Darkroom Saga Omnibus 2

by Poppet

  “And if I call god? Then what? He'll reinforce my authority, Kenan. Your possession isn't to show any sign of rebellion. She turned her back on you to face the camera.”

  I nod, shouting, “Exactly! She thinks it's a home video you stupid fucktard! She did it for me, to watch at my leisure. She put on a show for me to enjoy, as a good woman under my authority should!” I'm winging this showdown on instinct.

  “Kenan, I will not permit this blatant insolence from her. She's been a thorn since she arrived. Next time she fucks up I'm calling god.”

  Prowling at him, ready to punch his smug face in, I walk him backwards with aggressive steps, “I've got it handled. My methods are not always going to be yours, she's mine and I'll deal with this in my own way on my own turf. You forget, brother, that you are not my authority. We are all equals, and correct me if I'm wrong but I bring in as much money as your sermons do. God isn't about to ruin the happiness of his highest earning porn star. He's not going to cut his bank balance in half to pander to your control issues. And I remind you too of the passage, For God has not appointed us to incur His wrath. He did not select us to condemn us, 1 Thessalonians 5:9. We are brothers, you are not my superior, and I'll fuck her and have her fuck me any way I see fit. That is my authority to wield, not yours!”

  He's looking ready to deck me, but puts his hands up in the gesture of surrender, “Okay, maybe I misread this incident. But I warn you Ken, one more slip up and Candace Caine will be in here for exorcism. God doesn't permit women to challenge male authority, to step outside of their boundaries, and you know it as well as I do. We grew up in his house with the broken brides, their tongues cut out and their mouths sewn shut. If I don't purify Candace and he hears of this, then he will. And I somehow don't think you'd like to see her end up as the brotherhood whore.”

  Or your fucking concubine you pathetic shit!

  Nodding, I don't wait to be excused, storming back down the stairs, getting on my Hayabusa and blasting aggression down the three streets to my pad.

  Fuck you Matthew, fuck you!

  •

  Candace:

  The front door slams and I automatically turn to warily eye the doorway into the relaxation room. I like this room best with its randomly placed futons, bonsai, the skylight, and latticed screens. At night this room is lit just by candles, the floor cosseted with thick pile cream carpeting, the entire effect serene and tranquil.

  I hear heavy footfalls walking about the house, in search mode as the sound goes from room to room. I'm half expecting that enormous thug to be here to arrest me, to hand me over to the cops so that their pristine reputation for godliness isn't marred by a social leper.

  Releasing my held breath when Kenan fills the doorway, him looking like the dark god of heavy metal in that getup, his expression is just as thunderous but he smiles when he spies me, “Drink?”

  I nod. He's a vodka addict and has a lifetime's supply in the garage with five different varieties in the freezer at any given time.

  “With raspberry?” he checks, twisting to leave but stalling long enough to check how I want my Russian elixir.

  I nod again, feeling tense without knowing why.

  “I think I'll have a Moscow Mule, you sure you don't want one?”

  “Just raspberry is good, thanks,” I smile, watching him shrug off his jacket and pitch it at the back of a futon close to the door.

  His t-shirt sticks to him, a dark patch on the charcoal over his stomach, his veins highlighted on his arms the way they do when he's annoyed.

  He stalks off to the kitchen and I take my jacket off too, feeling like I can finally let my guard down now that he's back. Getting up off my fleece blankie on the floor-level futon chair, I have a moment of unsteadiness when my heels sink into the carpet.

  Music starts pumping through the house and it's macabre, grungy, yet softly soothing and laid back at the same time. He's back just as I place my jacket with his.

  He bends in fast motion, leaving our drinks and vodka bottle on the tiles at the door, and without saying a word he strides to me, grabbing my hands and shoving me against the wall, his mouth closing in and biting my lip, the sweat on his upper lip prickling my skin. His fingers fold between mine, his grip so tight and potent, harnessing my hands at head height, him leaning his weight into them, slanting over me with just our faces connecting.

  Closing my eyes against his intense stare, a frisson skates down my neck at the way he's kissing me. The pressure on my lips punishing and firm, him trying to get his tongue so deep into me as if he can't push hard enough to make us one organism, his tongue tickling my palate, roaming my taste-buds, swirling inside my lip, sucking my lips individually, then chasing a path of sensual kisses across my cheek to my ear, down my neck, grazing sensational stubble over the sensitive skin.

  I erupt in goosebumps and he pulls back just enough to stare at my boobs, hissing softly between his teeth. “Fight me.”

  The command is so strange that I just stay stuck to the wall in his grip, my awareness levitating away from me in salacious surrender. I'm breathing hard, my heart thumping at this approach.

  “Candace, let it out. You're hurt by Jan, you're angry at my community, you're pissed at me, let me feel that wrath.”

  It splits my soul in half, one half wanting to lean into him and absorb his heat, his indomitable body, the safety of being protected. I loved the way he made sure I was inside and safe before leaving me alone, it speaks volumes, and now…. the other half is now screaming and hissing, the thought of Jan and my life welling tears in my eyes, blurring him in the dusky ambiance.

  I'm torn. He releases my hands, hooking the back of my neck with his palm, flinging me forwards, making me stumble and catch my trajectory on the chair where our jackets hang over the top. Snapping to face him, my heart is now galloping at breakneck speed, and I'm a little intimidated.

  He stalks me, grabbing my face and snagging his thumb across my bottom lip, skewering me with moody eyes, “Feel it. Push back.”

  I slap his hand off my mouth, at the way he grinds my lip into my teeth. “Stop it.”

  “Or what? There's a spitfire inside you, let her out to play.”

  Backing up as he panthers after me, I'm not sure if this is his fun face or his hostile face. He reaches for my cheek again and I sidestep, using more force this time when I smack his hand away. Damn these fucking boots. Hungry eyes scour me and this time he's quick, using both hands and shunting my shoulders, “Get angry.”

  “No.”

  “Don't be afraid, let me see who you are. Show me!”

  I'm running out of free space to retreat so circle right, watching him with apprehension. He cuts me off, holding his arms wide, and I make a break for it, running the other way, for the door.

  He hooks his arm around my middle, bodily lifting me and slamming me into the floor. Its softness is welcoming and warm, but my pulse is jackhammering so much that it's hard to think.

  He rolls us, harnessing my wrists in his strong fingers so I can't get away, leaving me sitting on him, staring down, his smile a dead giveaway that this is his fun face.

  I struggle to get a wrist free, “Not funny. You gave me a heart attack.”

  “Come on Blossom, get your hand free.”

  “When I do I'm going to smack you with it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this isn't funny! I didn't know what the hell was going on.”

  “This is going on,” he growls, rolling us again, manhandling me with brute strength when he forces me onto my stomach, using a viced hand on my neck to hold me down with more pressure than is necessary, kissing my nape, softly scrubbing his chin down my spine to between my shoulder-blades, pulling my vest off in one swift move. He licks me, tracing his tongue back up my exposed skin, his other hand undoing the hooks on my under-boobs corset. It's enough to coerce my brain into flatlining, my logic going into cerebral infarction.

  Pushing away from me he lets me lift up only to flip me
over and ram a knee between my legs, staking my knees apart, his hands reclaiming my wrists and holding me down, exposing my breasts, his tongue slipping slow seduction over the left swell, his hot mouth sucking my nipple into its haven, the heat pouring through my hard nib and directly into my nervous system. The base of my skull feels hot, my neck feverish, my hips hollowing in a plague of tantalizing surrender. His fingers lace through mine again and he fists his hands, the tension in his body flexing muscle and cording veins, the hair that flops onto his forehead acting as an aphrodisiac when soft tips trail his path down my body, supple lips kissing inside my hip bone, forcing a belly laugh out of me in an embarrassing bellow of mirth.

  Ken laughs at me, the exhalation of heated breath on my skin enough to dilute coherence. In a reversal of aggression he sits back, holding his hands up, smirking wickedly, “Come and get it.”

  Yanking his t-shirt off he backs away from me, stripping off his leathers and biker boots, standing up and working fingers through his hair, watching me with such a naughty expression that I take the bait.

  Pushing up, a little dizzy, I take my time, removing my boots, dropping my jeans and stepping out of them, commando, now only wearing stockings. Hunting after him, he doesn't try to run, he uses evasive techniques which are so effective I'm getting breathless and frustrated.

  Annoyed, I push him with all my might, his knees fold and he falls heavily when he grapples to catch his plummet. I attack, ramming him by skidding to my knees with my hands on his shoulders, forcing him down, hooking my hands in his hair and yanking so he arches his neck, lifting his chin to me when we fall onto the floor together, and this time I kiss him, up his neck, licking the scour of day long scruff, tasting his skin, inhaling body warmed shaving gel and aftershave, the saltiness of his sweat, savoring the strength in the column of his throat, softly suckling his Adam's apple, licking to his ear and sucking his earlobe.

  Tracing his chest with my fingernails I contort to suction my lips over his nipple, flicking my tongue over it when it gets hard, agitating it over and over, when he uses my own tactics, his hands knotted in my hair, forcing my head up. I resist as long as I can, catching his hand when he let's go, putting my body into it to hold his wrist to the floor the way he did me, but all I end up doing is getting stuck between him and the floor again, satin skin caressing mine when he glides in slow arcs up and down my back, rubbing his chest against me, our legs tangled, my face in his bicep.

  He nibbles the skin leading from my neck to my shoulder, teeth nipping, his hips pushing harder into mine to peg me to the carpet, his hands back in mine, fisting and clenching our fingers so tightly together that it pinches as much as his teeth.

  I react by biting the skin on his arm, sucking it hard enough to leave a hickey. He responds in kind, sucking my neck with such acute magnificence that I gasp, my female nervous system going into overdrive, the luxury of arousal making my pussy ache. His chin and cheek raze over my shoulder, rubbing harder and harder, until I'm pushing back against him to relish the erotic titillation.

  Grabbing his hair, I pull, forcing him to let go of my neck, using pain to worm him onto his side, rolling to slide my hand up his chin, tilting his neck back with the heel of my hand, scrambling to get back on top of him. He catches my hands, holding tight, bench pressing me off his chest, forcing me to balance by locking my arms.

  He stares at my hanging tits, licking his lips, his voice hoarse when he says, “Show me. Show me the vixen, let her out.”

  He lets me back down, releasing my hands, relaxing his on the floor either side of his head, watching me with a midnight gaze, so inky and mysterious, emotions I don't recognize scudding clouds of mischief across his soul.

  Flicking my hair back I edge down him, slowly, my fingertips making small circles in soft spirals across his skin while I writhe and gyrate on his hips, sliding up and down, getting his penis between my wet lips and gliding to the ridge, chasing the vein on his shaft, lubricating his aroused cock in endless slides, supporting my weight on my thighs when I sit upright properly, sliding my hands up and down my breasts, loving the soft friction of the simple caress.

  “You like that?” He reaches out, doing it for me when I close my eyes, moaning at the way it starts a blizzard of sparks chasing through me.

  Rubbing harder on his hot penis, I grind until my clitoral stimulation ferries ambrosia into my muscles, my orgasm shameless. Closing my hands around his on my breasts I urge him to squeeze. He does, but it's not harsh enough. “Harder!” I complain, brushing his hands away and squeezing with all my strength, disfiguring my breasts when I do it, “Like this.”

  He arches eyebrows, reclaiming my boobs and squeezing so hard that the kneading sweetness of it makes me giggle happily. I nod, “Uh huh, like that.”

  “Doesn't that hurt?”

  I shake my head, “Nope. It's the only part of me that you can do that to. I like it, lots.”

  His smile is so menacing that I stop moving across his groin, watching his obsessive scowl and nasty smile when he squeezes my boobs like he's popping balloons.

  Suddenly sitting up, he uses my neck again to just flip me down, widening his legs so I fall through the gap between them, crawling over me and rolling me between his arms. “On your knees babes.”

  Assuming the position, I smile. I've always found this position to be incredibly sexy. I love the way my body feels in this pose. He bends over me, lining my back with his body, saying huskily in my ear, “I bet you like this hard too.”

  I do, I always have.

  He thrusts into me, my arousal and his making it swift. Him knifing into me blows me apart and fills me at the same time. It eclipses the world, it eclipses everything. It steals my breath, bombs my pulse, feeling him all the way, so deep and addictive, and it's an anomaly but it has always felt inside me as if it reaches to my chest, every time he drills into me I feel the hit just under my sternum, his body slamming against mine, bombarding my luscious pearl with the hit of a high. It's a rush, and the harder he connects to me the deeper my sense of peace, it's meditative, a sensational trance that rakes the nerves up my spine, making every pore on my body extra sensitive, the very air around us dancing across my neurons in an endless and acute frenzy.

  This makes me feel so alive, my scalp crawls, my skin is on fire, the sway of my breasts arousing, the chasm inside me awakening, engorging, plumping and softening to the ecstasy of a brutal fuckfest.

  I match his rhythm, wanting it faster, the friction frantic, relishing the scour of skin inside skin, barbarically smashing our bodies together in wild collision, only caring about the slide, the glide, the hit, the high, the transcendental zone, the raw awareness, the only thing existing is the next delirious intrusion, the spike of adrenaline, my entire being just a pulsing mass of pleasure. It's frenetic, the catalyst igniting a manic forge of heat and ecstasy, the in-out in-out, thick and wet and sexy and rubbing incessantly all over my sensitive channel, it's rabid and spectacular.

  Arching, my lungs bursting, I howl satisfaction, the wild eddying of my lucidity slowly falling, like scattered snowflakes in a flurry of silent prayer, the confetti slowly gathers adhesion, reassembling my mind, restoring sound, making me aware that my blood is boiling over, I'm hotter than a forge, I have limbs and sinew and bone. Coming back into myself is always so heavy and hot and uncomfortable.

  My heart thuds a funeral march, the knoll of reality, my breaths desperate and unstable.

  He pulls out, a gush following it, running down my leg.

  Prowling over me he flops down, pulling me onto his chest, cradling me in a long tight hug, pressing his cheek against mine, his exhalations so jagged and broken that they smash like waves on impenetrable rock, splintering and ruptured in their benediction next to my ear.

  We stay like this for a long reverent silence, until our skin cools, our heartbeats resume normal programming, and the darkness is obliterating everything in nightfall.

  Kissing my forehead he rolls me, leaning forwa
rd when I'm off him, snaring the fleece blanket and covering me, getting up and disappearing.

  He's a dark presence in an even darker world when a match strikes and a candle blossoms to fiery bloom. Three more spring to life, dancing before him like a harem before the sultan.

  The music still imposes its presence through the house, haunting the hallways and vibrating the beams. Lethargic and relaxed I watch the body illuminated with weak flame, softening its edges and giving the impression that a legend walked off a marble pedestal into a world that's forgotten the titans and thurs.

  He folds next to me, handing me my drink, flattening his in moments, refilling his glass with ice and vodka and slamming four more of them back in quick succession.

  Draining my own glass I leave the tumbler to roll away on the carpet, encouraging him to stand on his knees, adjusting in front of him and wrapping my cleavage around his penis, caressing our bodies together, absently running my thumb across the swollen head, across the polished smoothness of his cock while I pump my thighs, keeping his shaft enveloped with my squishy breasts, inhaling the intimacy of two lovers now so in tune that we play. This skin is amazing to me, it's softer than silk, smooth and fascinating and shiny.

  I could touch it all day and think someone should make stress balls that feel like the head of the penis. It's mesmerizing.

  He palms the back of my neck, snarling, “Candy, do you really want me all over you because I can't hold this back much longer.”

  I nod, smiling at his glazed eyes mirroring the candlelight, “You said I could let my vixen out. How do you do, my name is Candace and I like hard fucking and boob squeezing. And I like this, I like this – lots.”

  Before I can finish my sentence he's fountaining hot jizz on my throat, on my chest, his leg muscles quivering like shutters caught in a storm.

  This is how the mighty fall. I laugh when he just sits on his legs, pulling me in and kissing me so hard that my lips are pouty and feeling ultra sexy when he's done.