From the balcony I watched Maria writhing. She was alone on the couch. I preferred her that way. It’s not that I’m jealous. What she might share with another isn’t something taken from me. Besides, she shares everything with me.
She was naked. I preferred her that way, too.
Our mansion was quiet and dark except for the halo of lamplight around the couch where she lay. The chiaroscuro drama highlighted her dark beauty. She was on her side shoving a leather dildo between her legs. I liked to see her legs spread while she fingered herself, but her legs were tight. This wasn’t a performance. It was a private pleasure, one I wasn’t meant to see. She pursued it alone on the ornate settee where Sophie often sat to read. Where guests drank tea. Maria was shameless. That made her perfect.
My grip on the railing tightened.
She pushed back onto the dildo, taking it deeper.
The electric floor lamp flickered. Service in Rome was less reliable than it had been in Chicago. Many things were different in Rome.
The light continued to flicker, but the shine of sweat on her smooth brown back drew my attention. Her body undulated, her ass circling.
Her back was to me, sharing only the curve of her breast and a fluff of black hair that splayed from under her arm. The striated muscle of her shoulder glistened as she worked the dildo in-and-out.
Her breathing was shallow, and she began to whine. It was the whine that set me off. My shoulders ached from the tension, and I began to pant.
Her whines became words. She spoke to someone in her fantasy. “Yes, yes.”
My head nodded to her rhythm. Faster. My grip on the railing grew slick with sweat. Blood filled every soft tissue until I could no longer breathe through my nose. My mouth went dry. My pussy began to ache.
Despite my stillness, she discovered my trespass. When she saw me, she shouted, “Nadzia! Go away.”
I raced down the stairs and seized her, angry that she would refuse me. Squeezing her arms, I forced my mouth roughly against hers.
I bit her lip. She bit my cheek. My hand searched blindly until it found the dildo she had dropped. I drew back, holding the dildo between us.
Her hands took hold of the lapels of my leather flight jacket. She was breathing heavily, her nostrils flaring, lending her a wild look.
She raked her nails across my cheek.
Grasping her hair, I forced her head back and pushed her over a cushion. Her hands tried to loosen my grip as her body arched backward. Her breasts swelled toward my face, but I couldn’t reach either dark nipple with my teeth.
She knocked the dildo from my hand and rolled me off the settee. We tumbled across the floor and ended with her on top. Holding my lapels again, she kissed me, biting my lip, drawing blood. She slammed me against the floor. I tossed her off and clutched her ankles in each hand.
She lay catching her breath.
Smooth, wet, warm.
I dropped between her legs and pressed my mouth against her pussy. My tongue slid around the creamy, salty folds before I sucked her clitoris between my teeth. She pushed at my head. I didn’t understand what she wanted. I didn’t care.
When I raised my hand to slap her, she warded me away. She managed to say, “I…can’t…breathe.”
Fear paused me as she struggled for air. My anger dissipated.
After she calmed down, she said simply, “Fuck me.”
She was a bitch in heat, willing to do anything for satisfaction. She was perfect.
I clenched a fistful of her black hair with one hand as the other worked the leather-clad stick into her. Sweat dripped from my face to her chest. I stared down at her hands. She whimpered as her fingers rubbed her clitoris.
When I began to stir the dildo, she groaned, pressing hard against it. Her sounds of pleasure made me feel dizzy, fevered. I shoved the dildo in-and-out, the rhythm.
Steady, steady, steady.
I told myself to slow things down. She needed time. But I didn’t care. I wanted to make her scream.
Pulsing, musky, hot.
I tongued her inner lips and her clitoris.
She whined, close to climax. In-and-out.
I pushed her hands away so I could draw her clitoris into my mouth.
“Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” Her whines became cries.
She took my hair with both hands.
Faster. Faster. Faster.
She came with a short scream and then a long low groan—the kind a human mouth makes when the body is eviscerated. I had never noticed the similarity before then. I would always think of it afterward.
After rising to my feet, I stared down at her and brushed a long strand of brown hair from my eyes. She reached toward me.
Shaking my head, I said, “Have to work, Darling.” I touched my fingertips to my nose and breathed her in.
She slid one hand under her head and fingered her pussy hair with the other. “Why do you torment yourself?”
I thought of Sophie. There’s so much pain in the wanting.
When Maria fucked me, she came. When she fucked anyone, she came. She even fucked no one and came. Satisfaction had eluded me for months. Pleasure was a memory.
So much churned in the present. So much intruded from the past. I tried to shake off the sadness, insisting the darkness no longer owned me because I was no longer dead.
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Copyright © 2014 Teresa Wymore. All Rights Reserved. |
Lesbian erotica | Dark fantasy |