gathering just below the surface of her skin.

She lifted the bottom of his shirt and slipped the other hand underneath, letting her fingers graze the soft-rough bumps of her nipples. The pressure of her hand felt good, urging her to rub harder, until she indulged brief, agonizing twists of her stiffening nubs.

“Mina?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin, and almost expected to find him suddenly standing in the room, discovering her in the act of tweezing her own nipples. But no. He was still in the dimly lit living room, relaxing in his favorite chair.

“Coming, Mister.”

Her voice sounded thin and birdlike. She reluctantly pulled her hand out from under the shirt and turned to go. As she entered the living room, she was thankful for the dim lighting as the shirt was wide open around her neck and arms, while underneath she was wearing a very plain pair of white, cotton panties.

He was mostly in shadow as he sat calmly, wearing the clinging boxer briefs and T-shirt he usually wore in the late hours before turning in himself.

“Yes, Mister?” she said as she stopped in front of his chair. “Did you want something?”

“Just you, Mina. I’d like very much to look at you a moment or two.”

“But Mister, you see me all the time,” she replied. She lowered her head. Even in the shadows, there was something different and more intent about his gaze.

“Just seeing you and looking at you are different things. I want to…notice you.”

Mina stood looking at the floor. She saw his bare feet against the carpet. His bare shins. Time stretched beyond itself as she felt his eyes touch her, running over the exposed portions of her slim legs. She was painfully aware of the vicious jut of her oversized breasts and the conspicuous dents of her nipples. The lips of her smooth shaven pussy began to thicken and ache as much as her nipples. If it went on this way, she was mortified to think he would catch the scent of her arousal.

Then he told her to take off her shift and she looked back up.

“But, Mister…I’m…I…don’t look right…”

He blew a slow breath. “Mina, how long have you been living in my house now?”

“I guess about three months.”

He nodded, knit his brow and pinched his bottom lip with his thumb and index finger. She waited, not knowing which direction he was going to turn.

“In that time, have you ever felt unwanted or unwelcome?”

The hand he’d been pinching his lip with lowered onto his upper thigh, conspicuously close to the bulge in his briefs.

“No.”

“Do you feel like this is your home now?”

“I dunno.”

“Okay. Fair enough. These things take time. I guess you’ve been through a lot in your twenty years.”

“Guess so, Mister.”

“Does our situation here strike you as being at all…unique?”

“Very much.”

“Me too. But I like that.”

“Me too, all told.”

She was beginning to fear he’d given up on the idea of getting her to expose herself. The soothing patience of his languid baritone made her nipples feel like they were about to burst into flame. She wanted him to see. Everything. She wanted to be scrutinized in a way she’d never wanted before, but she would never bring herself to say so. She would never peel off that shirt without being told.

She had to be wanted as much as she wanted. 

Even now, as he gazed at the suggestion of her unruly shape under the billowy garment, a kind of transformation was brewing in her cells. She was turning into some new kind of creature, yet she still felt small and unfinished under his stare.

His hand moved onto the cotton-wrapped bulge between his thighs, cupping, absent-minded fondling. She wondered if his desire to see her was as great as hers to see him.

“Don’t you think there’s a reason you came here instead of going to your mother’s?” he posed. “Three blocks away and she still doesn’t know you’re back. What would she think about you moving in with a man you only met once…coming out of her bedroom in the middle of the night?”

Mina flashed back on the night. She’d been sitting on the living room sofa, the television on without sound, when he came down the stairs. She knew there’d been another man up there with them in her mother’s room. He seemed calm for someone walking out of a party that was still going on. His face had registered surprise when he spotted her, and they stared at each other a long moment in the light of the TV. He’d walked in and taken a seat on the other end of the sofa without a word.

They’d talked. She could smell her mother all over him.

“Guess she’d just assume a lot of stuff that isn’t true. Like always.”

“I suppose anyone would. Still kind of wondering that myself.”

“Like I wonder why you took me in? I mean, at first I figured you probably wanted to fuck me, but you would’ve tried before now.”

“You’re a virgin, Mina. That’s…delicate.”

Her body went stiff and her face burned with shame. “How…could you know?”

“I wasn’t completely sure. Until now.”

She couldn’t remember when the virginity she’d clung to so hard had begun to feel like a burdensome curse. She’d resisted with all her might becoming the promiscuous cliché her mother was, yet she’d had all manner of objects and toys inside her pussy. The fingers and tongue of that girl out west during her brief time muling heroin across the Mexican border. Anything and everything to fan the rage in her cells but a man’s cock.

She waited for the tremors in her soul to subside.

“Mister? Do you think it’s true that girls become their mothers?”

Deep, patient breath. “I think the realities of being alive can’t be passed off with bumper sticker slogans.”

A few shreds of peace filtered through her spirit while the burn in her nipples and clit flared.

“Mister…I only have my panties underneath.”

A low, raspy sigh rose out of his throat. “Good. Show me.”

She grabbed the bottom of the shirt and lifted it over her head. His eyes were on the throbbing nipples tipping the unruly globes of her breasts. She wanted to please him…to know he admired her the way he admired women like her mother, but it seemed impossible he could ever think she was that kind of beautiful.

Her eyes fell to the floor as she let the bunched up shift fall out of her hand.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Mina. More than you realize.”

“Thank you.” She said it so softly she was pretty sure he hadn’t heard her.

“It’s a dangerous game to start comparing ourselves with other people,” he said. “There’s always someone bigger, better, faster, stronger…whatever. But you should know this…you’re much more beautiful than your mother ever was on her best day. She just…tries too hard.”

He couldn’t be serious, but she wanted to believe he was. Now her breath was becoming strained.

“Take off your panties,” he urged softly.

She was painfully aware of his gaze rolling over the treacherous geography of her breasts, but the thought of him seeing the shaven pout of her pussy was terrifying in a way that made her lips feel thick and sodden.

“Go ahead. Show me.”

As much as she wanted to plead with him not to make her reveal the pussy she couldn’t imagine anyone thinking beautiful, she wanted just as much to peel them off and demolish him. She wanted to eradicate whatever dim memories of her mother were left in his mind and blot them out with ripe, vivid images of herself. She wasn’t her mother. She never would be.

She was nothing but herself – a tiny thing floating in the shapeless muck of a broken world.

With trembling hands, she took hold of the waistband of her simple panties and started to push them down. Once she got them to her ankles and straightened back up to step out of them, her heart was pounding.

He heaved a long, raspy sigh. “Mina…geezus….”

She felt the smile break across her face despite the jittery feeling in her body. She liked knowing he was pleased…that she herself could be…pleasing. She didn’t know if she was beautiful, but she realized it was possible to feel that way even if you weren’t, and that it was a feeling she could never describe to another soul.

She ventured a look between his solid thighs as his hand squeezed the full bulge in the crotch of his boxer briefs.

She’d never seen a man touch himself like that right in front of her. The notion he was doing it for her – because of her – made her skin prickle with electricity. Tingling fingers of heat nagging her smooth pussy were quickly growing impossible to ignore. He was looking at her. At her. Was her pussy the object of beauty and desire he claimed? Did he need it? Would he take it? Make her give it to him?

“Turn around,” he finally said. “I want to see all of you.”

Mina bit her lower lip and slowly turned around, feeling his gleaming eyes on her as she moved. She felt beyond naked – laid bare in her skin and spirit – while he openly rubbed his cock and looked over every inch of her lithe body. By the time she turned full circle to face him again, his cock had grown bigger, and the thick, round knob was poking out the leg of his boxer briefs.

His eyes moved slowly up her body to her face as he calmly pulled the leg of his briefs high on his leg, setting the length of his hard shaft free. He wrapped his hand around the shank and started stroking it up and down.

Mina gazed, fascinated. She was barely able to speak, and couldn’t take her eyes off his rigid cock. Watching him move his hand up and down the thick pole had her pulsing with excitement. She wondered how he could seem so cool and calm touching his hardness as she watched him.

She realized she’d spent most of her time feeling like a prisoner inside herself, confined by the fear of her own desire, as if her existence had always been a secret from the emotional commerce of the world.

But now, as nervous as she was – even intimidated – she started to feel vindicated – that the instinct she’d felt about him the one time they’d met a year and a half before had been right – that he was the one she could trust to set her free.

No. Not that. That he was the one she could trust to guide her through the maze as she set herself free.

“Have you ever watched a man jerk off before?” he asked in a soothing tone. He might have been asking whether she preferred orange juice or water with breakfast.

“Yes, Mister. I mean…” she sighed and tried not to think about the sound of her reply. “Yes.”

He smiled, continuing to stroke his tall, rigid cock while he brought his other hand to his briefs and pulled them out further to reveal full, smoothly shaved balls.

“How often?”

“Just the once.”

He nodded, as if he seemed to understand something. She knew he understood things she didn’t fully comprehend, but since she’d taken up residence in his house, he’d said very little beyond what was necessary. Until now.

“Did you do anything other than watch? Taste him? Touch him, at least?”

She shook her head.

“Were you tempted? Too nervous to act on your instincts?”

She shook her head again. “I just…I dunno…I guess it wasn’t the time or place.”

“Tell me about it. If you’d like.”

She’d never imagined just talking could make her slit ache and flush with syrup, but the lilting feel of calm in his voice was making every part of her body burn. There was so much she wanted to tell him, but she was still afraid of her own thoughts and feelings. She was afraid of triggering the wrong kind of change in the way he looked at her.

He sat forward and pulled off his T-shirt, his imposing erection jutting out from his boxer briefs the whole time. Mina kept watching the way it bobbed and swayed. His thick, round dome was wet with ooze, seemingly as wet as her hungering pussy.

“It was just this guy I did some work for out west,” she finally said. “He gave me some money. Wanted to just sit and watch me and my friend I had out there. This girl I…my roommate, I guess.”

He gave another of those silent, understanding nods. “Come closer. Take off my shorts.”

Mina’s heart nearly jumped out of her heaving chest. It seemed like it took forever to move, but somehow, she realized her bare feet were taking steps closer to his chair. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to do, but he reached for her hands and placed them on the waistband of his underwear.

She was acutely aware of how close her hands were to his cock. She didn’t know if she should think it enormous, but it seemed that way. Compared to Renny’s, back out west, it might as well be. She couldn’t take her eyes off it as she pulled down on his shorts. He lifted his ass off the chair so she could yank them lower, but it took some effort to get them over the hard pole between his legs.

When he was finally naked, her pussy felt like it was on fire. She stood gazing at his throbbing dick, feeling her puffy nipples tighten into hard knots while her slit ached and flushed.

“Touch me, Mina,” he said softly. “Explore me.”

She leaned over and laid her hands on his ripely engorged cock. He felt amazingly hard and silky. And so hot. At first, she just ran her fingers all over his shaft and fully laden ballsac. He sighed and she wrapped both her hands around his shaft, stroking him up and down the way he’d been doing just moments ago. Finally, she lowered herself onto the floor between his feet.

He groaned with pleasure and sighed deeply. Even more precum came dripping out of his knob and ran down his shank as she rubbed it. She was aware of him watching her, and as he began stroking the side of her face, it felt as if their bodies were having a conversation.

She spent a long time rubbing and stroking him, making him groan while his flesh grew harder than she imagined a cock could become.

He suddenly reached for her wrists and stilled her hands. Then he stood up from his chair and guided her back to her feet.

His cock pressed into her body as he leaned over and kissed her. She wasn’t sure what to do or think at first, but her tongue automatically swirled into his mouth, licking back at his as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Only Lianna had ever kissed her quite this way, but she had the face and lips of a girl. This was different. This was him. This was everything she needed to know.

She was afraid her pussy was going to start gushing like the bathtub faucet. Then he stopped.

“It’s time,” he said. “Come with me.”

He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs. She followed on trembling legs. When he brought her to his room and sat her down on the bed, she felt relieved to be able to sit again.

He sat beside her, his stiff cock jutting upward as he put his arm around her.

“I feel nervous,” she told him.

“I know. So do I. Even though neither of us really has reason to. When you think about it, what’s the worst that could happen? You won’t fall in love with me? I won’t fall in love with you? And we end up just giving each other something…else.”

“You make it all sound like no big deal.” She felt intensely aware of their mutual nakedness. Of the heat emanating from his hard, upstanding cock. Of the throbbing waves of heat fanning out through her body from the core of her seeping pussy.

“Only as much as being alive is no big deal.”

Then he guided her backward onto the bed and snugged himself beside her. Leaning over her, he looked at her face with a smile that reached his eyes but not his mouth. He started stroking her hair and cheek with the back of his hand.

“Someone should love you,” he told her. “And you should love them back. You should know the catastrophe of wanting someone more than you want to breathe. When you need something…someone…that much…that’s when you know beyond a doubt you’re alive.”

He started kissing her sweetly over her face and lips. Kisses too gentle to match what he’d just said, while at the same time he rubbed his scorching cock against the smoothness of her body. Fire broke across her skin. His large hand ran over her shoulder and across the upper swells of her breasts. He rubbed and pinched at the puffiness of her rigid nipples, and the feeling seemed to shoot straight to the aching slit between her thighs.

“Mister…oh god, Mister,” she moaned breathlessly.

Then he was kissing all over her neck and throat, planting his hungry kisses lower and lower until he was kissing her unruly breasts, his lips gradually closing in on the thick puff of one nipple. He trapped the nub in his mouth and sucked, swirling his tongue around it while his hand moved down over her hip and between her legs. He massaged the insides of her smooth thighs, making her whimper and rock her hips as she wished he would put her out of her misery and touch her pussy.

Patiently kneading his fingers into the flesh of her upper thighs, he went back and forth between each of her nipples…kissing, licking, sucking hungrily at each one in turn.

“Mina, why don’t you ever call me by my name?” he asked, pulling up for a momentary breath. When she didn’t reply, he slipped his hand over her wet slit and went back to the nipple he was sucking with a low growl.

“Oh my god, Mister, god…”

She reached for his cock while his fingers explored her slit. She gripped his shaft tightly, without thinking, and when he started to rub the hard button at the top of her slit the entire frame of her body went tense. His fingers were so much bigger than hers or Lianna’s, the girl out west. When he pressed the pad of his thumb against her clit and slipped the tip of one finger just inside her she thought her skin was exploding. He kept massaging her that way while kissing his way lower and lower on her body. God how she loved feel of those kisses on her body. Soon, his mouth was right over her mound, and when he pulled his thumb away from her clit he replaced it with his tongue.

She could barely breathe, and when he pushed his finger a little deeper into her hole, flicking his tongue over her throbbing bud at the same time, she exploded with feeling.

Soon he was licking all around her slit as he pushed her legs high and wide. He moved his finger in and out of her pussy, but sometimes he pulled it out and massaged the tight rosette of her asshole. She kept hoping he’d push his finger inside, but every time he started rubbing or sucking on her clit she couldn’t think of anything else.

He rose upright on his knees and moved into the space between her open legs. He gripped his cock and rubbed it on her slit, and the waves of heat started all over again. Her excitement spiked when he ground the palm of his hand against his thick cockhead and mashed it tightly against her spread slit, rubbing it over and over her clit. He moaned and closed his eyes.

Several moments later, he knee walked up her body. His heavy, warm balls dragged over her skin. She was trapped under him now, and his rigid dick was bobbing and bouncing closer and closer to her face.

Then he stopped moving, and he was astride her bare chest. His smooth balls were touching the mounds of her breasts while his cock swung impudently in her face. He wrapped his hand around it and started stroking his shaft.

Her pink, wet tongue reached out and slid across the round tip of his cock. She tasted his skin and oozing sap all at once. She ran her tongue over the deep ridge of his dome, and before long, found her lips parting by instinct as she took the end of his cock inside her mouth. She closed her lips around his shank and rolled her tongue underneath as she sucked.

He moaned heatedly and reached behind with one hand to massage her oozing slit with his fingers. At the same time, his cock started to move in and out of her mouth. They were short strokes, his dome sliding back and forth across the length of her tongue.

His fingers were bringing her back to that same, intense feeling all over again, but the way his tangy dick was slipping and sliding in and out of her mouth was magnifying everything. He slipped one of his fingers inside her pussy, and started moving it around inside her, like he was stirring a hot cup of tea. Her pussy began to rock with spasms.

At the same time, he started to grunt and howl while thick, tangy froth came spurting out of his cock in gushing jets. It was tangy, and she loved the feeling of his cock letting go in her mouth. Mina swallowed what she could and let the rest dribble over her lips as his body tensed and he spent the last of himself with a series of breathless gasps.

After, he reared back and lowered his body onto hers. He scooped her into his arms and hugged her harder than anyone ever had before. Then he kissed her like she couldn’t imagine anyone kissing…so hungry and needy, almost like he couldn’t live another minute without kissing her cummy mouth.

They hugged and rolled on the bed kissing for a long time. Knowing he could taste himself in her mouth made Mina feel dirty and beautiful, and for a while, she lost track of the difference.

He rolled onto his back, and pulled her on top. He stroked her face with his fingers and gave her that smile again – the one that reached his eyes but not his mouth. She thought he might be about to say something, but he just studied her face while her breasts pillowed down on his chest. He looked happy, but she wondered what manner of things were tossing and turning in his mind.

She was sorely tempted to ask him about the time he’d been with her mother. She almost wanted to ask if he’d ever gone back to see her again, but she was pretty sure the answer was no. The very thought of the woman cast a pall over her mood so she pushed it out of her mind.

She was surprised when he rolled over and got up. He took her hand and led her into the bathroom where he started running warm water into the tub. His dick was already getting big again by the time he sat on the edge of the tub and held her in front of him. He ran his hand firmly over her heavy breasts, rubbing his fingers over the tight knots of her nipples.

Her pulse raced as he pulled her in close, hugging and kissing her again, fondling her smooth body while the tub gradually filled. She reached between their bodies and took hold of his cock with both of her hands. He sighed and caressed the cheeks of her ass, but before she knew what was happening, he swung his feet around and set them down in the tub.

She stepped over the side and got in. She barely realized she was rubbing her slit as she gazed at his rigid cock standing tall again between his legs until he started stroking his shaft and told her how much he loved watching her touch her pussy.

He stood up and kissed her while he angled his hard cock between her smooth thighs and nestled his shaft against her slit. She squeezed her legs around the hot shank and moaned into his mouth.

After a while he broke off the kiss and started massaging her ass, guiding her hips back and forth to rock her wet pussy against the length of his pole. He dipped his finger into the precum oozing from the tip of his cock and rubbed it over her tight rosebud. His finger was gentle, yet there was a boldness about the way he touched her. She supposed if he could touch her asshole easy as kissing her mouth, then he’d touch anything and everything she had.

Maybe he deserved everything she had. Maybe. And maybe she’d decided long before she realized it that it was he she’d give it all over to. Maybe even that night they’d sat talking about a movie on TV without sound, as if she’d been the one he was there to see, as if the whole night had been meant for them to put words in those silent actors’ mouths and make each other laugh. For a brief time, it felt normal to exchange secrets with a stranger. When he finally said goodnight and got up to leave, he’d paused and just stood looking at her in the bluish light of the TV. She remembered wondering if he was thinking about kissing her then, even though he never tried. He’d just told her how nice it had been to meet her, then turned and walked out of the house.

It seemed you could only calculate so much in theory. The rest you had to walk down the stairs and let in the door.

“Are you gonna fuck me, Mister?”

“Yeah, but not like you think.”

His finger then pressed into the rim of her ass. With his cock rubbing against her pussy at the same time, she thought she might crumple from the feelings coursing through her body. His finger slipped deeper, and all she could think about was feeling it go all the way inside.

“I’m just going to fuck your ass. I’ll lay my cum deep into your body. Will that be okay with you?”

She moaned and felt her knees go rubbery as his finger slipped deeper.

“Oh…uh…yeah Mister. I’m pretty sure…I think,” she moaned.

“If it gets to be too much at any time,” he told her, “you just say so, and we can go back to the bedroom and just rest a while. We’ll just hug and kiss until we fall asleep. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He spent a long time kissing her and letting his large finger glide in and out of her chute. Finally, he handed her a bottle of body oil and told her to spread as much as she could over his cock and balls with both hands.

“How come you need it on your balls?”

“I don’t. I just need to feel your hands on me.”

She nodded and looked down before the smile crossed her lips. The top of his shaft already had traces of wet from the way she’d been rubbing her pussy on him, but she rubbed more oil over his cock and balls than he’d ever need to fuck her ass. His cock swelled to granite hardness as she fondled and oiled his flesh. His breath gave up sighs and moans that made her pulse race and the inner core of her pussy quiver. She wanted him in her pussy, badly, but she supposed he must have had his reasons for taking her in the ass first. Maybe the heat-engorged cock in her hands was all the reason he had.

“Guess you like my hands on you, huh?”

“More than you can possibly imagine,” he said, taking her face between his hands. Then he kissed her hard and deep, as if he were trying to scoop the breath out of her body with tongue, but he drew back again all too soon. “Kneel down in the water and grab the side of the tub.”

Mina felt her body tremble as she did what he said. “Are you gonna fuck me in the ass now, Mister?”

“Yes, Mina. I am. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, gripping the side of the tub until her knuckles went alabaster. She was achingly aware of the weight of her breasts swinging lightly beneath her

He slid down into the water behind her, and gripped her left cheek, pulling her open from one side. He started to rub the slippery head of his cock over her bud, but then light cock spanks rained across her cheeks and half splayed crack. He massaged her pussy with the head for a while, reaching forward and under her to grasp and fondle her dangling breasts.

The longer he waited to plunge, the less she cared which of her holes he took. She just wanted him inside her. The dome of his cock came back to touch her rim again, and she started thinking of how he’d asked her about calling him by his name. She supposed she would, sooner or later. It was just something she wasn’t used to. It wasn’t how she’d come to know him, but where you begin and where you end up are usually two different places.

Then he pressed his knob against her shithole and burrowed just inside the ring, until the head of his cock was plugging her. She felt a vague burning sensation, and Mina thought her eyes were about to water. But the press of his swollen flesh opening her, stretching her, poised at the point of filling her with the rigid heat of another body, triggered another kind of fire in her mind. It was the fire of a knowledge shared between her mind and flesh. It was the pure heat of total connection.

“Okay, Mina?”

She tightened her grip. She was ready to believe she could claw score marks into the porcelain. The pumping of her heart throbbed in her swaying breasts while she stalled her reply. His cock nudged deeper. How many fractions of another inch? He felt thicker than he looked. He started dripping something all across her back, hips and ass cheeks. It felt like the oil she’d rubbed over his cock and balls. His hands slipped and slid over her body, smearing slick lather, reaching under again to grip her breasts.

“Yes, Mister. Okay.”

Okay. The sound of the one-size-fits-all word ricocheted in her skull in a patter of white noise. Okay okay okay okay…”okay okay, yes, Mister…okay…”

“More…” his voice was choked with breath that sounded as shallow as her own… “cock?”

“More…please…cock.”

His hands slipped away from her corpulent breasts to her slender hips as he pushed more of his thick shaft into Mina’s clenching channel. The burning sensation flared but then seemed to dull and radiate outward through her entire body. With a long, slow, steady grind forward, he was gradually buried in her ass all the way to his balls. He held still for a while, his balls snugged against her pussy, giving her body a chance to adjust to the fullness of his cock. Her head was swimming.

He leaned forward and slipped his hand back under her body, his fingers rubbing over the tight buds of her hard nipples. Slippery tweezes.

“If you need to ask me to stop, now would be the best time,” he told her. Chest rubbing her back. Lips moving in a slow flutter at the shell of her ear. “In a few more minutes, I can’t promise much in the way of self-control.”

She responded with a slow roll of her ass. “Fuck. Me.”

Mina could’ve sworn the planet changed direction when his cock started to slide backward in her channel. The slick friction of his shaft in her chute made her eyes water. He pulled back until just the blunt tip was plugging her starbud. Then he started to push back inside. He did it again, and again, until he was sliding his hard on in and out of her asshole in a careful but steady rhythm.

Mina’s pulse spiked by degrees until her blood was jacking madly. Ripples of warm bathwater began licking at her pussy as his body churned in and out of her.

“Mina,” he groaned, “I’ll keep holding you, but steady yourself with one hand on the tub and put the other down on your pussy. Feel yourself. Grind your fingers over that slit just as much as you want. When you want to, push a couple of your fingers inside. Feel everything all at once.”

She did as he said, and when she pushed two of her fingers into her pussy and felt around inside herself, she was struck how easily she could feel the hard shape of his cock through the thin membrane separating her asshole and pussy. She was mesmerized by the feeling of his cock’s motion against her fingers.

He started to grunt and huff when Mina’s pussy-embedded fingers touched his cock. The pace of his thrusts came faster and stronger, and he was gasping so deeply she didn’t think he could speak.

With her ass and pussy both feeling full, her body started to rock and shudder with delicious sensation. Her head spun. Time and space morphed into a blanket of humid air around their bodies. She was almost frightened by the overlap of successive orgasms that all seemed to blend into one, massive constant feeling of release. It was as if the inside of her body were melting around the shape of his driving cock.

The whole length of her channel rippled and clenched while he groaned and continued to fuck her faster. Harder. Was he as desperate for this as she?

Yes, fuck yes, he had to be. How else could…. 

Then he howled against the back of her skull and shoved his body into hers with a series of forceful lunges. His imposing cock was pulsing spastically and hot cream was steaming deep into her chute.

She thought she might’ve shrieked out loud, but she wasn’t sure. All she was really aware of were the hot shudders ripping through her body and the hard volley of needful cock thrusts in her ass, as if he were using her body to milk his ravenous cock until he was spent.

Still implanted in her ass, he pulled her backward and upright, holding her body to his while he sat back in the tub. She came upright inside his arm, and leaned back against his chest. He kissed the side of her face while his hands caressed the front of her wet, naked body.

He heaved a deep breath that made her rise and fall with the movement of his body. She sighed and felt something strange.

She wasn’t sure what happiness was supposed to feel like, but there was a sense of safety in the air that seemed to sift down into her through her pores.

His hands felt large, even against the overflowing weight of her breasts as he caressed them. He kissed her neck and sighed again. Lighter this time.

“Mina,” he said. “After tonight, I’m going to start calling you other things.”

“Like what, Mister?”

“Like…I dunno…baby. Honey. Sweetheart. Things like that. Just didn’t want to take you by surprise.”

“I…um…guess that’d be okay. You call anybody else those things? Wouldn’t seem to mean the same thing if you did.”

“No, Mina. No one else. It’s kind of like steps further down a road we didn’t know we were on until now.”

She knew the road he was talking about. It felt strange to have such a conversation with his cock still in her ass, but there was something about it she liked. Something that made perfect sense. It probably wouldn’t be long before he fucked her pussy now. A few hours. Days, maybe. But when it happened, she would finally call him by name. His real one. And sooner or later, everything she had would become his.

~~~~

*As always, thank you most kindly for taking your time to read my stuff. If you enjoyed this story, you might also enjoy my novella, Siren, available on Amazon via excessica publishing.

tumblr_ly2vfuOB6L1qdm1hho1_400Mouse had taken to dancing in her panties and socks. Her shoulder-length hair – fine, yet a nondescript, easily forgettable shade of brown – whipped around her head and got caught in her glasses. But she kept going, arms and legs flailing wildly yet not without a sense of design. It was as if she were moving to some bright vision of grace in her mind that her body couldn’t keep up with.

Lamb was watching her from his studio window, drawn at first by the music, but then he found himself absorbed with her endearing clunkiness. She made him think how grace and perfection were cold, lifeless things. Perhaps even annoying. Beauty wasn’t in the final grasp, but in the reaching out.

The girl obviously assumed she was alone as she danced awkwardly across the open, hardwood floor of the converted factory loft. There were wide banks of windows looking out on the river and cityscape along the eastern and northern walls. On the western side were rooms on two levels. Lamb’s bedroom and studio were on the upper level, with Mouse’s room and two other office-sized rooms on the lower.

The music was a frenetic carnival samba Lamb would never have imagined her knowing. But Mouse was a girl he knew around the edges at best, and that much he knew not so much from what she did or said but from what she didn’t do or say. She spoke as if words cost money, and while she was living there as an employee of sorts – a university sophomore earning a room and a little cash in exchange for housework and whatever odd chores Lamb needed help with in his studio – she kept to the privacy of her room unless she was working.

The panties were plain, white cotton. They would have seemed shapeless and unflattering except for the way they rode the thumbnail crease between her ass cheeks. In her off-center imitation of a samba, her ass and thighs flexed with a soft muscularity that took Lamb by surprise. Everything normally concealed by her apparent predilection for dumpy clothes was in constant motion now.

Her pale, teacup breasts were neither large nor small as they quivered and bounced to her unrestrained awkwardness.

There was more of everything to her than she ever seemed to show the rest of the world. More shape and substance. More hunger to live. And despite the stunted clumsiness of her body, there was most surely a vision of living grace in her mind.

She moved as if she’d spent half her life in a wheelchair and learned whatever she knew of dancing from movies. Her body might as well have been a brand new acquisition.

As she turned to spin on the ball of one, sock-covered foot, she spotted Lamb at the window. Her arms moved instantly to cover her breasts while she lost her precarious balance and spilled sideways onto the floor.

She winced when her elbow hit the floor, her face going scarlet at the same time, and despite the pain in her arm she scrabbled quickly back to her feet. Grabbing the small remote control from the dining table, she silenced the music and ran toward her room.

Lamb turned back into his studio and sat down in front of the latest piece he’d been working on. The base consisted of an old tricycle he’d found in a dumpster a few blocks away. He’d removed the wheels and set the front fork down into the hollowed out shin of a prosthetic leg he’d found in another dumpster in another neighborhood. The rear wheels had been replaced with wooden shoe stretchers. He was still looking out for three of the same shoe, and whatever he might find to keep welding on pieces of found junk until it became some other version of what it already was.

It was shit, like everything else he’d made. And now he felt like an asshole for invading Mouse’s privacy.

After a few minutes of hating himself as much as his work, he got up and went downstairs. He grabbed an icepack out of the freezer and crossed to the girl’s bedroom door. He knocked, and then went in before she could answer.

She rolled to her side as he walked in, giving him her back and facing the wall. It was the first time he’d set foot in that room since she moved into it. There was a laptop on the small wooden table she used as a desk. Notebooks and stacks of textbooks and paperbacks were as much decoration as she had except for a dog-eared poster of Nighthawks taped to the wall.

Lamb thought he should get her a fresh print of the painting. Frame it. Make it a formal apology. He sat down on the edge of her bed, careful not to touch her. She was still only wearing her panties and socks, smelling faintly of girl-sweat and almonds.

“Could you go away, please?” Her voice was strained.

“I’ve got an icepack for your elbow.”

“Please.”

“Okay, but show me your elbow first.”

She lifted her arm and angled her elbow toward him.

“That’s gonna bruise.” It was already showing a dull, blue patina across the skin.

She started crying. Lamb wanted to touch her, but he knew it would only make it worse.

“Please just go, please.”

“Put the ice on it, okay?”

She curled into a fetal ball and he got up to go.   “I’m sorry,” he told her, taking a brief pause at the door before walking out.

He went upstairs to take a shower and stood under the water a long time. Thinking of her. Remembering the way she moved when she thought she was alone, wondering what the pastel coral of her nipples would taste like. What her breathing would sound like when he pulled each one into his mouth and sucked. How the curve of her ass would form to his calloused, sculptor’s hands.

He replayed her dance in his mind and stroked his growing cock until he was steaming with hardness. He needed her to feel that scorching spine of flesh against her fine skin. The touch of her silent lips around his sap-oozing head would drive him into the stratosphere.

Then he saw her fall again and heard her pleading to leave her alone. All the feeling drained from his body. He let go of his cock and slowly went soft.

After his shower, he lay naked across the top of his bed and stared at the ceiling until he reached that level of consciousness where you didn’t know whether you were asleep or awake.

He woke up an hour later, aware of having had a dream but unable to remember what it.

He got up and went back downstairs. Took a bag of shrimp out of the freezer and started cooking scampi. By the time he was finished, there were also sautéed asparagus and wine on the table. He set out a carton of orange juice, too, so there’d be a choice. Then he went to her door.

“Mouse, come out and have something to eat.” There was a long stretch of silence. “Mouse?” Another stretch. “Mouse?”

Finally, her door opened and she walked past him toward the table without looking at him. She was wearing a T-shirt and leggings now. Bare feet.

It was much more typical she would cook, though she rarely sat down to eat with him. Tonight, he sat across from her at the small, enamel table. She spent some time playing with her food, then she finally forked some into her mouth. For a while, there was nothing but the sound of forks ticking against plates and the occasional sucking noise when that last strand of spaghetti didn’t make it all the way.

“I’m sorry,” Lamb finally broke through the silence about halfway through that first helping.

Mouse kept her eyes on her plate, endlessly swirling her fork in the same spool of noodles. Her body showed faint signs of vibrating, and Lamb was afraid she was about to get up and go back to her room. He reached across the table and took hold of her wrist.

“I’m sorry and not sorry,” he went on. “You have no earthly idea how beautiful it was to see you in those moments. I know they were private, and I know you’re pathologically shy. I get it. And I shouldn’t have stood there watching, but it made me happy in a way I can’t describe to you.”

Everything went quiet over the next few moments. Even the forks went silent, and Mouse kept her face trained on her plate.

“At first I thought I’d have to move,” she said. “But I can’t afford to. This arrangement is making everything work out. School and so forth. I don’t know how else I’d manage everything. I just…feel…”

“I know.”

“Maybe we could pretend the whole thing never happened and keep on going like before.”

“Sure. Maybe.”

“Yeah. That’d be good.”

She looked off to the side toward the bank of windows facing east. A full moon was rising behind a veil of fog – bold yet diffuse.

“I feel stupid,” she added, as if she were talking to someone on the other side of the room. Her wrist pulled out from under his hand.

They spent more time eating without talking. Forks ticking and scraping again. Pursed lips sucking in strands of buttery pasta. Lamb wondered if she knew how the sound of her sucking spaghetti brought his eyes to the blushing heart of her mouth.

“I have to ask you something,” he said. “And I want you to either answer honestly or not at all. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“How did you feel before you knew I was there? When you were just yourself.”

She took a breath that made her body expand and deflate. Then she set her fork on the table and stood up. She told him she’d clean everything up later on.

As she turned to cross back to her room, Lamb tried to discern the sway of her ass cheeks under the blousy T-shirt hem. He thought back on the way those spheres had looked in her panties.

Then she disappeared into her room and shut the door.

Lamb spent some time cleaning the table and kitchen area. He threw out the leftovers and washed the dishes. It was the first time he’d done those kinds of chores for himself since Mouse had moved in. When he was finished, he went to stand at the eastern wall and looked out at the pieces of the city still visible through the mist.

He’d moved into the space a year and a half before Mouse came along, and in all that time he realized he’d never once turned up the music too loud and danced alone. He realized everyone else in his life was associated with his work somehow, and she was as close as he had to a friend, even though he was paying her to be there.

Lights flickered like dying embers behind the fog and Lamb imagined his own funeral. Who would show up to lend significance to his laying down among the maggots and worms? His agent, his lawyer and the gravedigger.

 

Here lies Freddie Lamb

He was an asshole

But at least he wasn’t the worst

 

Fuck it.

He went upstairs to his studio and stared at the raw piece of garbage he was still working on creating out of garbage. He’d go out in the morning to scavenge for more. Someone always ended up throwing away something he could use. However it turned out, the new piece would probably bring in enough to pay for a semester of Mouse’s tuition.

 

Here lies Freddie Lamb

Up to his fucking neck in garbage

 

He left the studio and went to bed. But it was too early, and by midnight he was awake and pacing his room. The pacing only made his frustration worse. He finally went downstairs and knocked on Mouse’s door. Just as he had earlier, he went in without waiting for an answer and sat down on the side of her bed.

She was on her side facing the wall, still wearing the T-shirt she’d had on at dinner, but she’d taken off the leggings and put on a pair of socks. Parts of her bare hip and ass were exposed, but she reached for the shirt hem and pulled it down without looking back.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Tell me something about yourself.”

“I’m nobody.”

“Nobody’s nobody.”

“I am.”

“Just tell me anything. It doesn’t have to be true. Just as long as it feels true.”

“Mr. Lamb, you’re just making everything worse.”

“How about I invent something for you? Something you can tell anyone who asks questions that are none of their business?”

“Like you are now?”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus Christ, Mr. Lamb.”

“Let’s say you’re the daughter of abdicated royalty. Say…a prince and princess from enemy kingdoms. Something like Paris and Helen. You grew up as a common girl, never knowing your parents lived in secret, hiding their identities for love, and you never knowing you were special by birth. You grew up earning your keep doing menial labor for people of false importance, and no one ever imagined you were, in fact, their superior.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Stupid’s my specialty.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Unfortunately I’m not.”

“And I’m not the daughter of secret royalty.”

Lamb sighed. “Doesn’t matter. We’re all just the product of a thousand tiny accidents, but everyone’s a sucker for a good backstory.”

“Whatever, Mr. Lamb. Can you go now, please?”

“Sure.” Leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. He couldn’t stand the idea of going back upstairs alone. His own company was a bleak proposition. “But could you please roll over and look at me first? There’s something I want to tell you and it doesn’t feel right talking to your back.”

“I can hear just fine like this.”

He had no clue as to what he was going to say. He was only stalling. But he reached for her shoulder and urged her to turn with his hand. She rolled without resisting, but wouldn’t look at his face. It was the first time he’d seen her without glasses. Her eyes seemed larger and deeper without them, and he was ready to give just about anything to see them settle on his face.

“This is really uncomfortable.”

“Sorry, Mouse. But I don’t think I can pretend to forget about what happened today. I mean…I don’t want to.”

“You enjoyed watching me make a fool of myself?”

“Jesus, no.”

He leaned closer to her face, deeper into the center of her field of vision. Her eyes couldn’t avoid him now, but without her glasses he didn’t know if he looked clear or fuzzy to her.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?”

She made a face. “My dad used to, but that doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“A dad is supposed to say things like that. Even if he doesn’t really mean it.”

“He meant it. Trust me.”

She made the face again. Like a cross between a pout and a sneer. “He was just trying to make me feel better. I used to get sick a lot when I was a kid. I was allergic to everything. Even people. Social anxiety and shit like that. They could’ve written a text book about me.”

“Things like that don’t affect whether you’re beautiful or not. They don’t change how your father saw you. Or anyone else, for that matter. People who aren’t really looking. Like people who just read the signs and never see the road they’re on.”

“Nobody ever looked at me. I mean looked, ya know? And that’s fine.”

“Yes they have. You just didn’t know. You were probably too busy working at being invisible. I looked. Hard. And I’m looking right now.”

“We were going to pretend that never happened, right?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think that’s really possible.”

“Fuck.” She said it softly and without any tone of emotional investment. “I’m gonna have to move.”

“I wouldn’t like that,” he told her.

“But you saw me naked.”

“Technically, no I didn’t.”

“Sure.”

“Even you have to admit you’d feel differently if you hadn’t been wearing panties.”

“That would’ve been better, cuz then I’d have just had a heart attack on the spot.”

Lamb stopped resisting the urge to touch her face. When he did, she didn’t wince or stiffen, but a look of apprehension filled her eyes. “Why would that be so bad?”

She closed her eyes. “Not pretty.”

“Jesus,” he whispered. “Where did you ever get an idea like that?”

“I’ve heard things guys say.  Jokes they tell and such.”

“Jesus, Mouse.” He took her face between both hands and leaned even closer. “Open your eyes.”

She didn’t, so he said it again, and then she did.

“I need to ask you something really personal, okay?”

“Maybe.”

“Fair enough.” He spent a while studying her face. Everything about it seemed finer and more delicate up close. “Have you ever felt someone’s mouth on your pussy? Especially someone who loves it. Has a deep-seated hunger for it.”

She seemed almost horrified by the question, but after a while she shook her head.

“I didn’t think so. Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“Not really.”

“Girlfriend.”

“Not really.”

“Okay. Do you know why I hired you?”

“Not really.”

“Mostly because you’re prettier than any of the others who responded to my ad. I know that probably doesn’t sound very good, but I can’t help it and I’m not sorry. At the time, I didn’t know you were. You do everything you can to hide yourself. There was just something…something a woman has every once in a great while. And you felt like someone I’d like having around.”

He leaned closer and touched her lips with his. It wasn’t a kiss, just their mouths barely touching, as if the moment before the real kiss were being held in suspension. Her breath held a long moment, but then began washing over his mouth in warm, steady pulses.

“Mouse, Mouse, Mouse,” he whispered. Then he pressed the kiss into her mouth. After a long moment she started to kiss him back. Her lips were clumsy but alive – the way he’d seen her dancing.

Lamb’s body pulsed with heat. The girl’s lips were maddeningly soft, and his mind spun with the awareness of its rarity. Before long, he moved to kiss her throat, reaching below to touch her thigh. She whimpered when his hand settled onto her leg, and he wasn’t sure whether she was getting aroused by his lips on her neck or if she were in a panic over his touching her at all.

He sat up and looked at her, keeping his hand on her leg.

“When I saw you today I felt envious,” he said. “I don’t know how to set myself free even when I’m alone. You…you were perfect. It was like having someone teach you a lesson in how to be alive. And I was fucking dying to taste you. Just dying.”

She was watching his face, listening with an expression of lackluster horror. He reached for her other thigh with his free hand and started to push the hem of her T-shirt upward. Her body shifted, allowing him to push it all the way up and finally pull it off. Then she lay back again, her eyes returning to his face. She was naked but for a pair of pale blue ankle socks.

Her pussy was shaved bare, forming a delectable pout at the apex of her primly closed thighs. Blood swarmed into the flesh of Lamb’s cock.

“I’m going to push your thighs open now,” he told her.

“Um. Okay. I think. But would you please turn the light off?”

The rise and fall of her soft breasts gave away the depth of her breathing.

“No. You can always just tell me to stop anytime, but if we’re doing this, we’re doing it in the light. No hiding.”

“Are you gonna fuck me?”

“Yes, Mouse. I am. I’m gonna do other things, too. But right now I’m just gonna spread your beautiful legs apart and peel your pussy open. Then I’m gonna lick you like a piece of dripping fruit.”

“Oh. Um. Okay, Mr. Lamb.”

Before making good on his promise, he leaned down and kissed her mouth again. Slowly. With patient insistence. Her lips parted the moment the tip of his tongue touched them. Her tongue explored his even as it searched the inner contours of her mouth. Her body arched against the mattress. Anxious curiosity. Curious anxiety.

His hand made a long, slow sweep down her body. Curling around her breast, he palmed and kneaded the simple mound of girlflesh, finding her nipple hard and taut. For a moment it felt as if her mouth forgot it was in the midst of a delirious kiss and she moaned an ahhhh into his mouth while he fondled her.

His hand moved on and slid over the length of her warm thighs. He never had to push them open as they gradually parted further and further while he stroked her skin. Soon he was stroking her inner thighs and finally let his fingers brush her exposed slit.

She moaned a bigger, deeper ahhhh into his mouth and opened her legs further. He stroked her pussy lips slowly but firmly, smearing her nectar everywhere he touched. Her clit was already swollen, and when he rubbed circles over it with the pads of his fingers, her moans dropped a husky octave.

“It’s not so bad being touched, is it?” he said.

“Don’t stop.”

He smiled and continued massaging her pussy a little longer, letting his fingers delve briefly into her hole. Everywhere he touched felt like it was coated with warm honey. He brought his wet fingers to her mouth and calmly painted her lips with her own juices as she stared back at him. Then he kissed her hungrily, savoring the taste of her pussy all over her mouth.

When he’d finally kissed away any last traces of her pussy, he reared upright and shifted into position between her open thighs. Gazing down at her naked slit, he ran his palms along her bare thighs until each of his thumbs laid into her splayed folds.

“Give me permission to need you, Mouse.”

“I…yes…okay.”

He looked up at her face, his thumbs continuing their steady massage. He was still wearing his T-shirt and the loose, drawstring pants he’d intended to sleep in. His rigid cock was aching for freedom, but all of his immediate thoughts were for her. He realized how everything around her was probably out of focus.

“Mouse, I want you to put your glasses on.”

“Oh god, please don’t make me.”

“First of all, I would never make you do anything. Ever. And second, you have scorchingly beautiful eyes. Your glasses draw attention to them. But the real reason I’d like you to put them on is that I don’t want you floating off in a fog. I want you to see everything we do.”

She reached for her glasses on the little bedside table and put them on her face.

Lamb peeled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it. The drift of Mouse’s eyes made him realize the bone-like protrusion of his hard on was more conspicuous now. He brought one hand to his bulge and rubbed it through the light fabric while she watched. At the same time, he slid his middle finger deeply into the syrupy heat of her pussy.

“You have a beautiful pussy, Mouse,” he said sincerely. “It’s perfect.”

Her eyes moved from the hand over his cock to his face. He smiled, hoping she understood the truth behind his words. Her pussy was, in fact, gracefully formed, with sleek lips that possessed a slick delicacy even as swollen as they were. He pushed his ring finger into her hole along with the middle one and slowly fucked her with both.

“When I asked you before about being licked by someone who loves your pussy, I know you were being honest, but that didn’t mean you’ve never been licked at all, did it?”

She rolled her hips against the steady see-saw of his fingers and shook her head.

“Or fingerfucked?”

She nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Tell me everything you’ve ever had inside your pussy.”

“Oh god, please don’t make me do that.”

He slid his fingers in deep and curled them upward, massaging her inside.

“I’ll never make you do anything, Mouse. Remember that. If I ask you to say or do anything, you always have a choice.”

She winced and moaned, rolling her hips and grinding into his fingers.

“Tongue. Fingers.”

“But that’s not all, is it?”

“Hairbrush. Magic Marker once. Dildo.”

“Who played with you?”

“A girl I used to know. Like me. Socially inept nerd. We just…helped each other.”

Keeping his fingers buried inside her, Lamb untied his drawstring with his free hand. He pushed the pants below his cock and stroked his shaft while she watched him. Her pussy rippled around his gliding fingers.

“Tell me,” he said.

“She fucked me with the dildo. After, she took it out and gave it to me. I stuck it right inside her and fucked her with it, too.”

Lamb’s prick was throbbing with need as he listened. Precum was seeping from his cock head until his hand was slicking it up and down his shaft.

“Did she ever play with your asshole, Mouse? Touch it? Fingerfuck? Taste it?”

“God, fuck yes,” she moaned. “Once.”

“Only once? Didn’t you like it?”

“Liked it too much. So much it freaked me out.”

“That’s dirty, Mouse,” he said, curling the fingers inside her and grinding his thumb on her clit. “So dirty.”

She clawed at the sheets and her body writhed on the bed, her puffy breasts quivering with her movements.

“Yes,” she breathed heavily. “Dirty.”

“You’re a dirty girl at heart, aren’t you, Mouse? Maybe that’s what you’re really trying to hide all the time?”

“Yes, Mr. Lamb, I’m a dirty girl.”

He pulled his fingers out of her pussy and lightly spanked her clit several times.

“Do you believe dirty is the opposite of beautiful?”

She shook her head and arched her pussy upward, asking for more clit-spanks. He gave them to her.

“That’s good, Mouse. We can build on that. Now come with me.”

She looked momentarily disoriented as he got off the bed and let his pants drop to the floor. He walked naked out into the main area of the loft, toward the east facing windows. When he reached them, he turned to find her only a few paces behind. She was still wearing her socks, approaching cautiously.

Lamb dragged a plain wooden chair from the corner and set it in front of the windows.

“Have a seat, pretty girl. Make yourself comfortable.”

She sat. He stood close to her and stroked his cock.

“Spread those pretty legs, Mouse. Touch your pussy for me.”

“Mr. Lamb. I…don’t think…”

“Show me. Like I’m showing you.”

He took another step closer and slowly stroked his stone-hard cock within a few, short feet of her. While her eyes remained on his cock and pumping fist, her hand slipped between her thighs, fingers instantly rubbing at the soft folds of her pussy.

He sat down on the floor between her legs and watched her closely. “Have you ever fingered yourself in front of a window before?”

“Oh god, no.”

He kissed the inside of one thigh. “Someone could see you. By accident. Like I saw you dancing today.”

“Fuck.”

“Such a dirty girl. Dirty, beautiful girl.”

He pushed her hand aside and pulled at her hips, urging her ass to the edge of the chair. Then he leaned in and lapped at her pussy with long, wet swipes. Sighs and moans tumbled from her mouth as he explored her lips and the opening of her sheath with his tongue. He pushed the same two fingers inside her that he’d been fucking her with before. He licked and sucked her clit until she rippled inside and clawed at his short, brown hair.

He kept going until she responded again, then he stood up and stroked his cock in front of her again. Closer this time. Mere inches from her face. Massaging a warm, pliant breast with his free hand, he held the tip of his cock to her lips. They parted and he slipped the head just inside her mouth. Her lips closed around it and her tongue swirled in exploration.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Do you have any idea how much I just want to fuck your mouth right now? Right here? Wondering how you’d feel if you knew someone was watching? Would you put on a dirty little show like a dirty little girl, Mouse? Or would you just love me and not care about anything else?”

A muffled whimper came from her mouth as if she were trying to answer without releasing his cock. But he pulled back before the urge to fuck her mouth took over his entire being. Taking her hand, he urged her to her feet. Her eyes searched his face.

“Go grab that rail under the window. Both hands. Push your ass out and plant your feet as far apart as you can.”

“You’re not making me do it, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, Mr. Lamb.”

She did as he said. The twin spheres of her ass parted, her pussy fully revealed by the position of her legs.

Lamb stood behind her and massaged her wet slit with the head of his cock. He dragged his knob over her rosette and smeared the taut pucker with her juices.

“Oh god, are you gonna fuck my ass, Mr. Lamb?”

“Is that what you want, Mouse? Say what you want, whatever it is.”

He slid a finger into her pussy, taking a long moment to soak it thoroughly. Then he pulled it out and held his fingertip to her asshole, lightly pressing.

“I…I…think your cock is too big for that.”

He pressed his slick, wet finger into chute, slowly pushing deep. With his free hand, he gripped his cock and nestled the blunt tip into the slippery maw of her pussy.

“That’s how it is tonight,” he said, barely holding his breath under control. His finger and cock were gradually filling both of her holes at the same time. “Just tonight. Every night belongs to itself.”

“Guess so,” she replied weakly.

“Some other night…whatever. Only two things will be the same.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Like what, Mr. Lamb? What two things would be the same?”

“You already know. Tell me.”

His finger and cock were both deep inside her, holding still until she finally answered.

“Are you making me say?”

“Yes, Mouse. This time I’m making you. Just this once.”

“You and me?” she said tentatively.

“You and me,” he repeated without the shred of a question in his tone.

“Fuck,” Mouse groaned.

Lamb drew his cock backward and thrust deeply into the girl’s warm, supple body. He pulled his finger out of her ass and landed an affectionate swat on one cheek. Then he grasped her hips and started fucking her with long, needful lunges.

“Mr. Lamb. God. Fuck.”

His hands moved from her hips to her breasts, holding and squeezing them as he leaned over to feel the warmth of her body against his. Their breath labored along with the ardent strain of their bodies. The girl’s hips arched, meeting Lamb’s thrusts. Her pussy gripped his driving cock shaft with violent ripples as she gripped the rail and cried out.

Lamb lost whatever control he had left, rearing back up to spank her ass while he went momentarily blind under the pulsing of his cum jetting into her body.

It was another few moments before they disentangled themselves and stood side by side, leaning against the rail. Lamb put his arm around her and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head.

“Still feel like you need to move?”

“I hate that idea now.”

“Me too. Hated it the first time you brought it up.” He pulled her body tighter and let his hand drop over her breast. “I wish I could catch you dancing again. Like today.”

“Maybe you will sometime,” she said.

He couldn’t see her smile, but he could hear it in her voice. “You wouldn’t even have to be dancing. It would be enough just to see you here. Naked. Feeling right in your skin.”

She snickered briefly. “Guess you’ve seen everything I’ve got by now.”

“Yeah. Guess I have.”

She slipped out from under his arm and walked a few paces away, turning back to face him. She seemed so much more at ease now, both with herself and him. Pausing to push her glasses up her nose, she raised her arms, offering her nakedness up to his eyes.

“Well, here I am,” she said.

“Yeah. There you are,” he smiled. “And here we go.”

He pushed off the rail and walked toward her. Taking her by the hand, he led her across the room and up the stairs to bed.

~~~~

Frank Lee on Amazon

tumblr_lunq40ETpP1qzsuoro1_500Raven in black and grey waiting for someone who doesn’t show.

He doesn’t know how he knows this. He just does. It’s one of those feelings that just as easily turn out wrong, but in the moment everything feels like the obvious truth. He feels the tiny shame in the way she props her elbows on the table and her eyes search the fringes of the plaza without moving her head. Her broad mouth is set, full lips smiling too much but not enough.

The first time he scanned the area for an obscure place to sit in front of a bottle of something cold she was just a blur in the blur of faceless café customers. The next time, his eyes lingered a hot moment around her face and then moved on. This time he sees the convergence of quiet rarities, obsidian and alabaster wrapped around each other like smoke and wind.

The plaza is lit well enough, but it’s nighttime and the only air moving is the last of the day’s heat rising off the cobbles.

He understands her hair seems darker now than it would another time, as if the night were cradling her head in its hands. A loose braid curls around her sinuous neck and almost disappears against the black silk of the cropped blouse knotted below her breasts. From here, he can’t tell if the charcoal bolt of fabric around her hips is a skirt or a pair of shorts, almost loose and high on sweeping thighs.

There’s something deeper to the black and grey of her clothes than color. Maybe it’s the way she sits inside them – like she’s in motion even though she isn’t – or the lotion shimmer of scrubbed skin making everything that touches the space around her look like a cheap imitation of something cheaper.

Strains of a nearby flamenco concert waft through from an open-air courtyard not far away. Occasional applause. It sounds desultory. Half there. More like a glass breaking than hands clapping.

She scans the plaza again. By now it comes off all reflex, one of those temporary habits that come on long enough to take us through uncomfortable situations.   Her eyes pause in their circuit and land on Turner. He’s not the one, and after the seconds it takes her to gaze, frown and look away, he’s like one more archaic doorway. Something you quit noticing after a glance or two. She tilts her head and moves on.

The waiter comes out and works his way through a half dozen other customers to her table. He says something and her face angles up to acknowledge him just before she scans the plaza one more time. She looks at Turner again, but not as long this time. She gives the waiter an awkward smile and says something back.

Turner starts across the plaza at a brisk pace. She doesn’t see him coming until he’s a few paces over the waiter’s shoulder, coming on like he belongs.

“Baby,” he says, “sorry I’m late.”

He smiles like he knows her, like he really owes her this apology. He lists sideways and fans out his palms in a gesture of contrition. She’s confused but smiling. The waiter turns and regards him with bored disapproval. Turner’s already been a few miles today and doesn’t look like whatever a raven like her would be waiting for.

She opens her mouth but doesn’t have words to fill the gape of a gracefully angular jaw. Her eyes well up but don’t spill, firing back and forth between him and the waiter. Her forehead knits. He feels like an idiot, only making her humiliation worse if the waiter catches on.

“I got really held up,” he shrugs. He grins and takes another step inside her cavern of disappointment, moving around the waiter to her side of the table.

“Late start, late finish. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” He leans down to kiss her cheek, lightly touching the other side with the tips of his fingers. Suddenly his senses are full of shampoo and perfume, the touch of living silk against his lips.

Something tells him to take her mouth and he listens. She gives it back, leaning into the kiss, and for a few moments too long it feels like the only natural thing to happen since he walked into the plaza. His hand moves to her neck, his fingers around the nape while his thumb grazes her throat. Their lips begin to open and they pull back just before everything has a chance to become surreal hunger.

“I wish flowers smelled like this.” He whispers so only she can hear, letting her know it’s not just part of the charade.

He’s improvising. It’s all he knows how to do except he hits the wrong chord and something comes over her. She seems to forget the waiter’s still there and looks at him like he’s someone else. Someone she’s met before. Someone she might even wait for in a place like this. A darkness passes behind her eyes while her face transforms into a mask of hurt.

She stands up – awkwardly, as if it’s something she’s not used to doing – and slaps him hard enough to make her breasts quiver.

Surprised, the waiter leans back as if he’s afraid of being struck. Turner stands without flinching and everyone turns to the sound of her palm crossing his face.

“I’ve been waiting for ages!” she spits. “I was worried. Don’t you dare do this again.”

The charcoal turns out to be a skirt. Her legs are slender, not muscular but toned, and her face has angular, sweeping lines that give off an air of dignified heat.

Her accent is strong but her English is clear and effortless. He doesn’t try to guess where it’s from. She looks local but the cadence of her voice comes from somewhere further north. She can’t seem to contain herself through a moment in which she seems to consider slapping him again, but she finally comes back to herself and sits down.

Turner braces himself with a breath, orders espresso and water and sits. The waiter walks away and a moment passes in which the tepid air is full of aimless conspiracy.

The Raven frowns and suddenly looks mildly horrified with herself.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “your cheek is turning red. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s all right,” he says. It’s not the first time he’s been slapped in public by a woman. Still, every time it happens feels like the last.

It takes a few seconds but she relaxes and almost smiles. She looks at him as if she’s trying to decide a few things at once. He hasn’t shaved for a few days. His hair is dark but not as dark as hers, at a point of being too long or else not long enough.

He feels the long stretch of a good ten years between them.

Her smile doesn’t break all the way. It does something to her face that surprises him. Everything about her falls into a place that feels like something he once imagined and suddenly remembers.

His face feels like it’s smiling but he knows it’s not a real smile. It’s like his mouth can’t get there all the way because her cheekbones are doing something improbable. Everything seems to quiet down at the same time. The other people speckling the plaza, the flamenco strains, even the lack of moving air feels like it stops to take a breath before doing nothing again.

“And so?” A few certainties but more questions in the slow fire of her dark eyes.

For a moment, he begins to wonder if suspicion and curiosity are different rooms in the same house, but for the first time since he came into the plaza, she stops scanning the fringes.

“So,” he pauses, thinking, “it just didn’t seem right. You sitting here like you were.”

One side of her mouth curls and the cheekbone on that side slow-dances with his brain. “So this is a selfless rescue? Saving a strange woman from…a minor embarrassment?”

“Maybe,” Turner shrugs. “Maybe I’m just rescuing myself a little bit.”

The waiter comes back. They don’t talk in front of him. There’s something faintly embarrassing about waiting for him to finish. The sweet, ropy stink of hashish filters in and hangs in the still air. Everyone notices but no one cares. It’s just one more secret the night doesn’t mean to give up.

The waiter goes back inside with merciful efficiency.

“And what would you need rescuing from?” she finally asks.

Turner smiles and silently watches her fingers play with the little white ear of the demitasse cup. He steps up to and then hovers on the verge of telling her the truth when Howlin’ Wolf’s version of Killing Floor starts up from someone’s apartment window. It has that tinny, old radio sound. Scratches in the vinyl. Hubert Sumlin banging rhythm like a V-8 spinning off gravel.

 

I shoulda quit you, a long time ago,

I shoulda quit you, baby, long time ago,

I shoulda quit you and went on to Mexico

 

Turner’s eye is on The Raven, but his ear is mainlining on Willie Dixon and the Wolf.

 

If I ha’da followed, my first mind

If I ha’da followed, my first mind

I’d’a been gone, since my second time

 

It’s so out of place there in eyeshot of the looming cathedral it almost begins to make sense again. The Raven seems to sense the divergence of his senses. The curious amusement in her face deepens a moment and then returns to the surface. Turner realizes he wants to see that look on her face again, but he doesn’t know how to make it come back while sense memories dance alone in empty houses in his mind.

The whole problem with music is the power it has to take you somewhere you’re not anymore. Even places you don’t need to see again. The Raven keeps waiting. Maybe she thinks he’s thinking of an answer to her question.   He’s looking at the lacquered onyx of her eyes but The Wolf has him by the scruff of his spirit.

He’s out of choices now but to follow that raw, Chicago fatback groove back to the last place he needs to be and something inside him falls off a ledge. He reads the way she notices the understated mutiny of the muscles in his face. The taste of long gone lips comes across the surface of his mouth.

Her eyes narrow on him as she studies his emotional detour. She’s distantly curious but gives him a good twelve bars before leaning forward and touching his hand.

“She hurt you. Something like that?” There is a fraction of a smile on her lips, an expectation of confirmation.

He turns the hand under hers upward so their palms are touching. He wonders if he should say his name when their fingers lace. He feels the foreboding presence of the cathedral behind his back, feels the weight of foolish choices following him like spiteful ghosts.

 

I should’a went on, when my friend come from Mexico at me

I should’a went on, when my friend come from Mexico at me

I was foolin’ with ya baby, I let ya put me on the killin’ floor

 

Lord knows, I should’a been gone

Lord knows, I should’a been gone

And I wouldn’a been here, down on the killin’ floor

 

He feels the weight of better choices he’ll never get the chance to make now as he curls his fingers snugly into the fine bones of her hand. He wonders if there’s a way around always living someone else’s history.

He turns their clasped hands over, touches a pale blue vein on the underside of her wrist. Her pulse feels stronger than her wrist looks.

“Who were you waiting for?” he finally gets to it without looking at her face.

“Is it so important?”

“Depends on the answer.”

Her finger moves across his damp palm. “Will you trust me if I say it doesn’t matter?”

“Sure,” he nods. What difference could it make either way?

“It shouldn’t matter to you.”

“Sure.” He doesn’t nod this time. “Your pulse is going faster.”

“Suppose I ask who you were remembering when that song began.”

“Is it so important?” he echoes.

“Depends on the answer.” She half smiles like something precious he lost before ever having.

“It shouldn’t matter to you.” He challenges the other half of her smile.

“It doesn’t.” She leans forward, accepting the challenge.

Their hands begin to move against each other in a strange dance, fingers reaching like arms across bodies, like a dance, like making an agreement their hearts aren’t prepared to recognize.

“Do you think there’s any comfort in regret?” she asks, looking at him for the first real time.

“Until recently I would’ve said no,” he says.

She waits a beat, does something with her fingers under his palm that feels obscene. “And do you think there’s any redemption in revenge?”

“No, redemption is revenge.”

She laughs, and her fingers keep moving under his palm while her head leans back and her throat opens on a soft howl of feline mystery. All of his veins begin to feel too small for the wild horses racing through them.

When she comes back to face him he’s begging the question.

“Here it is,” she says. “What would you say if I told you you’re the one I was waiting for?”

He grins as if he just stole a chunk of time. “I’d say you’re full of shit, but I wouldn’t ask you to admit it.”

She laughs, not as hard this time. “Are you always so charming?”

“No, but I’m really trying to impress you.”

She almost laughs, but there’s a detour going on in her mind and her eyes narrow on him again. He leans back and watches her study him like the wild card on a jury. Their hands feel strong. Any moment now the air could suddenly emit sparks.

“I still don’t know if I should ask your name.”

“As long as you don’t, you’ll always have the choice. The moment you do, everything changes. When and if you decide, I’ll tell you truly.”

A veil of approval slowly descends over her face. “Until then,” she says, “I’ll think of you as No One. But you must have a way to think of me.”

He leans across the table. Their hands are all but making love now and he places the fingertips of the empty hand against her throat. He feels the air passing in and out of her body. If she had something to say it would be full of her voice.

“When I saw you I called you Raven. In my mind.”

“Ha. A squawking bird with a huge beak.” Her throat moves under his fingers.

“Dark, strong and free.”

She leans forward. They face each other too closely for people who don’t know each other. He’s cupping the side of her neck in his hand and she squeezes the other hand while her face twists into a statement of hard truth.

“I don’t want to be free.”

The table is an awkward intrusion on what Turner wants to say next. It’s too small and crowded with cups, but her face is close enough to feel her breath touch him in tiny pulses. He touches the edge of her cheek. She sits upright and lets him finger the shape of her jawbone. His fingers stop around her chin and his thumb moves toward her bottom lip.

“No one really wants to be free,” he finally says. “It’s not a natural condition. Too many end up drowning.”

Her lips part against the pad of his thumb. Her breath rushes against his thumbprint. He feels the closeness of her tongue like a vague promise.

“Are you drowning?” she asks against the press of his thumb, but it’s more statement than question.

“I’m waiting for tomorrow on that,” he says, standing.

She stands, too, facing him across the table while he digs a bill out of his pocket and leaves it on the table. She takes his arm but she’s the one who leads the way. She’s the one who knows her way through the narrow, unlit streets not much wider than medieval donkey carts. They leave the plaza and enter a world of fractured moonbeams and shadows.

Turner feels at home but The Raven tightens her grip on his arm. He understands the only danger she fears is in herself, the same danger he began to embrace the moment she slapped him. They walk in the kind of silence only people who’ve known each other a long time feel comfortable in.

The street takes a soft bend ahead where a pink neon bubble of light seems to call them forward. They approach, moving almost in unison now, but before they get close enough to see the source of the pink she realizes something and suddenly stops. The pink gives her face an ethereal cast.

“I just realized,” she says, looking straight at his throat, “I’m no longer waiting for someone who didn’t come.”

He touches her face with both hands and angles her up to look back at him. “Now we’re both just waiting for something else,” he says.

He leans across the last few inches to her mouth. The kiss is neither tentative nor forceful at first, but there’s a hunger behind it that pushes them. There’s that staggered lunge of lips opening and tongues spearing into the heat of another body. He wraps one hand around the knot in her blouse just below her breasts. His knuckle brushes the swell as he pulls her closer, driving deeper into her mouth, sweeping the minefield of her unknown longings.

He feels something crack open in a dream he had long ago, and now it’s oozing down their skin. The next muted moments of their lives are made of kissing and the moist reach of tongues. Her blood is flowing into his body and it’s warmer than his.

Behind her there’s a darkened window with handmade guitars hanging down like surreal bodies. He pulls away from the kiss and leads her by the knot in her blouse.

Around the bend is the source of the pink, a small neon sign that reads SEX above the door of a shop with headless mannequins dressed in the kind of lingerie that’s meant to fuck in. They laugh when they see it, but Turner pulls her into a little jut where the corner of the building adjacent to the sex shop is built further into the street. If it weren’t for the sign they’d be in total shadow, but they’re bathed in a garish pink that makes a living man and woman seem like something tawdry against the ancient cobbles under their feet.

“So this is what it all comes down to?” she snickers. “Following the obvious signs?”

“That’s only part of what we’re here for,” he says, pulling open the knot the way he’s been thinking since he sat down at her table. Her blouse opens and bare breasts fall into his hands. He kisses her again like he’s trying to crawl inside her. Her breasts are smooth and warm in his hands, pliant as he kneads them. Her nipples scrape against his palms as he turns her up against the corner between the buildings and feels her bare thigh shove between his legs as she angles up hard into his kiss.

He pulls away to see her bathed in the light announcing where extravagant dreams are bought and sold cheap. He touches her face, letting his hands trail over her neck and shoulders, finally reclaiming the smooth weight of her breasts.

“Back there,” he says, “when you slapped me…” Her mouth takes the shape of the start of an apology but he puts his finger there to stop it. “It was pure,” he goes on. “Unguarded. I envied you so much at that moment. It was a moment of freedom…real freedom…not the kind we were talking about…but the kind of freedom I always wished I could know something about. So I just want to warn you now…because this is your time to run if that’s what you need…but until the moment we part ways, I’m going to hope and try to be so free.”

She studies his eyes but he knows they must look like nothing more than shadows to her. Her hand moves over the crotch of his pants, searching out the shape of his blossoming cock. He grows thick and unyielding under her hand. Her fingers trace the shape of his simmering stalk until she opens his pants and pulls his hard flesh into both of her stroking hands.

“Isn’t this what you’d call free?” she asks.

He shakes his head, tweezes her gemstone nipples. She reaches under her skirt with one hand, still stroking his cock with the other, and draws the gusset of her panties to the side. She angles his shaft toward her pussy and uses his meat to rub herself wet.

“Sometimes,” he tells her, his breath beginning to stagger, “the unspoken truth becomes toxic. Not like a deadly thing that lays you out for the last time, but the kind that destroys pieces of your spirit until you’re just dancing with all the other zombies in the subway.”

Her neon pink shaded eyes begin to hood slightly as she gnashes the head of his cock across her drowning clit.

“I think I saw a piece of your spirit dying when I saw you in the plaza, but that’s not even what made me walk up and invade your time.”

“Fuck,” she whispered, half listening to his voice, the rest of her trained on the rub of dripping flesh on more dripping flesh.

“How many times have you looked at someone and wondered…everything…but not because they’re so beautiful…but because of the way in which they’re beautiful?”

“Shut up or you’re going to murder the other pieces of my spirit,” she tells him.

So he just kisses her again and caresses her breasts while she tries to angle his cock to slide into her pussy. He kisses her head back against the stone of the building and squeezes everything in his hands one time hard. He lowers to the cobbles on his knees. When he pulls her panties down, he rakes his hands down the lithe flesh of her slender legs. She steps out of the panties and he leaves them on the cobbles.

He pushes up the front of her skirt and lifts her leg onto his shoulder as he covers her slit in a long, wet, sucking kiss of abject hunger. She winces and moans into a half squat as his tongue rolls across the burning knot of aching that crowns her flushing petals. She grabs for the wall as she fucks back at his face, but when there’s nothing to grab but stone she reaches for his head and claws at his hair.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants as his fingers push inside her just below the edge of his mouth.

Her pussy is an exquisite monument to slick friction as his fingers drive and fuck, slip and glide, while his lips pull and suck at her clit. She wraps the other leg around his other shoulder, balancing her weight between his shoulders and the wall at her back while she grinds his ravenous mouth into a honey spattered mess. His mouth and fingers are giving back everything she has to throw at him, until he feels her grip tighten on his hair, pulling as her pussy pushes against his mouth, flushing as she cums against the unrelenting onslaught of his mouth.

Suddenly they both grow still. Turner is on his knees while The Raven petrifies against his mouth. His fingers are deep inside her but he slowly draws them out, wet digits teasing at the cleft between her buttocks. Slowly, one at a time, her legs move off his shoulders and her feet touch the ground.

Turner rises to face her. “Kiss me now and taste how we are together,” he says.

She takes his kiss with a wild, delving sweep of her tongue through his mouth. She utters a little grunt against his tongue when he lifts her legs around his waist and backs her up hard against the wall. He fondles the pliant cheeks of her ass just before groping for his cock and guiding the shaft toward the swollen lips of her anxious pussy.

She tries to say “fuck me” but his tongue is deep in her mouth. He crams the dome of his cock in her maw and shoves with his hips, grinding half-pumps until his throbbing bone is deeply embedded inside her. They freeze again, hovering on the same intake of breath as they search each other’s eyes between neon and shadow.

“It’s all about the ‘what if’,” he says.

“No,” she mewls, “it’s all about the ‘what is’.”

He kisses her again like he’s known her for years. By now, maybe he has. She kisses back like she’s known him even longer. He grips her hips hard, clutching her as he rears back once and thrusts. His cock is swimming in her pussy’s clutch and honey. His lungs empty with a huff every time he pumps into her, while hers fill. She writhes and grinds between Turner’s lunging body and the unmovable wall like some sleek animal at the peak of her existence. She cries and yowls without restraint as he fucks with gasping lunges. Someone yells down from a high window.

“Shut up and leave us alone!” she screams back in rage.

Turner kisses her to fill her mouth with something else. But then he can hardly breathe and pulls back to yank desperate air deeply into his heaving lungs. High above, the window slams shut while Turner and The Raven get lost.

“You fuck like a rainforest,” he groans.

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” she mewls.

Nothing then but the sound of labored breathing and the hot, wet plunge of Turner’s cock in The Raven’s broiling pussy. At some point he feels her clench like she did around his fingers. He closes his eyes and lets himself catapult through the center of her being. He’s going down in flames and rising up through the smoke and embers of himself.

His cock leaps hard with spasms as she begins to shriek against his mouth. His soul snaps in half and his leaping cock blossoms inside her in a bursting shower of cum.

Nothing left but sweat-soaked bodies and pounding hearts. Moments later, a man’s cock slowly relaxes and slips quietly from his lover’s sheath. The Raven’s feet touch down and she kneels. She glances up once, then holds him in her hand and licks his cock. Her lips and tongue roll over his spent flesh until he starts tingling again, but once she has it all she stands back up and faces him.

“Now…kiss me and taste how we really are together.”

There’s something obscene in the slow, deep tenderness of the kiss. Something is broken, but stronger where the scar has scored its skin.

Turner pulls his pants back together and they sit down side by side on the cobbles, leaning up against the wall of the sex shop under that cloying, toxic pink. Her panties remain nearby on the cobbles. She sits with her knees raised and her brief skirt bunched around her hips.

No one says anything for a long time. The time to get up and go their separate ways comes and goes several times.

“I know if I walk one way and you walk the other, that’s going to be it,” he states simply.

“Yes. That’s true.”

It seems they’re both waiting for the right thing to say to come along, but it never does. There is only the tiny hum of the unmerciful sign.

“Then let’s not,” she says. “At least for now. Who’s to tell us we cannot walk the same way?”

Turner nods. “That would be good,” he says.

“So…how much longer do you think we can go without knowing each other’s name?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Turner says, “but I think we’re about to see.”

~~~~

Frank Lee books on Amazon

Her ass was facing the window. It was heart-shaped with an exaggerated thickness. Her legs had the same, pneumatic shapeliness as they hunkered wide in her kneeling position on top of the bed. Ford was studying her reflection in the large, hotel window. Distant city lights flickered through the dark crease where her rimhole and slit would be if he turned around to face her. Then there was his own, naked reflection off to the side, his hand slowly moving up and down the rigid stalk of cockflesh in his fist.

“Mister? Can I move yet?”tumblr_lpb28crPpJ1qf5j72o1_400

May I.”

“‘Scuse me?”

May I move. Not can I. Of course you can. What you’re asking for is permission, not confirmation of your ability to do so.”

“Are you always this big an asshole, Mister?”

He turned back into the room. He’d been wrong. It was too dim to see the intimate details hidden in the shadowy cleft between her slightly parted cheeks. Her face and improbably large breasts were mashed against the mattress, but he couldn’t see them from this angle.

“Normally I’m just a medium asshole, but lets say you inspire me.”

“Lucky me.”

Ford chuckled. He crossed back to the bed and sat on the edge, cock still rippling in his grip. “Are you getting stiff?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Can you hang in there a little while longer?”

“You’re really gonna make me earn that thousand bucks, aren’t you?”

He let go of his cock and placed his hand on the inside of her thigh, stroking her softly as he lay his cheek against the warmth of one, broad ass cheek. He closed his eyes and inhaled as deeply as his body allowed. His senses bloomed with the manifold aromas of ass, pussy, thighs. Sweat and girl honey. Viscous fluid oozed from the bulbous tip of his cock.

“You’ve got the money. You’re free to go anytime you please. I didn’t ask you here to make you nervous or uncomfortable.

“I’m okay, I guess. A little scared, maybe, but not in a bad way.”

“That’s good. Then you may not move. Not yet.”

“Okay, Mister.”

He kissed her asshole briefly. Tenderly. The way a man first kisses the lips of a woman he knows he’s falling in love with but doesn’t know if she feels the same way. He touched her bare pussy at the same time. Her lips were thick and just beginning to grow damp.

Ford smiled to himself and lay down across the bed on his side, his face just a few inches from hers. Her cheek was pressed against the mattress and her dark hair was covering most of her face. He reached to brush the wild strands aside.

“Is there someone who calls you precious?” he asked.

“Not currently, sir, no.”

“That doesn’t seem right. But I like it. Very much. Tonight I’ll call you precious, if that’s acceptable.”

“For a thousand bucks you can call me Queen Victoria.”

He laughed a lot. She laughed a little. Then he stroked her face, studying its rounded lines and the chocolate eyes so full of curious suspicion.

“If I did that I’d lose my hard on,” he told her.

“Oh? You mean…?”

He gave her smile, then leaned in and kissed the exposed half of her mouth in the same, tender way he’d kissed her asshole a moment before. He sat up and knelt on his haunches in front of her face, letting his rigid cock bob and strut a few inches from her. He gripped his shank in his fist and slowly jacked himself.

“So obviously…um…yes. I’m hard. For you. The moment I saw you at the botanical center I nearly imploded. You were bursting out of those stupidly tight shorts and tank top. God, your fucking body. And that bright smile and mischievous eyes. I couldn’t just let you walk away without a word.”

“I thought you were a freak when you offered me the money for…this.”

“I am a freak, I suppose. But I promise to keep the worst of me in check.”

“If you say so. Um…are we gonna…? I mean, are you gonna…ya know? Do it?”

“Oh yes,” he sighed. He kept stroking his cock close enough to her face to feel the warmth of her breath on his flesh. He might’ve been happy just to kneel there and jack himself into oblivion while she merely breathed on his balls, but he kept thinking of the way she’d been leaning onto a fence rail when he’d spotted her. “But I want to feel your mouth on me. Not for the money. Only if you want to. Something separate from the deal.”

“Bring it closer, Mister.”

He shuffled forward and touched her lips with the head of his cock. Her tongue slithered out and lapped at the wet tip. Half her mouth was unavailable with her face pressed into the sheet, but the wet lash of her tongue resonated through his entire body. He made a sound half groan, half sigh.

“If you let me move I can suck it really good for you, Mister. I’m real good at it. I love doing it, too. I could….”

He cut her off with a swift, hard spank on her left ass cheek. She never saw it coming and made a muffled chirping sound when his hand landed.

“Just, please, lick me again like you did.”

“You gonna spank me like that again?”

“You know I will.”

“Harder?”

“That depends on you.”

“Okay, Mister. Bring me back that cock.”

Ford held his swollen prick in his left hand, pushing it back toward her mouth while he gently massaged the spanked place on her flank with his right. He stroked himself while her tongue lashed out again and lapped around his dome. It was about as much as she could manage from the position she was in, but it was enough just to feel her saliva touch him. Her breath.

He started to lose himself and smacked her ass again. Harder than before. Gripping his cock, he rubbed his shank over her face, feeling skin, hair and breath touch him like a revelation. He rained a few light, playful slaps with his cock against her face and smacked her ass hard again.

Her mouth was open, tongue out and flicking at the air. Taunting him. Egging him on to bring his dome back to her lips. He caved, and dragged his cock head back across her lips while her tongue flashed at every spot of rigid flesh she could reach. But after a few moments he backed off, afraid of losing his focus to end up indulging the crass luxury of jerking himself off into her mouth.

He leaned over and kissed the side of her face. “Do people tell you you’re beautiful?”

“Sometimes, I guess. A few have. ‘Course most of ’em had their dicks in my mouth at the time.”

His lips were still touching her face. “Well, I do not presently have my dick in your mouth, as much as I’d like to, and I can tell you the whole reason I looked at your ass a second time in the gardens today was because of your face. And maybe that’s why I wanted to spank you so bad, not just because your half naked ass was begging for it, but to admonish you for having an ass like that and a face like this at the same time. Do you understand what a rarity you are?”

“Now you’re just fucking with me. Get on with it if you’re gonna spank me. But enough of the talking like an asshole, okay? That wasn’t part of the bargain. Just the spanking stuff.”

He reared back where he could take in the upturned side of her face. His hand wove into her hair and closed into a fist, holding tight without pulling. Just letting her know he had her by the mane.

“Lets just clarify our arrangement,” he said. “You get to get up and walk out of here, keeping the money, anytime you feel the need to get the fuck away from an asshole like me. Who’d blame you, right? Otherwise, I’m gonna spank your big, delectable ass until I feel like I’ve gotten my thousand bucks’ worth. You’re going to tell me when it’s too hard or too soft, and you’re going to tell me if it’s too much and you need me to stop. And I’m gonna say what I fucking please, understand? I’ll fucking tell you what I think, while I’m thinking it, and if it pleases me to tell you I fucking love you like I love my own heartbeat then I fucking will. Deal?”

“Yeah, okay. I guess so. It’s your thousand bucks. You got a dirty mouth, Mister.”

“You have no idea, but I’m about to give you a hint.”

He let go of her hair and moved off, getting back onto his feet. Standing directly behind her, he cocked his arm back and swung it across her ass three times in a row. Stroking his aching cock with his left, he reached between her open thighs with the right, sliding along her satin-smooth skin until he was touching her pussy. She was much slicker than the first time he’d felt her. His fingers slipped over her lips, giving her a brief, grinding massage until his fingers were soaked with her froth.

He dragged slick fingers upward along her cleft until he was touching her rimhole. He smeared the tiny ring with her own juices, then leaned over and licked her thoroughly.

“Fuck, Mister. That’s dirty.”

“Are you referring to my mouth or your asshole?” he said, dragging more of her pussy nectar across her starbud. She started to say something but it choked off when he started licking her rim again, this time pushing a couple of his fingers into her sheath at the same time.

It wasn’t long before the girl was uttering whimpering groans and rocking her hips. Ford eventually backed away and stood upright again. He brought his open hand across each side of her ass several more times. Her skin was beginning to flush. There were tiny spots that glistened where the fingers he’d pulled from her pussy left smears of her juice. There were smears on her upper thighs as well, drawing his attention to her pussy.

“Precious,” he said, “Miss Blowjob Queen of whatever Podunk shithole you come from. He gave her half a dozen hard swats to each side. His hand was probably beginning to sting more than her ass. “Precious and beautiful.”

He stepped closer, gripping his cock and rubbing the head along the wet furrow of her slit. “I’m going to fuck you now, okay?”

“Fuck, yes, fuck.”

“And I’m going to keep spanking you while I pump your delectable body full of hard dick. Okay?”

“Just shut up and fuck me for chrissakes!”

“You’re an eager little slut, aren’t you?”

He started to push his cock into her pussy, grinding himself into the wet clench of a hole so tight it nearly felt like her body was trying to push him back out. She moaned and arched her spine inward, lifting her ass and pussy a little more.

“So fucking precious,” Ford groaned, finally pushing the full length of his cock into her hole. He held still, feeling the pulse of his own cock trapped within her broiling heat and smacked her ass on the right side.

“What’s your name?” He drew his cock backward, thrusting back inside again.

“M-M-Missy.”

“Fuck.”

Ford began pumping his cock in and out of Missy’s pussy with hard, steady lunges, putting his whole body into the motion. His hands flailed, spanks becoming spastic and irregular but with a force that grew along with the force of his cock thrusts.

Every time his hand connected with the girl’s ass her pussy clenched around his driving cock. He finally reached under her and started rubbing her clit while he fucked her. She rippled and shuddered all along her inner walls, clasping unmercifully at his cock until his whole body went rigid, lifting up on his toes while a freight train of sensation rushed through his extremities and he realized a jolting load of spunk was ripping through his cockshaft deep into Missy’s pussy.

He kept fucking her even after he was drained, gradually slowing, she gradually slowing along with him. He held her by the hips through the winding down. For a moment, it felt as if they were dancing.

When he finally disengaged himself from her pussy, he lay down beside her on the bed. She let her body stretch out and sighed heavily as she flexed out the stiffness. Then she turned onto her side. They were facing each other now. Ford shifted closer, wanting to feel her heavy breasts against his body. Then he touched her face.

“I meant that precious stuff,” he told her softly. “And the beautiful stuff.” He paused a moment. Her eyes looked glazed but she was tracking him. “And I want to kiss you. I mean really kiss you.”

“Is that part of the thousand bucks?”

“No.”

“Okay, then. Go on ahead.”

He pressed his lips to hers. They were supple and warm. Their mouths opened and their tongues met. It was deep yet lazy. There was a kind of extravagant luxury about her mouth that matched her entire body. He kissed her for a long time, eventually moving to kiss her face, her eyelids, her throat.

As soon as he could peel his lips away from her skin, he was going to ask her to stay the night. He knew she would be even more precious to him the next day. They could be walking through that huge, surreal city where they were both foreign visitors. They could buy some roast duck on the street. He would look at her in broad daylight and think of being inside her. He would think of her carrying his cum in her body everywhere they went. He would hear the sound his hand made striking her spectacular ass.

He would touch her like he owned her if she let him.

~~~~

Thank you so much for taking your time to read one of my stories. There are plenty more available free right here, but if you feel favorably inclined, I hope you’ll take a look at my offerings on Amazon as well.

51kIOYx-hOL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_Folk tales are universal, of course, and wherever they come from – whatever period – they feed us a helping of those things which most occupy and tease the restless human imagination: take your pick of the seven deadly sins. The eternal game of wits between devils and angels never seems to get old no matter how old the stories themselves become. At most, they’re simply reinvented from culture to culture and generation to generation. But the stories in Cautionary Tales aren’t centuries old folk tales. Emmanuelle de Maupassant merely seduces you into believing they are.

Her writing has poise and elegance by the truckload, and with Cautionary Tales, she strikes a tone that drives the stories as if they were contemporary renderings of tales out of some antique oral tradition. Taking a surprisingly fresh approach, she has superimposed scenarios of her own invention over East European traditions and superstitions. She has created a new and original mythology of demons and village maidens that feels immediately familiar, but sets them loose in narratives that are fresh and engaging.

As a writer firmly rooted in the deeper regions of erotic tradition, the sensual nature of these stories is palpable, even at its more terse and implicit moments. These tales follow no formula but their own, just as any well-told story should. Cautionary Tales is a beautifully ambitious undertaking, and Emmanuelle de Maupassant’s entire concept and execution are a refreshing surprise in the kind of story collection that only comes along once in a very great while.