Wednesday, December 24, 2014

A Christmas Wish

This story originally printed to Literotica before I had a website, before I'd taken any photographs that would be classified as erotic, and before I published anything before.  It's amazing how people evolve, transform, and grow...

Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays...

A Christmas Wish

The night started out like so many others. Tyce and I had talked about for weeks, but it still ended up the same way. Our counselor said we needed to schedule more time together alone, without the kids, for 'us time'. Obviously he didn't know what it meant to trade stellar earnings reports with three governments and sixteen bloodthirsty shareholders. The time he spent juggling political hand grenades made our lives financially comfortable, but it felt damned lonely watching Tyce walk out of our life at a moment's notice. And yes, I was a smidgen more than bitter about it. 

But this Christmas was going to be different. We'd made arrangements. The calls were going to be handled; the meetings were scheduled to be attended by Tyce's CFO. The world wasn't going to burn down around our ears for one night without him. For my part I arranged for our precious cherubs to be corrupted by the finest grandmother this side of Alpha-Centauri. They were already amped on gingerbread and hot chocolate, staying up so late it was nearly morning. I was getting regular texts that detailed the arrangements they'd made until finally I got a picture of them asleep on the couch where they'd waited for the sound of reindeer on the roof. They were also on the other side of the planet. Close enough to get to them in a few hours in an emergency, but not so close as to come home when one of them stole the other's last marshmallow.

Our plan was as simple as it was romantic. Candles were lit everywhere, the dinner was catered from the restaurant where Tyce proposed to me. We had our wedding china set for two, the music was via live-stream of the Philharmonic where we first dated and then attended religiously every Christmas until we moved out to Theta. I spent the afternoon getting ready, while he did the same. We avoided each other as if warding off a prenuptial curse. It was sweet, thinking back on it now.

I had my long dark hair styled and flocked with a gold and silver shimmer. The way it was pulled up left my neck open for Tyce to kiss while the few stray wisps of my bangs framed my face like a portrait of seduction. My makeup was a maddening application of almost nothing. I used the thinnest coat of eyeliner, a hint of mascara, a breath of blush. It was the best job I'd done in years. I had bought a strapless black dress that hugged my chest and hips, but then flowed like water down to my toes. It felt like satin on my skin, and the bra and panties were a lace pattern as smooth as the dress itself. I wore blue diamonds in my ears and around my neck; the same ones I wore at our wedding. My fingernails and toes were kept natural, but I had them buffed and they reflected the candle flames like mirrors. The thin strapped heels added a delicious three inches that made me exactly the same height as Tyce.

He chose to wear a very elegant-looking tuxedo. The jacket was an impressive cut that showed off his chest. It tapered down to his waist matched seamlessly to the waist. When I first saw him I thought he looked so relaxed. Even polished to the nines he looked like he was born to dress elegantly every day of his life. His black hair was also perfectly tousled, and every grey hair he had gleamed like tinsel. He wore the watch I'd given him on our first anniversary, too. It wouldn't pay for even a single cufflink that he had on now, but he'd still had it polished up and it was great to see it on his wrist again. I also wondered how long he'd been waiting for me by the bay windows that overlooked the dark skyline. The way the distant planets glowed behind him was breathtaking.

I saw the ghost of my reflection in the glass as I walked up to him and took the flute he offered. The orchestra started to play softly in the background, right on cue. He turned his head toward the speakers and smiled. My god how his eyes lit up with the memory of what we heard. It's funny how a sound can take you back in time faster than any machine. He took my hand and led me closer to the fireplace as we talked for a while. We went back and forth about the songs, about the food waiting for us on the table, but we weren't in any hurry. It was the most relaxing half-hour we'd had alone in a long time.

When I went to refill our glasses I brought the remote control I'd set aside back with me. I'd been working on the design of our Christmas tree for weeks, placing ornaments and lights. I spent countless hours uploading images, spacing the branches and making sure none of them would bleed into the light from the fireplace. I held out the control and his glass, then stepped back from him and let him do the honors. The wide open space in front of the fireplace suddenly erupted with light and the reflected glitter and glow from more than a thousand ornaments. The virtual tree was fifteen feet tall, and the wide base stretched from the hearth to my knees. His mouth actually hung open for a moment before he stood up and stared from tip to base before looking at me. 

"Jorna, you made this?"

"Every single needle and bulb. Let me show you." I took his hand and pulled him into the center of the tree and held him close. "You see the ball near the top? It has our wedding picture engraved in the ice." I said pointing above our heads through the cluster of virtual lights and branches. "And over there is Xavier, and there's Belle over there."

He looked over the tree with the same look I'd seen in the eyes of our son, Xavier, when he looked over a new video game. His eyes moved constantly, trying to take everything in at once. "This is amazing, Jorna. I love the snowflakes, and the icicles are radiant." He turned around to the fireplace and knelt down. "They look beautiful against the fireplace, too."

I felt myself blush and covered it by taking another sip of champagne. We held hands and drifted slowly to the table. We sat with our eyes torn between the planets, the tree, and each other. It felt like the perfect Christmas Eve. We talked for a few hours, about nothing and everything in bursts as we ate. The more we spoke, the more words rushed out of us. We were rediscovering each other again. He was charming, detailed, and so damned sexy when he spoke about his dreams. He made them seem tangible, like I could reach out and take them in my hands if I wanted to. And he listened to me; he soaked up every sound I made and kept thirsting for more.

And then the most incredible thing happened: the power went out. We were plunged into darkness and silence, and then a distant 'wump' from an explosion ricocheted off of the steel canyon walls of the city beneath us. Everything rattled in the darkness. We stood and looked out over the rooftops, waiting. Then both of our phones rang. Tyce had left his in the kitchen and I toward our bedroom. The public safety message was vague, but it tried to assure me that everything was being done to restore vital systems as fast and safely as possible. The way that it didn't expressly say that it wasn't a stellar attack was a bit ominous, but when I carried my phone back to the living room windows I could see the clear starfield above us.

When the announcement started to repeat, I turned it off and sent a quick message cross-world just to check in on the holiday revelers. The minute and a half holding my phone in the dark felt eternal. The reply confirmed that whatever was happening was isolated to our own little corner of existence. I could hear Tyce in the kitchen, and it sounded like a volcano was about to erupt. There was an edge to his voice that he gets when he's becoming focused on something. Like an eagle searching for prey. If they had any sense, whoever was on the other end of the phone would have been looking for a good place to hide. 

Regardless, I could also hear the writing on the wall. It was the sounds of the world encroaching in on us. It was also gratifying in a way: that an explosion was needed to break down our walls. Within a minute he'd be moving toward his office down the hall. The dynamo generators would fire up and the meetings would start. And, as if reading my mind, the kitchen door opened. The scowl etched across his face in the light of his phone told me everything I needed to know. His eyes hung onto mine for an instant longer than they usually did and he looked out the windows toward the horizon for just a moment before glancing at me again. I smiled despite myself and nodded toward his office. He straightened up and turned down the hall. I turned to stare out the window for a minute longer, and then drained my flute. I could hear the hum of the generators starting as I picked up the bottle and carried it to the couch.

The fireplace was still warm, even though the fire had died out. The gas lies were still intact, but the dark hearth had something to do with the ventilation system. I made a quick couple of texts on my phone and by the time I was done, the backup systems of the building were online. The air system came back on, and with the press of a button, the fireplace glowed brightly again. I watched the flames for a moment, and then turned the tree back on. I slipped out of my heels and pulled my feet up under me on the couch. I slipped a few code changes into the tree's interface and the whole thing started to slowly rotate. I had planned to show it to Tyce in the morning, but it seemed like a shame to waste it now.

The more that I drank from the bottle the more I felt like I wanted to hate what had happened to us, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't make the desire outweigh the warm bubbly glow I felt from the champagne. I'd never thought of myself as an angry drunk, more...flirtatious. And I could certainly feel the warmth radiating from the fireplace now. I thought about turning down the thermostat, but the light from the flames dancing in time with the glow of the tree was too beautiful to interrupt. With the bottle empty, I leaned back against the soft cushions and felt my eyes get heavy. 

I think I must have drifted off for a moment, because I suddenly felt a warm sensation press against the side of my face. It lingered for a moment and then slowly slid down my neck to my collarbone. I opened my eyes slowly, still feeling that full-body warmth that the champagne had filled me with. I could see the tree shimmering and suddenly smelled pine. It was deep woodland pine like the kind in the richest forests back on earth. It smelled timeless and powerful. The more I stared at the tree, the stronger the smell became. I felt another warm sensation on my other cheek and it too lingered for a moment before dropping to my neck and settling against my collarbone. The feeling faded and the smell of the forest was slowly joined by gingerbread, baking apples, and nutmeg. It was as if every scent of Christmas was filling my lungs. It created a heady sensation thicker than anything you could possibly pour into a glass.

Warmth spread from my forehead to my cheeks and then moved down to my neck again. It caressed me, and then changed direction and moved to the back of my neck. I felt it seep into my muscles, moving in slow circles against my spine and then it moved out toward my shoulders and upper back. I lowered my head and closed my eyes. I'd never enjoyed a sensation like it before. The warmth moved back and forth for what must have been half an hour or longer while my mind drifted on the scents in the air. I breathed deep, deeper, and then I noticed something new, a smell closer to the fireplace, like the wood from a hearth on Christmas morning. It was the perfect addition that made everything else complete.

The warmth at my neck spread out to my shoulders again, but instead of returning to my spine, it started to spread down over the top of my shoulders and drift over my arms. It moved just as slowly as before, as if time was inconsequential. It lingered and seeped into my muscles making me fall deeper into the trance I enjoyed. I remembered moaning lightly, but like on the edge of dream where I didn't know If I'd actually done it or not. Further down my arms and back up, lower down my arms, and then back to my shoulders. The feeling drifted down my back and stopped at the edge of my dress and pooled over the zipper in the back. The warmth hesitated there and I arched my back just enough to open a space. I felt the fabric shift as I moved and then I stretched it tight and the zipper parted a fraction. It was all it took. The warmth seeped down over my back and as I pressed against the couch cushions the zipper parted even further. The more skin that I exposed the more that delicious warmth touched me. The more I enjoyed it, the stronger the scents filling the room became.

When the zipper finally stopped at my waist, I could feel the movement spread over my exposed back. It went from my spine out to my shoulders, down over the clasp of my bra and then to the edge of the dress at my waist. The heat of the fireplace felt so good against my face that I reached up and pulled the front of my dress down. Instantly the warmth coiled around me in its arms. The sensation moved from my back to the tops of my breasts and it cooled over the lace of my bra, but heated up deliciously again as it reached my stomach. I remember letting myself sink into the feeling, but it wasn't long before I wanted more. I leaned forward where I was sitting on the couch and shifted until I was able to bring my legs out of the dress. I stretched out on top of it and the feeling of rapture against my skin traced over every part of me. It wasn't just one sensation anymore, either. I felt the warmth multiply. Heat against my shoulder rubbed slowly into my muscles while another gentle pressure kneaded my calves. I felt it against my arms and my hips, too. Cooler sensations worked at the lace, as if tracing the pattern with the faintest of winter kisses. I lifted myself up so that I was sitting on my knees again and I could see a dozen small versions of myself in the distorted reflections of the ornaments on the tree. I looked so wanton, yet peaceful, so innocent, and so damned sexy. I suddenly felt like a winter goddess.

A wicked idea crossed my mind and I stared at my revolving reflections as I reached back to unhook my bra. The lace clung to my nipples but the warmth encircling me moved toward my chest. I watched as the cloth fell from my shoulders into my lap. I felt heat reach into my breasts and I closed my eyes as I felt it lift them, savoring the feel of me as much as I savored it. My nipples hardened, and the heat multiplied again. My knees parted and I felt the same winter breath flutter down over my abdomen and trace the pattern covering my labia. Heat swallowed over me. It saturated my neck, shoulders, back, breasts, thighs, calves, stomach, nipples, and pressed greedily against the wetness growing hotter between my legs. I remember leaning back and feeling the roaming moments of heat circle me. I lifted my hips and hooked my thumbs into my waistband. I hesitated, but only because I wanted to savor the feeling of my panties leaving my clitoris. I clung to them so faintly, but it was enough to send a chill through me that only fed the warmth surrounding me. 

The moment the panties left my ankles the sensations swarming around me intensified. I gasped as the hint of winter's breath traced a lazy pattern across my labia. It circled my clitoris even as the heat massaged my upper thighs. Heat teased my nipples, it startled my body with a cool touch that lasted just long enough to make me start panting for more. I arched my back and the warmth responded. I opened my legs and the cool breath responded. I reached down to touch my own wetness and the heat multiplied again. I felt enveloped, wrapped completely, and the feelings coursing over my skin were incredible. I felt like I had a hundred hands caressing me so tenderly, with just enough pressure that I had to have more.

I heard the crackling of logs on a fire and the smell of the hearth grew more intense. The heat intensified to match it. I moaned again as my fingers found my clitoris and began a slow circular motion that seemed to stir the winter breath as it kept time to my ministrations. I used my other hand to slip a finger inside me and the cool breath followed. I caught a glimpse of me spread open in the ornaments of the tree and I smiled at myself. I thought I heard an ornament clink as it rotated, and then the sound of crackling wood filled my ears again. I felt my finger slip inside me deeper and I curled into myself. I moaned deeply and turned onto my stomach. I lifted my hips up but turned my head so that I could keep an eye on myself in the cascading reflections. My thoughts were filled with visions of the deep woods again, and I could feel myself being lost to a fantasy I'd never had before. 

I imagined the sound of sleigh bells and the scent of the woods that gave way to the musk of reindeer. I added another finger to myself and felt a constant throb of the winter breath as it tried to fill me. I was pushing in time with it, rocking my hips to meet myself. Heat suddenly swelled against my ass where I imagined a welt from a strap. My nipples felt pinched beneath me and I ground down even harder against them. The reins of a sleigh filled my mind, and I envisioned being tied, spread open as I waited for anything. I pressed my thighs apart painfully and added a third finger to myself. The coolness was pushed out and it felt like it separated around my fingers. I felt it tickle my ass and collect against my clit. I pumped into myself and bit back a scream as I came. I almost choked from the effort, but I didn't want the feeling to stop. As my fingers retreated, that coldness rushed into me. I felt it from my lips to my core, deeper than anything I'd ever felt. I felt myself rocking back and forth, swaying my hips against nothing like a lover who was taking me deeply from behind. I pushed myself up on my hands and knees and lowered my head as my nipples were pinched again. I could smell everything of Christmas, I could even feel it coming. I let it take me wherever it wanted.

I pulled my arms tightly to my sides and imagined being bound by a massive black belt. I could almost feel the coldness of the buckle against my back. Between gasps I could just make out the scent of the leather. I felt another rush of heat against the cheeks of my ass and it was like a silent strike that lingered with every crack of a sleigh whip. I could feel a pattern of welts rising. At the same time the feeling pressing steadily between my labia was relentless and agonizingly beautiful. I felt another rush of heat on my ass, and then on my breasts. It became o blur of sensations before a rush of wickedly intense cold filled me. It was like an ice cube had slipped inside me and pooled against my cervix. My muscles clamped down on it in a spasm that almost turned into a cramp that could have crippled me but it didn't. It warmed just enough to keep me on edge and almost instantly I gasped as an orgasm wracked through me. 

I panted against the couch trying to catch my breath and I imagined another belt strap and how it would feel wrapped around my thighs. I thought about how it would feel to be bound so I couldn't let the coldness penetrating me slip out. I knew what was coming next and I pressed my forehead against the couch while I waited. Heat rushed against my thighs, my calves, and my ass. It coated me in warmth, again and again, slowly melting the cold and making my hips sway. When I felt the breath of winter against the edge of my ass, I was ready. I turned my head and caught a glimpse of myself. In my imagination my body was bound, arms folded at the elbow and tight to my sides, legs strapped together with my hips up in the air. The cold entered me. I felt a rush of heat everywhere but in my ass as it slipped into me just as fully as it was between the lips of my vagina. I groaned, begging without words, thrusting back against the empty air as heat surged through my clitoris and burned against my nipples. My orgasms suddenly started to come in waves. One peaked after another, from my chest to my core, from my ass to my clitoris, then back to my nipples. I became lost, bucking against myself until I felt another jet of ice pierce me. The shock of it made me choke on my breath and I felt locked, frozen in my final orgasm, waiting to see if I would ever breathe again. 

When I finally stole a breath, I slowly leaned forward and felt my imaginary bonds loosen. I stretched my arms and separated my thighs. I turned onto my back and looked up at the tree, watching the lights move in a lazy pattern against the ceiling. I felt the gentle warmth touching me again, but I could tell it was fading. It kept its touch on me for every moment it could, lingering against my skin. After a while the smells of Christmas faded too, but slower than the warmth against my neck. First it was the nutmeg and the leather, then the pine forests and the apples. 

After it was all but gone I glanced down at the far end of the couch. Against the arm and mostly hidden from view was a hint of color that I hadn't noticed before. I crawled over to it and pulled out a gilded package that had a note from Tyce to me. I smiled and opened the present. Inside was a white blanket so soft it could have been the down of an angel. He'd always promised me a white Christmas, and it seemed he had found a way to deliver one. I pulled it over me on the couch and watched the tree turn. My eyes fluttered and my head was slipping into sleep. I was thinking back on everything, trying to savor the feeling when I saw a hint of soot at the base of the hearth. In the twinkling light, it almost looked like a boot.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Endless Possibilities.

Time is such a fleeting, irrepressible thing.  Savored, squandered, bent, calculated, ignored...

And then suddenly there isn't any of it left...

So I've been absent for a little while, it happens.  I've been building creating, crafting, taking photographs, writing, publishing, and yes, there will be a relaunch of the Auralism podcast.  The will has always been here, but there aren't enough hours in the day sometimes...Two new e-books, a flood of new photography, and a boundless determination to build an Octavian Earth...

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Three Nickles

Three Nickles
A. Octavia

Every story has a beginning.  Sometimes the chapters get saved to the wrong file or are corrupted by a data recovery error--Heaven forbid they were written in an actual book.  That's the highest state of permanence-- physical media, but even books get coffee spilled on them, or left out in the rain until the ink blurs...or burned out of spite.  This is one of those stories-- one that started long before I came along.  I'm not up on all the details of what happened before me, and personally, the past isn't all that important anyway. It mattered to Jarell, though.

Jarell died from some kind of heart embolism--a bit of a shock to everyone, especially him.  There were headlines and banner ads plastered on the breadth of buildings, buses, even park benches for fuck's sake.  The hodge-podge of memorials was just as outrageous, but so was Jarell's life.  Charitable foundations were erected before the news reports got bored and started courting the conspiracy theory crowds, and the whole media pot of gumbo erupted like a kid hopped up on Mountain Dew and Mentos.

I don't really think it was Jarell's death that caused so much chaos as his life leading up to it.  He was born a nobody in a suburb outside of Morrison long before he ended up a star of a sitcom.  The locals cared more about alligators and okra than television and star charts.  In the end, though, Jarell had more money than God, and a healthy appetite for decadence.
On his twenty-first birthday, a media frenzy broke out on Sirrus; there were courtesans, Congiac, and enough candy to fill a rehab clinic for a year.  He single-handedly started an off-world Mardi Gras tradition, planting himself at the front of the parade, and crowning himself Saint Expidite before a rougarou made of a dozen costumed dancers burst into the square and pretended to devour him.  The whole scene made Chinese dragons dancing in the streets at Bok Kai look dull by comparison.
Rumors of his hedonistic lifestyle were legendary.  His grace during interviews was equally impressive.  Cameras loved him, and Jarell had an instinct for where and when to move for the lens.  His skin was always a perfect shade of midnight, and his eyes glowed like sapphires in moonlight.  No one in three star-systems didn't recognize his face.  He was a heady mix for anyone.

So, where do I come into this?  Two-thirty seven in the damn morning, that's where, and on a night I actually managed to sleep like a normal human being for once.  I tuned out the world and succeeded in crawling into bed before midnight.  It took me less than a minute for my thighs to clench around my vibrating wand and cum like a freight train.  I choked out a month's worth of celibacy through a long growl while my clit buzzed.  It was fucking awesome.

Let me be really clear on this: I didn't know Jarrel before he died.  He was just a face that existed in my periphery, like ads for car insurance.  Even so, I felt shockwaves rip through the ether the moment Jarell's mistress found him sprawled out on his bathroom floor.  I was nipple-deep in a wet dream at the time, so I just assumed the jolts were aftershocks of a welcome, sleep-induced orgasm.  In the farthest edge of my being, I began to hear whispers... and within heartbeats, my phone rang.

Now, before you go getting any ideas: no, I didn't just jump up and go running like some star-obsessed fan.  In fact, the last thing I wanted to do was play afterlife crossing guard and sit over his body.  The idea of carting my sleep-deprived Chi up to the Crescent just to mark out a cleansing ritual made my aura hurt.  It was almost Fat Tuesday again, and the press and frenzied fans were going to be completely out of control.  On the other hand, missing a rent payment, and the resulting apartment hunt didn't sound like a lot of fun yeah, in the end, I answered my phone. 
It took a few tries to turn on the bedside lamp, and I'm sure I mumbled incoherently while my hand flopped around looking for a pen.  I scribbled down the address on a Starbucks napkin-- I didn't even use the back, if that tells you where my head was.  When I hung up, I stared at it for a full minute.  The word 'fucked' came to mind.  Loudly.
785 Hartman Drive was up near the heart of the Crescent.  Now, I avoided the gossip rags like a plague of rats, but I'm not oblivious to them.  After all, they're right there in the check-out aisles at the supermarket.  Every rag-tag celebrity headline over the last year was birthed on Hartman Drive.  I sighed at the thought of dipping my toes in that puddle of quicksilver.  Then I thought about getting out of bed and sighed again.  A migraine started coiling in the back of my eyelids, and it throbbed in time to my heartbeat.

The Crescent floated above Prax like a Cheshire cat's grin: a big, white, tooth-laden smile that always looked poised to swallow us whole.  Cars floated up and down like shooting stars in the distance, defying space-time by crossing the threshold in three blinks of an eye.  I took the bus and tried not to look anyone in the eye.

The bus was an automated job-- one of the city's late-night fiscal cures to any overly caring drivers who were too sympathetic on riders down on their luck, broke, or both.  I swiped my rider card and once the doors scissored open, I took a seat halfway up the empty aisle and watched the streetlights gather speed before turning into streaks of light.  I rubbed my eyes and tried to ignore the two translucent orbs hovering over my shoulder.
That's the real problem with having a gift: even when you're alone, you're never really alone.  There's always something hovering-- a lost soul, a loop, a desperate plea for attention.  The more dense the population, the more crowded the graveyards, the longer the history, the harder it was to find a moment of peace.  There were times I wished I could just turn it off, such as when I was horny and couldn't get a room full of spirits to leave me the hell alone...

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't all bad.  There were rare times I felt like I made a difference.  My own little splash on the canvas of the universe.  Twice, I was able to pass messages-- a sense of peace-- to families ripped apart at the seams when someone turned down the wrong street one night.  That was the best feeling in the world.  There were other times too-- just enough, in fact, to keep me from joining them.

I walked from the bus stop on Sycamore near the Cresent depot and kept my distance from the crowds migrating in flocks between the ridiculously overpriced bars.  I walked the fifteen blocks to Jarrel's estate, and it amazed me how fast the street crowds thinned.  By the time I closed in on Hartman Drive, it was like walking through an echo chamber of gleaming white walls stretching thirty feet high.  The architecture shifted from segmented stucco to glossy marble, off-white pillars dotted with clear panels, to picture windows.  Each estate was a glimpse into worlds forever out of reach.  It should have been impressive, but every time I looked up, I saw the real world, ready to be eaten.  I was walking along the gum line of a row of teeth-- not the canines, but the molars tucked in the back where no one looked.
The house was up on a rise with a sweeping lawn.  Looking back, I don't know what I expected, but I know for a fact that empty sidewalks weren't anywhere on my list.  I looked between the gaps in the wrought iron and thought it wasn't too late to turn around and go back to bed.  It was barely four in the morning, and I was the only living soul in sight-- then the gate swung open.  The motor hummed louder at me than I thought it should have, and it ended up drowning out whatever a woman said over the intercom next to the latch.

"Sorry, I couldn't hear you over the gate-- what?"  Nothing.  I sighed and started up the driveway while fully expecting a pack of hounds to come rushing around the front porch.  It wouldn't have been the first time.  The gate closed behind me as I climbed the grand staircase leading to the front door.  I usually waited for a few breaths to try and clear my senses before going into a new place.  Jarell's estate needed more, a lot more.  Something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
Out of the silence, I heard a flurry of hushed voices talking over each other, but I couldn't tell if they were alive or dead.  It turned out to be a little of both.  When the door opened, I swear my jaw dropped at the woman who met me.  She was stunning-- as tall as I was, dark-skinned, twice my age, and had long thin braids tied back in a ponytail.  I was instantly infatuated.  She told her name was Ezra and smelled like lilacs.  Lilacs aren't even a flower I can recognize, but the scent hit my senses like a truck, and it wouldn't stop dragging me along after it.  Ezra's aura oozed enough Missisippi voodoo to make my head spin.  Suddenly, Jarell's life seemed to make sense to me.

Ezra smiled and said good morning.  That's all it took for warning bells to start pounding in my head.  It wasn't her words, but the way her voice dripped like bayou honey that dragged itself slowly down my body.  It pooled between my lips, and I felt my thighs clenching to hold onto it.

She looked me over from head to toe, and I wondered what she saw.  Did I contrast?  I hadn't seen a full day of sun in months, so I was paler than usual, but I made up for it with plunging necklines and icy-blue stares.  My dirty blonde ponytail didn't exactly scream 'vixen', but I absolutely killed at cyber cafe chic.  Ezra smiled again as she turned to lead me deeper into the house.  I felt my back arch a tiny bit, and it pushed my chest out a little further. When I caught myself, I rolled my eyes and cursed my raging hormones.  Fuck, I was easy sometimes.
We passed rooms filled with delicate artifacts from all across the galaxy.  It felt lifeless, though, as if the rooms were nothing more than cold storage.  I could tell by the way Ezra moved that physical wealth was meaningless to her.  There were trinkets and toys from every corner of the system-- priceless heirlooms, antiques, artwork, sculptures... --, but I didn't see any signs of life.  The rooms were well-lit, but dark, with a museum-like feeling of immortality.  No one invested any time in any them, not even Jarell.  Auras always leave traces, like fingerprints, but the place was wiped clean.  I saw traces of his energy when we passed the kitchen, but even those were fleeting.
I heard whispers echo up the halls toward us, and Ezra tilted her head.  My God, I wanted her so bad at that moment.  The way the dim light glinted off her skin was mesmerizing.  I was like a zombie following a queen.  We wound our way up the main staircase, and my eyes drifted down Ezra's back only to become fixed to the rocking of her hips.  I saw the faint line of her lace-trimmed panties.  The pattern hugged her skin, and I strained to follow the line until it disappeared into the arch of her ass.  I blinked, cursed at myself again, and tried to regain my focus as we reached the second floor.  I heard voices again coming from the master bedroom at the far end of the hall, but they faded in and out like a badly tuned radio.  Ezra didn't knock before leading me inside.

I wish my first impression of Jarell laying in state was something dramatic or life-altering.  I would have settled for memorable, but it wasn't.  A simple white shroud lay over his body that looked like a fine-sieve silk cheesecloth.  The bed itself looked like it cost more than my apartment building.  A bedside lamp glowed softly while we waited for dawn to break.  The scene was way too dramatic for my taste and I reached for the lightswitch on the wall, and I saw Ezra stiffen.  "You may not want to do that..."

I tilted my head to the side and flicked the switch.  Yeah, I really did.  I felt my astral fur bristle-- how the Hell would she know what I wanted-- and suddenly the overhead lamps flushed with light, joined by a few wall lamps around the room. The bedchamber was palacial.  The bed took up a fraction of the space, and Jarell's extended family filled in the rest.  My breath caught in my throat.  There were more than a hundred faces staring back at me.  I could literally see through five generations of his ancestors between me and the paintings on the far wall.  I switched the light off again.
I swallowed the lump in my throat before I trusted myself to speak.  "Is that...  I mean, are they...?"

"They're why I called you, Child.  Jarell is lost and needs a voice to guide him."

I shifted on my feet and tried to shake the chill threatening to creep into my shoulders.  "Can't you?  I mean, obviously you're-- " I started, and Ezra laughed a little.

"Once he crosses over, I can show him the way.  For all my power, Child, I can't reach through."

"Reach through... wait a minute, are you telling me he's not dead?"  I glanced at the bed and watched the shroud closely.  Nothing moved.

"Oh, he's dead, Child.  But he's between worlds," Ezra said.  Her voice was lace with a Cajun drawl, and my ears starved for more.  "He needs a voice to guide him to a place I can reach him.  Can you do it?"

I glanced around the room, at the darkness, and felt the empty stares looking back at me.  I didn't see how I really had a choice.  "Of course.  I mean, I can try..."

Ezra closed the distance between us, and I felt my thighs clench again.  She lazily reached out a hand and stroked my cheek with the back of her fingers.  "If you can bring Jarell home to me, Child..."
She didn't say anything else, but I felt the promise in her touch.  It was the hottest and most electric feeling I'd had touch my skin in a long time.  It was so damn intense that I felt my knees buckle a little.  I should have felt embarrassed, but the sensation got lost somewhere on the way to my brain.  Looking back, I still can't believe how completely trapped my body felt in that instant.  I didn't even care that the darkness stared back at me from a hundred different points in time.  All that mattered was Ezra's touch.  God, if I could only bottle that feeling...

I shivered and blinked back to my senses as Ezra backed away.  She had this demure look on her face, like she felt the same way before the shadows overtook her.  I wiped the lingering scent of lilac off my face while I glanced around for a chair.  I found one by the desk in the corner, and I tried not to think about how many people I dragged it through toward the side of the bed.  When I sat down, I felt the energy in the darkness press in a little closer.  Lights or not, I could tell everyone was leaning in closer to watch me.  It felt oppressive.  I tried to ignore them and concentrate, but every time I started to trance, it was shattered by someone encroaching.  I felt my teeth clench.  "Look," I snapped, "Back up.  Now."

I glared at the darkness until I had enough room to breathe, then closed my eyes again and stared straight ahead.  I concentrated and took a few deep, slow breaths.  I blanked my mind, creating static between my ears, and opened myself up like a flower at dawn.  
I felt something stir at the edge of my senses, like a soft breath in my ear. In a rush of color and sound, I plunged through a rabbit hole into sensory overload.  Thoughts and feelings twisted and wound through a corkscrew that almost knocked me out of the chair.  I heard husky voices, panting, and soft moans that collided with images of Jarell in a frenzy of lust.  The visions swam in bits and pieces, and I strained to latch onto one of them.  When I felt it solidify, I held tight and let it drag me through the vortex.  The connection was hot, nearly searing my palms, but I refused to let go.  In the process,  I got a full tour of Jarell's complete sexual history.

His first kiss was in a locker room in high school with a friend who told him he was gay.  Jarell's first blowjob was in the back of a car outside a restaurant a week later.  Jarell even swallowed.  His first girlfriend would only let him have anal sex because she was terrified of pregnancy.  He masturbated constantly, had a thousand girlfriends since his first, and the rest of his sexual life was a blur of first-person homemade porn movies.  I took in as much as I could, but even I had limits...

I tightened my grip and imagined my feet started weighing heavier and heavier.  The strain on my grip threatened to break loose, but I refused to let go.  I anchored him, and finally the kaleidoscope of naked men and women slowed to a crawl, and I saw his bedroom reappear.  It was sunny in his memory, and Jarell was lying in the same bed he was in now. His head was between a woman's spread thighs while his body stretched out along the bed behind him.  Another man knelt at the edge of the bed so he could work Jarell's shaft in and out of his mouth.  The man's fist pumped Jarell's thick cock, trying to milk him.  I took in the sight, the sounds, and the raw feeling of the three of them groaning together.  I couldn't tell if it was a memory of Jarell's, or just a fantasy.  I didn't recognize the man and woman, but their wedding rings looked like an expensive set.
I waited for him to notice me, and considering the scene, I probably shouldn't have.  When he looked up, I felt my clothes instantly vaporize.  What shocked me wasn't so much that he wanted to see me naked, but that he stripped me so effortlessly.  Thinking back, I guess I was more than a touch flattered.  I glared at him, though.  I'd seen enough of him to know I wasn't anything special in the grand scheme.  I focused on a bathrobe to wrap myself in.  A granny version with ugly stripes that buttoned from my ankles to my neck.  I folded my arms across my chest to hide my stiffening nipples as much as look severe. "Jarell, we need to talk."

The woman moaned as his fingers entered her.  His hips lifted toward the man's greedy mouth.  Jarell's eyes glazed over, and he looked at me like I was some kind of shimmering mirage.  I sighed.  At least, I think I did.  He looked amazing, but I didn't have time to fawn over him like some groupie.  I might have muttered something completely unladylike when I stood up and crossed the gap between us.  In fact, I'm relatively sure of it.  I kicked at the man fellating Jarrel and slapped the woman.  Both of them turned into a silver cloud of dust that vanished in seconds.  Jarell's mouth fell open, and he started to protest, but I slapped him across the face before he found his voice.

"I said we need to talk."

"Okay, how about we start with what the fuck is going on," he said as he rubbed the sting out of his cheek.  His cock still throbbed in time to his heartbeat, and I did my best to ignore it.

"Ezra asked me to come talk to you.  To guide you across..."  His eyes lit up at the sound of her name.  "Shit, you don't even know, do you?"

"She asked you to come?"  His eyes darted back and forth, and his breathing quickened.  "How is she?"

"Beautiful--"  I caught myself; this wasn't going the way I wanted it to.  I felt like I was standing on a beach of shifting sand.  "Look, I know this may come as a bit of a shock to you--"

"Is she here?  With you, I mean?"  He tried to look past me toward the hallway.

"What?  No, I mean, yes-- "

"Where?" he asked, looking around, even over his shoulder.

"Jarrel, look-- "

He bolted for the door to his bedroom, and I barely had time to mirror the doorway so that it looped back into the room.  "Jarrel, you're dead!"

He froze with his hand on the door handle.  Shock played out across his face, and he instantly stopped breathing.  His body slowly relaxed, and he straightened up like until he looked like a department store mannequin.  He swallowed and blinked, because some things you just can't control no matter how hard you try.


"I don't know.  It happened a few hours ago."  The room got colder, and I was grateful for the mental clothing.

"Did it hurt?"

"I don't think so, no."

He walked around me and sat on the bed.  He was still naked, but thankfully his arousal, while still distracting, wasn't as obvious.  I pulled the chair back up and sat across from him, close enough to take his hands in mine.  "Look, I know you probably have a lot of questions I can't answer, and I wish I could, but this place isn't for you.  It isn't for anyone..."

His eyes teared up for a second, but he blinked them back.  "So she asked you to come?"  I smiled, but it faded when his eyes turned cold.  "Ten years, and she chooses now?"

He tightened his grip on my hands, and I pulled them back before they locked on my wrists.  He tried to grab at me again, but I shot to my feet and jumped back.  I willed the bathrobe to shift back into my regular clothes.  It wasn't exactly a suit of armor, but it was comfortable.  I needed that.  Jarell's eyes blazed for an instant, an amber glow that took its time fading.  "Okay, obviously there's some history between you two..."

"Trust me, you have no idea.  She's all 'dead moon's and don' cha' feel, Chil'," Jarrel said, but in such a thick bayou accent no amount of method acting could duplicate.  A dawining realization washed over me.  Jarrel had his mother's eyes-- the same intoxicating line of her jaw, and the same intensity of her stare.  "To me, tho', Chil'," he said, sneering out the word, "it's all c'est le congo, and it don' mean a damn thing..."

He sprang toward me, but I held my ground.  His spirit slammed into me like a gust of wind, and I clenched my teeth.  He screamed as his soul was deflected.  His spirit felt hot and fierce, but primal, moving purely on instinct.  He coiled like smoke around me, and I felt him trying to permeate my own.  I couldn't shut him down completely without losing him to the void, maybe forever.  I let him think he was winning, let him sink deeper, but once he was more in than out, I pulled the darkness of the room in around me like a blanket.  Every shadow was drawn into us, from the corners of the room first, then from under the bed.  I pulled so hard I started to draw in the light, too.  I felt him squirm against my skin when he realized something was wrong.  I pulled even harder until the whole room-- everything that existed in his mind, was drawn into me, too.  It was wrapped in layers, insulating him, and protecting me by giving him no room to move.  His whole existence became a second skin on me.

I pulled back and shook off the world between.  When I opened my eyes, I saw the shroud covering Jarell starting to glow in the dawning light.  Grey light filtered between the blinds from the veranda, and it cast a faint shadow across Ezra'a face.  The spirits filling the air between us felt tense with anticipation.  She stepped gingerly toward me, and I couldn't tell if she looked hopeful, or afraid.  I smiled.  It didn't sway the balance.

"Were you able to find him?"  She edged around the room until she was at the foot of the bed, but she never broke eye contact with me.  "Did you see Jarrel, Child?"

I nodded and felt his spirit swim across my skin.  His voice crept up through my neck, and I felt his words spill from my lips before I could stop them.  "I'm here, Tante."

Ezra's eyes filled with tears, and she sat on the edge of the bed at her son's shrouded feet.  "My Roux, I'm so sorry.  I never meant for it to happen this way-- "

"You didn't mean...?"  I felt my brow furrow as his thoughts fought to connect in my brain.  "You made the deal, Tante.  How can you expect to change his mind once the die is cast?"

It was my body, my lips, being toyed with.  I felt manipulated like some flesh and blood marionette-- a dancer in the parade of fools, and to suggest I fucking resented it was a massive understatement.  Like suggesting the surface of the sun might be a tad warm.  

"But I did it for you, Jarell.  I did it all for you..." Ezra reached out and took my hand in hers, and I felt a massive rush of heat spill out.  Her skin felt molten.  "I wanted you to have what I couldn't give you.  What I could never give you..."  Her voice trailed off and she turned her eyes to the light spilling across the windowsill.
I felt a pain rip across Jarell's soul, worse than any mortal heartache, because it was spread all over my upper body.  It lingered for a few moments and started to fade.  Pain was mortal, and flesh remembers.  "I know.  At least, now I do.  It was only a matter of time..."

"You made me so proud, my Roux.  So proud..."  She pulled my hand to her chest, and it dragged me out of my chair until I was on my knees, looking up at her.  Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, dripping onto our fingers where they were crushed between her breasts.

"Thank you, Tante," he said through me.  

I've had spirits try to crawl up inside my head before, but nothing like this.  He wasn't trying to own me, there was no grand scheme... he just wanted to borrow me for awhile.  He never tried to crawl inside my head, or even pry into my thoughts.  If he had, it would have been a really short fight, and I think he sensed that.  At the same time, I couldn't let him get comfortable.  The longer he stayed, the harder it was going to be to get rid of him later.  
Finding a place to start was harder than it sounds, though.  Jarell coated my body like flowing beignet sugar.  Because he wouldn't sit still, there was no single point for me to attack and exercise his spirit.  Taking hold of Jarell's thoughts was like trying to herd cats on fire.  

I needed a common thread, something he and I shared-- a rallying point.  A moment later when I found it, I seriously wished I hadn't... When Ezra glanced down at me, all of our eyes locked in place for a single, prolonged breath.  It was the moment I was waiting for, and I channeled that feeling of lust I felt when I first met Ezra and then combined it with the spark of forbidden desire Jarell kept hidden his entire life.  It ignited into a slowly-churning inferno before Ezra looked away to blink back tears.

"Tante?" Jarell squeezed her hands tighter.

"Yes, my Roux?"

He waited for our eyes to meet again and held her gaze.  "It's me, but it isn't me," I felt my throat going dry, "I know you felt it, too."  I felt my eyes drag themselves across the line of her cheek to her jaw, and then together, Jarell and I traced the dark line of her skin all the way to her collarbone.  We lingered at the swell of her breasts where our hands were cradled.  "This is the only way... the only time."

I remember feeling my pulse race-- there was a massive unreal quality to the moment, and I didn't do a damn thing, afraid of shattering the spell Jarell was casting over us all.  I felt my panties getting wet as a look of shock registered on Ezra's face.  Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked around as if the walls would implode, or a cry of condemnation would rip out at her from the receding shadows in the room.  The faces of their ancestors faded fast with the morning light and disappeared rapidly into the evaporating ether.  I could almost see her resolve fading with them.  
I remember wanting to probe their dynamic more, to see how long their mutual attraction existed, maybe even find the moment where they both realized they wanted more from each other-- but there wasn't time.  Right now, I just needed them to connect long enough for me to drop three nickles onto Jarell's spirit for the ferryman.
I latched onto a memory, something recent, where Jarell was seducing an older woman after a movie premiere.  Her resemblance to Ezra was incredible.  The same swell of her breasts, nearly the same eyes, the same curve of her hips.  I helped him hold her hands while he told her about it.  I helped Jarell realize that when he was going down on her in the back of his limousine, he was pretending it was his mother.  That when he licked her from the base of her lips to her swollen clitoris, it was like a salmon returning home.
Ezra's mouth fell open, and her breathing grew shallow as she listened.  Her eyes were frozen, fixed on mine, and the only thing that gave away her thoughts was the shape of her nipples poking through her dress.  Jarell moved my hands to touch the skin under her neck, and the contact broke Ezra out of her trance.  She moved to back away, but Jarell and I both caught her wrists, and we pulled her down close enough for our lips to touch.  Ezra's tightened up at first, her muscles locking her jaw.  We felt tears leaking between her eyelids, but after a breath, her resistance softened, and her clenched jaw relaxed.  Our lips stayed pressed together, and as I drew in a breath, they parted just enough for our tongues to connect.

The softness of her tongue still lingers in my mind from time to time.  It was like warm butter, but sweet, and it caused such a deep heat to boil between my legs.  It made me hungry in a way that could never be satisfied.  Jarell reached up to cup the back of her head, and then plunged his tongue into her mouth.  He pressed her, pushing her limits to the edge, and shattered them.  Ezra inhaled sharply, a hiss of air filled her nose as her back arched.  She pulled away, but pressed her tongue into my mouth at the same time.  Her body was like a tornado of conflicting sensations-- passion, fear, morality, decadence...

When Ezra finally managed to pull away long enough to breathe, Jarrel dove toward her neck.  I tasted her skin, the light feel of her tendons beneath the surface.  She melted against my mouth and groaned so softly that only my lips felt it.  She swallowed hard, and suddenly jerked away, but we followed her, relentless.  I watched myself crawl over the top of Jarrel's feet and grabbed Ezra's hands.  "You can't tell me you don't want it, too."

"I-- " Ezra stared, but our mouths connected again.  Tongues lashed at each other, and I felt the softness of her dress under my palm. 

Her breasts swelled against my fingers as she pressed against my hands.  Her thighs clenched together, and her own hands found the back of my head.  We pressed together, inhaled sharply as our nipples grazed against each other through our bras.  I could feel Jarell and I closing in on a single mind, our solitary goal.  When our lips parted again, it was Ezra who lunged for my neck, and she  murmured words in a language I couldn't understand.  It was deep, rich with love, gris-gris, and passion.  She cooed about Jarrel, about watching him grow into a fine man; it was longing laced with hints about her jealousy over his string of women he simply fucked and forgot.

Jarrel fought back with words, telling Ezra how each of those women reminded him of her.  Their breasts were like the ones he suckled as a child, their nipples were as hard like Ezra's were now, and we kept pawing at each other.  I felt her skin under my fingertips as Jarrel pushed past her neckline.  I felt the edge of her lacy bra, the soft skin of her naked breast and then the hardened tip.  Jarrel squeezed it between my fingertips, and I felt my own wetness leaking through my jeans.  Jarrel pushed her back with more force than I could have managed alone, and together, we crawled up on top of her.  Her knee rose up between my legs, and I arched my hips to grind against her.  Ezra's wrists were pinned above her head, and my mouth found her neck again. Jarrel didn't linger there for long, and I felt my tongue trail down to the curve of her breasts.  Ezra lost all sense of resistance and started begging for more.

When Jarrel let go of her hands and started pulling down Ezra's shoulder straps, I saw her hands clench in the shroud covering his body.  She pulled it up over her face and sobbed as her bra came into view.  Her nipples were erect, clear through the sheer material.  Jarrel pulled her dress down to her waist, and my mouth descended to her chest again.  Jarrel used me to lap at her, soaking her breasts through the cloth, leaving her tips glistening.  She kept pushing up at me, making my clit throb against the cotton of my drenched panties.  I soaked through, leaving a wet stain against her dress.
Her bra was pulled down, roughly, scraping against her chest so that when I dipped my head again, my tongue only felt pliant flesh.  Her skin was hot, hotter than anything I'd ever tasted and There was no way I was going to stop until Ezra screamed for the end of the world.  Jarrel and I were driven, almost perfectly focused.  When Ezra gasped, the shroud sucked in over her mouth, and Jarrel became even more aggressive.

He shot me back and dropped us to the foot of the bed near her feet.  She didn't look up and barely parted her thighs between sobs.  I watched my hands lift the hem of her dress, and my breath caught as it rose to her thighs.  I could smell her excitement.  By the time the dress reached her waist, I could already see the delicate lace of her panties. I knew Ezra was beyond reason.  Her passion and her remorse blurred to a melting point.  Her wetness mirrored mine, and it coated everything and poured out of her like a fount.  As Jarrel leaned in close, I smelled the lilacs again, and when finally I tasted her, I nearly had an orgasm of my own.  She opened her legs wide enough for my head to dip between her thighs, almost clinically-- like a mother waiting to give birth, but the sound was anything but painful.  She stopped crying long enough to start begging for Jarrel to come home, to make her feel him inside her again.

I lapped at her folds through the silk, and she gasped, arched her back, trying to feed me more of her.  I slipped her panties aside and dove into her.  Jarrel knew a lot more about pleasing women than I did, so I let him guide me in how we tasted his mother.  I let him make her moan and writhe under my mouth.  He didn't rush her to orgasm, but built her up slowly before letting her drift back down.  Together we kissed and teased his mother's clit, making Ezra gasp, choking off a scream every time she closed in on her orgasm.  When he finally pushed her over the top, he had me plunging my tongue as deep into her as I could, thrusting like a small cock.  My fingers joined my mouth in teasing her opening.  With a single finger at first, I toyed with her wetness, then added more as I spread her open.  I turned my wrist and curled my fingers to rub against her g-spot.  Her breathing got even more ragged when my tongue dipped low enough to tease the opening of Ezra's ass.  

She started screaming through the shroud, coming in waves, and her thighs kept clenching around my ears.  I forced my elbows between her legs to pin her open enough for me to lock my mouth against her.  Jarrel had me drink from her; he pressed my face into her until I felt my nose graze against her clit while my lips nuzzled at her dripping folds.  My cheeks were coated in her wetness, drenched in the scent of lilacs and passion.  I felt her hands grip the back of my head, and her fingers tightened into fists in my hair.  Ezra pulled me deeper into her and then pushed me away in alternating waves as her climaxes increased in frequency.

Ezra turned into an animal, unleashing years of forbidden desire under the careful ministrations of her son's intuition until her body couldn't take any more.  I felt the moment I needed closing in, and I think Ezra sensed it, too, because even as she started to come down from her orgasmic high, her hands became less frenzied and more gentle.  She stroked the sides of my head while I lapped at her, like a kitten.  She began to hum, her thighs twitching, undulating to the rhythm of my mouth.  The lullaby was sweet, Fais Dodo, and I felt Jarell's spirit gather at the front of my mind.  Sadness swept into him.  Between licks, I focused everything I had, all of my concentration, and I pushed his spirit away from me.  He didn't resist as he was pulled into the ether, fading like his ancestors in the sunlight.  There were no last words, no long goodbyes.  I almost felt sorry for them, but I also felt overwhelmed by a lust I never knew existed.  I'd be lying to you if I said I stopped drinking the lilacs.  I tasted her for more than hour.  I even let Ezra do the same to me, letting her reveal her darkest fantasies into my flesh.  She licked secrets into my nipples, whispered her innermost demons into my clitoris while I came for her.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

The Churning Black, Part 4

The Churning Black: Chapter 4
A. Octavia

"It will be our little secret," Selma said softly.  I smiled down at her and nodded as she dipped her head to swallow my cock.  Her mouth felt like velvet against Jordan's skin.  She was young, even for him but what she lacked in experience was compensated for in exuberance.  Selma didn't just want to make Jordan orgasm-- she wanted him to remember it for the rest of his life.

I gently stroked the side of her face and felt the head of my cock press against the inside of her cheek.  Her nostrils flared as she drew in a deep breath and moaned.  I smiled as the whole scene spread out in front of me.  Selma, wrapped in her modest little white dress with her hair pulled back into a tight bun so her face would be easy to photograph--was intoxicating.  When she bounced around the studio, Jordan watched her her small breasts defy gravity and found himself following the line of her calves up  to the hem that dipped below her knees.  The dress looked so primal hiked up to her waist, her panties just visible along the curve of her ass as she knelt in front of me.  Her knees were spread wide, and her hips rocked slowly as if riding a lover's face.
The only light in the storeroom pooled where rows of shelves blocked the second-story windows.  A chorus of laughter reverberated up the stairwell, and I watched splashes of color move between the cracks in the floorboards.  I started to rock my hips gently in time with hers, and we found an easy rhythm that matched Selma's hands as they stroked my shaft.

The zipper at the base of her neck was easy to pull down, and my cock only slipped away from her lips long enough to shrug her shoulders.  In that one subtle movement, her dress fell to her waist. Virgin-white lace hugged her breasts, pale handfuls in the dim light. She suckled on the end of Jordan's cock and reached lower to cup his balls.  When we groaned, she smiled wickedly and ran her tongue up and down his shaft.  She started humming softly, making his cock throb.  Selma's palms collected the moisture leaking from the tip, and she started pumping his shaft again with her fist.  I felt the orgasm start to churn deep withing me.  Selma sensed it too, and her eyes smoldered with lust.  She opened her mouth again, and when the moist heat slowly enveloped him again, we erupted.
Jordan's knees buckled, and as he slid to the floor, Selma kept her mouth on him.  She kept pumping his shaft, swallowing everything he could give even as he fought to break free.  She swallowed everything he had and didn't stop until her mother called from the bottom of the stairs.  "You guys find it yet?"

Selma smiled wickedly and leaned up to kiss me.  Her tongue was even hotter, and wetter, than before.  She tasted like two frenzied animals now, instead of one.  She wiped the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand and then snaked it down her delicate chest, and my eyes obediently followed her fingertips to the front of her wet panties.  She started tapping her clit through the wet cotton just enough to tease herself, "I'm coming, Mother. I think I found what we were looking for."

"Do you need help?"

Selma smiled, a lopsided impish grin that never left Jordan's deflating cock that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.  "I think I took care of it," she said, then whispered, "I did take care of it, didn't I?"  She groaned as she shrugged back into her dress and fixed the zipper.  Selma did accomplish her goal, because it was easily one of the most memorable experiences I'd had in a long while.  Even so, I didn't wait to see how the rest of the day played out.  I left Jordan panting on the storeroom floor as Selma bounced down the stairs.    
I don't even know how long I'd been living among mortals.  Like I mentioned before, time moves sideways outside of the Hells.  There were secrets to be learned while living here, though.  Simple truths... practical lessons that applied to anywhere.  The one that kept surfacing lately was the key to keeping something secret: complete non-disclosure.  There can be no witnesses, and you can never speak of it to anyone.  Ever.  Because even the smallest drop of truth can turn into a flood of anguish.

I wandered aimlessly for months after I spoke with Damnia, and I had never felt so utterly lost.  Hundreds of years among mortals, and never once did I feel like time was against me.  I had eternity to trudge through, and endless mile to walk, to earn my redemption.  I missed my home-- I longed for my return, always--, but nothing compared to this.  I felt like a battlefield General who couldn't see the front line-- reduced to a signature on a field order.  The simple act of waiting ate at me more viciously than any measure of the Queen's wrath.

I tried to keep busy the only way I knew how, but even my most endearing hobbies were wrapped with hidden messages.  It wasn't obvious at first, or maybe it was, but I was too preoccupied to notice.  Either way, the messages eventually became painfully obvious.  The more I floated between mortals and took my pleasures from wherever I chose, time and again, they were rooted in deceit, lies, and secrets...

When Veronica moaned, I dipped my head so my mouth could work down the line of her neck.  She choked off a scream as my hands worked up under her shirt and found her naked breast.  Under the dim kitchen lights, she looked paler than when she sat next to her husband in the living room.  The firelight gave her a warm glow, but the soft compact florescent light made her look almost savage.  She bit the back of her hand when my lips found her hard nipple.  Veronica didn't reach for me, didn't want to believe she was a willing participant, but we both knew better.  It was the hidden lust for her cousin that drew me to her in the first place.  Casey needed no convincing.  He watched her subtle movements, her playful glances.  My subtle contribution was only the catalyst.  When Veronica glanced over her shoulder at him on the way to the kitchen for another round of drinks, I pushed Casey to follow her.  The rest followed naturally.
Veronica's breathing quickened as I flipped her around and pressed her against the wall.  She gasped as she felt her pants get yanked to her waist.  When she inhaled, she smelled her own sex, and she stared at the kitchen door.  Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest, afraid her husband would walk in on them, waiting for the door to swing open at any second.

I only opened the front of Casey's pants enough to press his cock into her.  His balls scraped against his zipper, hard enough to draw blood, but it kept him from cumming the instant his cock sank into her folds.  Veronica thrust back and held her breath.  I felt her clenching against him, pulling us in deeper at the same time.  We could hear the fire crackling in the hearth on the other side of the door.  It wouldn't be long until she was missed, and we all knew it.  I pulled back and then thrust into her roughly, slamming my hips against her ass.  I reached one of Casey's hands up under her shirt to hold onto one of her swinging breasts and came without warning.  Veronica tried to scramble away from us, but I held onto her tightly until I was empty.  I filled her, and didn't let go until I felt her start to drip down our thighs.  She panted heavily as she reached for a dish towel.  I felt Casey grin like a damned fool as he put his cock away.  Veronica glared over her shoulder at him. "What the fuck were you thinking?" she hissed quietly.

"I was thinking, that I needed to fuck you."

"I meant cumming inside me..."

"I thought you needed that, too.  It'll be our dirty little secret."

I left them to wrestle with the consequences.  I had a revelation shortly after that, though.  Secrets were just lies waiting to be discovered.  There were a dozen other men and women I passed through while I waited for Damnia to find me.  Each time I sated my lust it followed the same pattern, it played out a variation of the same scenario, the same message: people were indulgent with illicit affairs, hiding their feelings, keeping secrets...

I wandered aimlessly when my own dirty little secret caught up to me.  I don't remember what city I was in, but it was big enough that I was able to lose myself in my thoughts for a few hours.  I took control of a woman waiting for a train, someone at random.  Now looking back, it may not have been so random-- she'd already left her purse by the bench, but instead of crossing the yellow line, we went for a walk.

Hours passed, and Cyra stayed remarkably silent.  Her thoughts were muted, and a complete numbness filled her from her core out.  Her memories felt full of emotional pain that she kept repressed, and some of it was even from herself.  Regardless, she left me free to think.  The afternoon sun slowly faded into neon, and the streets grew darker than I'd seen them in a long while.  The asphalt pulled at the souls moving across their surface, and the night air felt like it was breathing.  A chill swept into Cyra's bones that wouldn't end, and it started to make her skin crawl.  

We crossed the main boulevard into a wooded park, and I turned us down a running path.  I heard the alder leaves rustle, and I could actually feel the roots digging into the earth all around me.  I felt the energies of the world growing-- something I hadn't sensed in eons.  The path turned at a small fountain where two stone cherubs poured water onto a pair of sculpted lovers.  The splashing water muffled the drone of the city. 

I sighed when I felt them approach, stalking out of the darkness like cockroaches.  The men wore business suits, and if it wasn't for the bloodstains covering their chests, it might have looked like they were on their way home from a late night at the office.  The man on the left twitched when he pretended to exhale, and the one on the right couldn't keep his eyes straight.

"Beautiful night, your Highness..." the one with the twitch said.  His voice sounded like gravel rubbing together.  "Beautiful night for a stroll, eh?"

I felt a twinge of unnecessary panic race through the woman's chest.  The two men spread out so my back faced the fountain.  I glanced slowly between them, "You're a little far from home, don't you think?"

The one with the rolling eyes laughed, "I don't think he knows, Karzhi..."

"Shame, that, your Highness.  I hate being the bearer of bad news."

The one with the rolling eyes started licking his teeth.  He didn't seem to notice the drool flowing from the corner of his mouth.   "Now, she is a tender little piece, Highness-- are you saving her for later?"

"Enough!" I called down a sound like thunder that shook the earth.  It was a resonating chord that fused with reality.  Every tree for miles stopped bending to the wind in answer to my call.  Roots knotted and stretched under our feet; I could feel them coiling, waiting for a command.  The only sound it left in the park was of the wood creaking.  The men stopped short and looked around.  They looked at me with a mix of awe and terror and then started to back up. 

"You obviously like games, so let's play one of mine."  I said.  The men bolted, each turning to run in opposite directions, but I did not allow it.  A dozen roots burst up through the footpath, each as thick as a suspension cable.  Before the cement even hit the ground, the thick coils wrapped themselves around each demon and started to pull their limbs to the breaking point.  When the bodies snapped apart, the roots dropped the pieces and lashed themselves to the shadowed souls that leaked from the carcasses.

Cyra's mind shut down, and I felt her consciousness drift into blissful catatonia.  I focused on the roots again, and they constricted impossibly tight.  I stopped them at the threshold of annihilation and pulled them both closer to me so their twisting, mottled faces were level with mine.  "Explain yourselves, immediately..."

Their faces were wrapped in roots-- distorted, agonized--,  and the demon who'd possessed the lazy eye mewled like a crippled dog.  It started to speak, but the other demon, whose body twitched, hissed at him until he fell silent.  I glared at him before I let the roots pull him under.  "I will not repeat myself."

The lazy eye groaned again as the other demon was consumed by the earth.  I squeezed the remaining demon slowly until I felt his soul being crushed.  "I beg you, Lord... please--!"

No.  The demons weren't there out of malice.  There was nothing to learn from interrogation.  They were loosed upon the world and smelled blood, nothing more.  I pulled him down, too.  I let the earth swallow them both, crush them like twigs and devour them.  When I closed my eyes, I could feel more like them out in the distance, sniffing at the air like a pack of dogs and baying at the moon.  Demons awakened all over the city, all over the planet,  even worlds beyond.  

A chime rang somewhere in the distance, and I froze.  I never meant to keep Cyra so long, and I suddenly didn't want her to die.  Another chime, and I braced for the inevitable, but instead of feeling the transformation start to rip through me, I only felt a slight reverberation within my soul.  The rest of the bells tolled in vain.
I reached my will into the ether-- I needed to know.  I needed to feel the distant connection I cherished with the Hells, and I was met with nothing. It stirred against my senses, and I left Cyra by the fountain.  She slumped to the ground while my spirit gathered like a storm cloud above her.  I turned in a slow circle and made myself whole.  I crafted my shape out of a distant memory and took a deep breath that pulled the essence of the world into me.  Every sight, every sound... I was spirit made whole again, finally, after millennium of walking between shadows.

I looked down at Cyra, the first woman I saw with my own eyes.  I didn't put much thought into it before, but now... I knew without a doubt that the tides of power were shifting.  Cyra slept while I carried her back to her small apartment.  She'd cleaned it before leaving for the train station, and I saw a note stuck to her refrigerator with a picture magnet.  All it said was, 'Sorry Mom.'  
I set her down gently on the couch and stared out the window toward the horizon.  The clouds swirled in the distance, and I saw faces shift and transform.  I let my mind wander, and I searched the ether, stalking the thin veil between worlds.  I felt my consciousness stretch until it was swallowed by the void. 

I heard a startled gasp behind me, then a soft "Who are you?"

I turned around so I could lean against the window.  The glass felt cool against my shoulders.  "I'm the reason you missed your train."
Cyra blinked and looked around her apartment.  

She looked at the door and then down at herself.  "My purse..."  She looked at the door again.  It was still locked.  "How did we get in?"

I smiled as gently as I could.  "Your mother is worried about you.  You should call her."

She glanced up at me and her eyes darted between mine as if searching for some measure of reassurance, an explanation.  "Are you an Angel?"

I laughed, and it felt amazing.  As much as I hated to admit it, Syra was right: I lived among mortals for far too long.  I began thinking like them, adapting to their world.  Even unconsciously, I let myself be adapted by their perceptions, a puzzle piece made to fit their world instead of mine.  On the other hand, what was the truth worth, really.  It was relative, I suppose.  I smiled at her again, and this time, I saw a soft rose color rise to her cheeks. "Something like that."

Tuesday, July 1, 2014



I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I heard the deadbolt and the soft jingle of keys. My heart was racing, and my hands shook a little when I pressed the headphones hard against my ears. There was a moment of silence-- then the telltale sound of her heels clicking against the tile. The insistent snap of each foot as she crossed the room, from one ear to the other. I strained as hard as I could just to hear her breathe...
I jumped when something heavy hit the hardwood floor and coffee tipped over. I cursed and rushed to mop up the mess before the cascade could reach the edge of the table and flood into my lap. I glanced around the cafe as I pulled napkins from the dispenser, but no one seemed to notice.

I heard the front door close to her apartment, and the lock engaged. A shuffle of padded feet crossed the room after her. I waited for words to pass between them-- something, anything--, but I heard them drift away from the microphone in silence. I scribbled the date and time on the back of a napkin and set my cup on it.

Tobias Peck was very clear with his instructions, at least, insofar as he didn't want anything recorded. Most people who came to me were looking for concrete evidence: ledgers, notarized statements, or some kind of indisputable video. Reality was something people could see in a physical form.  He didn't. I was skeptical at first, but Tobias didn't want his name dragged into anything I did. He even paid in cash.

The conversation about what he did want stretched our meeting well over the hour he allotted. In short, Tobias wanted peace of mind. Evia Lockhart was his closest confidant, and after years of scaling the Interstellar markets and countless late hours together carving up market shares, she suddenly started pulling back from him. Tobias insisted they were never lovers-- they never shared so much as an awkward kiss-- but he could feel her growing steadily more distant outside the boardroom. Evia was hiding something, and Tobias wanted to know why. That was when he insisted he didn't want proof. Proof required fingerprints.
I started to trail Evia right after my meeting with Tobias. I spent weeks tracking her, morning and night, establishing her patterns. The first thing I noticed? She led a fairly routine life. Evia woke up early, had breakfast at the same time, varied her meals, and always left her dishes in the sink. She alternated her route to work but only when the morning traffic reports suggested it. She teleconferenced every Thursday before she merged onto the expressway.

Following Evia home wasn't nearly as easy. I mean, I've had some tough acts to follow before, but no one with Evia's level of commitment. Her path changed constantly. Some days, it was as little as a single street, and other days, she traveled more than an hour out of her way to get home again. Her only pattern after work was that she deliberately refused to have a pattern.

Throughout the heart of the hub, I used a handful of refurbished messenger drones for most of my tracking. The skies darkened every morning as a mechanical swarm rose between the buildings. There were always thousands of drones in the skies, giant mosquitoes with spindly legs clutching parcels like egg sacks. Mine just carried a collection of lenses. I spent months pretending to be a service tech just to build up my network of routing equipment. I spliced into service towers and carrier hubs all over the city, and for most of my clients, that was enough. Every now and again, though, I got someone like Evia, and once the drones hit the lower skyline, I had to revert to more primitive methods-- I won't bore you with the details.

Which brings me to how I was able to listen in on her. The audio sensor was my least favorite idea. Tobias flatly rejected video monitoring or even bugging her home. He said it was 'uncivilized,' but I think he suspected I might get too tempted to record something, even against his wishes. He was right, of course, but I didn't know it at the time.

So instead of tapping into her home, I narrowed my focus to Evia herself. I sent her a text message from a throw-away phone and took a candid shot of a woman ahead of me in line at the grocery store who wore a tight pair of yoga pants. I attached my cryptic little virus and typed 'thinking of you, sweetheart. Can you come home for lunch?' After I hit 'send', I threw the phone away.

I was tempted to wait to see if Evia ever wrote back, but I couldn't take the risk. The message I sent had a small line of code I embedded in the image. It didn't do much-- just let me turn her phone into an inconspicuous little tattle-tale, which meant wherever she took her phone, she brought me along for the ride...
True to my word to Tobias, I never recorded anything. Not that I didn't want to some days. Evia was walking proof that looks can be deceiving. More than once, I thought about going in behind Tobias' back, but he wasn't a man to cross. Trust me, I wouldn't be able to run fast enough, or far enough, if he ever found out.

The sound of fabric rustling in the distance brought me back into my seat in the cafe. I took a sip from what was left in my cup while the refrigerator opened. I heard clinking glass, and an ice machine, probably built into the door of the refrigerator, hummed. Cubes filled the glass. Nothing was poured over them.
"Soren, bring my purse in with you,"Evia said from the other room. She had a sultry voice, but it had such a commanding tone. She sounded used to being obeyed.

There was a fresh hiss of fabric rubbing as her phone jostled in her purse. I heard music playing in the background, something contemporary. It got louder when she pulled her phone out of her handbag. I heard her breathing, right against my ears, and my mouth went dry. I imagined her holding the phone up to her cheek as she listened to her voicemails. Her breaths were steady at first, deep and rhythmic, but then I heard her shoes clatter to the floor, and she drew in a sharp intake of breath. She groaned, but so softly that I doubt Soren heard it.

"That's nice, now the next toe..."

I heard his lips part, a hiss of air, and the sound of wetness. Evia set the phone aside, but it was still close to her. "Now the other foot," she said. I heard the other heel hit the floor and she sighed heavily.
Soren was new to her life. I'm not sure where he came from, but it was clear from the beginning that he wasn't in control. The first time I saw them together was almost a month ago--Evia drove home through the highlands up around Prudo. She stopped at a red light, and Soren just opened her passenger door, and sat down next to her. At first I thought the worst: a carjacking, drug deal, or every other imaginable scenario-- everything but the truth.

The drone followed them until they reached the Pallisades, but once they left the safe harbor of the concrete jungle, well, I couldn't risk going into the suburbs. Turns out, Evia always started like that. It was amazing to watch, really. Soren would wait at random intersections for Evia to drive by. It was gambling in the worst way-- if they met, and if the traffic light was red, she stopped. If not, she would just leave him standing there without a backward glance.

As for Soren, he always wore a suit. Most days, he dressed in earth tones that complimented his long golden locks. He had piercing blue eyes and broad shoulders. His shave would vary, from clean to rough, from styled to a thin goatee. True to Evia's form, he never seemed to adopt a pattern. Today, he wore khaki. His hair hung to his shoulders, windswept instead of in a ponytail. I circled the drone around to the front of them today, leading them for a change instead of following. It was almost dusk when the light turned red.
The moment Soren sat down, Evia's knuckles tightened on the wheel. She stared straight ahead while Soren fastened his seatbelt. The light turned green, but she didn't move until Soren shifted his hips so he could sit on his hands. I tried to listen in, but the volume on the stereo was up too loud. It also sounded like her purse was tossed in her back seat. I resigned myself to watch instead.

As Evia pulled away from the intersection, I watched her lips move, speaking to him, but never turning to look. Her hand casually stroked the cloth covering her breasts, lazily moving from peak to peak. Evia's fingers opened the buttons of her blouse, slowly, and only let the weight of her breathing push her shirt apart. I zoomed in and adjusted the focus. I watched her breasts bounce with every bump in the road; each tremor threatened to spill over the top of her pinstriped bra. The black lace along the cup was a perfect contrast to her pale skin. When she reached the highway, Evia hiked her skirt to her hips and reached back for her purse. I heard her hand rummage around, but she didn't pull her phone-- she brought out what looked like a small lipstick case. Between drumbeats, I heard the sound of a vibrator.

I was glad I took a table near the back of the cafe while I watched her trace the hard plastic tip over her bra, and down over the front of her panties. Her hand disappeared under the dashboard, and Soren shifted in his seat. He looked desperate to reach out and touch her, but his hands never left their prison under his thighs. I watched Evia tease him until the warning light flashed on my control console. I sighed and took another sip from my coffee. I turned the drone around and ordered it downtown where it was programmed to wait for her morning commute.

"Now lick..." Evia's command pulled my mind screaming back to the present. When I closed my eyes, I felt blindfolded, and with a hint of imagination, I felt like I was even in the room with them. "From the heel to the tip. Slower. I said slower, dammit!" I heard her shift on the bed, and Soren groaned. I wondered if she grabbed the back of his head, maybe gripped his hair. Then I wondered if she pinched one of his nipples. Whatever she did, it left him breathing hard.

"Yes, Ma'am," he murmured.

"Now try again." She sighed.  I imagined a chagrined nod."That's much better. Now move slower along the arch, and finish with one in your mouth each time. Very good..."

I heard Soren groan again, but softer this time, like his mouth was full. I heard him start to suck, a greedy sound that made Evia hiss. "No, I said slowly!" I heard him whimper, and I couldn't help but wonder what he did, or what she did. Did she pull away or feed more of her foot into his mouth like a dog refusing to let go of a toy? I wonder if her toes hooked into his mouth and pulled...

I glanced over my shoulder and saw the barista heading over to my table. I smiled and pulled my headphones off long enough to ask for another cappuccino. I waited until she was back behind the counter before I pulled the headphones back on. It only took me a second to catch up again. I heard another soft rustle of cloth and then a zipper open. It was a slow sound, full of pauses like it wasn't opening easily. Soren groaned again.

"See? My toes are so much nicer to you when you treat them well. They feel really good on your cock, don't they?" I could hear the Cheshire smile in her voice. "Do you want more?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he gasped, but it still sounded like he had his mouth full. I imagined him sucking on the toes of one of her feet while Evia teased his cock with her other. I felt my mind buzzing, and no, it wasn't from the coffee.

"You enjoyed watching me in the car today, didn't you..." He tried to answer, but all I heard was a jumble of noise. "I can tell. You're already close. I bet if I dipped my toes under your cock and touched you right--" Soren groaned, a deep resonant sound that sent chills down my arms. Evia sighed.

The waitress appeared next to me and smiled, "That must be some audiobook!"

"You've no idea." I smiled back and paid for the coffee without taking off my headphones.

Evia sounded so happy, so proud. "Yes, right there. Ooh, I knew you were excited. Now hold still, I don't want any of that to drip onto the carpet. Hold still...wait..."

I imagined Soren shudder just as he started panting. I heard wet skin rubbing together. When I closed my eyes, I could practically see Soren kneeling before her: his head bowed, hands at his sides, his twitching cock resting on Evia's foot. I could almost see her foot slowly stroking up and down his shaft. His cum had to be dripping back into his slacks, soaking them to his skin just so it wouldn't drip onto the floor.

"Now clean me up."

I heard movement, and the sound of running water. I watched the clock in the corner of my screen, and it wasn't even a full minute before Soren was back. "Very nice, very nice indeed."

I heard wet cloth sliding over skin, and the sound of their mouths parting, their tongues mashing together wetly. Their breathing got heavier, and I could almost feel the air hissing through their noses. I opened my eyes and stared at the computer screen. I was sorely tempted to activate the camera on her phone and glanced around the cafe. No one was behind me, and the barista was chatting up a young guy at the front counter. I bit my lower lip. It wasn't like I would be doing anything more than I already was. I wasn't recording anything, so technically I wasn't violating Tobias' rule...

I clicked the icon on my screen, and the feed poured in. It was like the image was just waiting for me to come around. It took me a second to realize what I was actually looking at, though. Her ceiling. There was an elaborate fan spinning slowly with a quartet of shiny brass lamps hanging from the center. I listened to them kiss and caught a hint of movement in the reflection of the brass. I clicked on the image, and it tightened the focus.

My mouth suddenly went dry, and I couldn't breathe for a moment. I saw her, sitting on the edge of her couch, leaning into where Soren sat on the floor in front of her. Their bodies were distorted by the curve of the lamp, but I could clearly see she had her blouse hanging open. Her breasts looked perfect, hanging in front of him, begging to be touched.

He suddenly reached for her, but the moment his hand cupped her chest-- never even grazing the nipple-- Evia shot back and pinched his nipples between her fingers and squeezed, turning her wrists for added measure. "How dare you!"

He groaned, then shuddered under her assault before she let go. She reached for the glass of ice cubes. She pulled out a handful and then cupped his chest, pressing the cubes against one of his nipples before trading off with the other.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am." He'd clenched his teeth, and I imagined him obediently pressing his chest harder into the ice.

"Still too hot? Maybe I just need to cool you down a bit more..." Evia dragged the ice cubes down his chest and plunged her hand into his slacks. I Imagined his muscled frame wracked with post-orgasmic twitching, and he buckled for a moment before cooing into her chest. Evia kept her hand on him, melting the ice against his cock. They stayed like that for a while, and when she pulled her hand free, it was only to feed him what was left of the cubes. He sucked them into his mouth greedily.

With her cold hand, Evia pressed into his chest until he fell backward. Evia watched him for a moment before she straightened up and hiked her skirt. She kept it bunched around her waist and stepped closer. When Evia knelt, she made sure her knees were pressed into his shoulders. Evia hovered over him, keeping her panties within an inch of his face. She snaked a hand over her stomach and reached for her waistband. Soren's eyes followed her fingernails. The crimson tips raked over her hips, then lower over the mound where her lips pressed against the fabric. She teased herself, over and over, until moisture started to seep through the cloth. Evia started to gyrate her hips, forcing her thighs further apart so she almost touched him. Soren began to arch his neck again, his tongue stretching to get a taste of her.

Evia smiled and pressed her palm into Soren's forehead, pushing him back until his head touched the floor. She said something, but I couldn't make out what it was. Soren groaned in response, and Evia pulled at the edge of her panties. She let him stare at her exposed lips for a few breaths before she crept close enough to feel him breathe on her. When she felt him struggle to taste her again, she lifted up out of his reach and reared back. The sound of her palm hitting his face stung my ears, it was so intense. Soren groaned as he shivered.
 "Now, don't fucking move."

She tried again, pulling her panties aside and inching closer. She relished in the heat of his breathing, but only for a few moments before she ground into him and started rubbing herself against his face. Between drumbeats, I could hear the wetness of her lips spreading over him. It didn't take long for his face to start to gleam in the reflection of the lamps. Evia smiled as she reached back and took hold of his cock, roughly, using her fingers to pull on his balls while she fucked herself against his chin. She leaned into him hard, resting her full body weight against his chin. He tried to turn his head to the side, but she just smeared herself across his cheek instead. He gasped, a throaty, needy sound, and Evia pulled back before he could cum again.
Evia rose up reluctantly and turned around so she could see his cock. She planted her knees into his shoulders again but spread her thighs wider so his tongue was within reach. She played with his cock, like a cat toying with a mouse. She batted at his shaft with her manicured nails, swatted at his balls, and rubbed her fingertip around the crown. Soren's hips bucked, and he started to arch his neck so he could dip his tongue between her folds. She had to know he could smell her excitement, but the moment she felt him touch her, she slammed her pussy down onto his face. She leaned upright and sat on him, his nose pressing into her ass. He didn't struggle, but his cock kept throbbing.

When Evia finally lifted up, he lapped at her, using his tongue to lash at her for every drop of nectar he could get. She groaned and slammed down against his face again. Evia slapped Soren's inner thighs and never let up on the torture-grip she had on his balls. In return, Soren never stopped working his mouth between Evia's thighs. He sounded energized by her short breaths, almost gasping while her cheeks flushed. Evia started to grind her hips harder, and gyrated against his face. Right before she came, she leaned down and ran her tongue up from the bottom of his swollen testicle to the base of his cock. She bit him, against the underside of his shaft, and Soren screamed into her pussy. He came again again, long before Evia ever reached the head of his cock.

The moment of his release, Evia didn't wait for him to say anything or even for him to recover. She just stood up, and when she got to her feet, he obediently rolled onto his hands and knees and arched his back for her. She sat on him like he was a dressing table bench, and slowly peeled off the rest of her clothes. He had to have been dripping cum onto her floor, and his face still had to be wet from where she rubbed herself against him, but he didn't move at all.

Once Evia was naked, she ran her hands up her thighs and over her breasts. She cupped them, touching her nipples gently until they were hardened points. She spread her thighs and reached between them. Both of her hands worked together, teasing herself, not for a show, but with a furious purpose. She rubbed her clit with one hand, in fast tight circles, while her other hand jabbed her fingers into her as deep as she could reach. I heard the wetness over the stereo, the small whimpers of pleasure she gave herself. It didn't take long before she threw her head back and tensed. Her thighs slammed shut against her hands, and she was breathing hard through her nose. Ragged, soft hisses. Her orgasm looked like it rippled through her-- from her shoulders down to her ankles and back. When Evia finally relaxed, she wiped her fingers lazily onto Soren's ass before she gathered her clothes and walked away. It wasn't until after I heard the shower running in the other room that Soren moved. He darted out to the kitchen and came back with a clean towel that he used wipe up the floor, then himself. He turned off the stereo, dressed quickly in her living room, and let himself out. The last thing I heard was the deadbolt turn on the front door, and the sound of the key sliding through the mail slot where it clattered to the floor.

I stared at the screen and forced myself to blink. My mouth was so dry my coffee tasted like cardboard. I sighed as I shut down my surveillance program. I hated to admit it, but I had everything I needed for my report. I wanted to follow her again, but it wasn't out of a sense of duty. I was hooked, as completely as Soren was. For one crazy moment, I even thought about what it would be like to walk around downtown, and what it would feel like when her car stopped next to me at a red light. She wouldn't look at me, wouldn't even acknowledge I was there-- she would just be waiting. Would I have the nerve to open her door and sit down next to her? Would I have the courage to take that kind of bold risk? I shuddered, right there in the cafe, and I knew the answer.

Evia was clearly not a threat. Tobias didn't have a thing to worry about. Evia wasn't selling his corporate secrets, and she wasn't out to ruin his company. In fact, I thought she was probably the last person anyone could break. She was articulate, seductive, and passionately brutal. In fact, if I had to describe her in a single word, Evia Lockhart was relentless.