by Lia Connor
Jack-O-Lantern: Voodoo Queen
Lia Connor
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2006 Lia Connor
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ISBN (10) 1-59596-525-4
ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-525-7
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Voodoo Queen
Marie sat on her balcony in the warm, humid night air of New Orleans and leaned back in a wrought-iron chair, daydreaming of le sexe. Fucking. Making love. That night she was just in the mood for a tussle between the sheets, up against a wall, on the floor, you name it. All she lacked was a partner, and, she thought to herself, it wasn’t unreasonable to expect that she could find one. After all, she was easy on the eyes, no?
Ah, but le sexe… Marie closed her eyes in imagined bliss. To have her slim legs wrapped around a strong male back, thrusting her heels into his muscles as he pounded into her pussy, mmm, that was a sweet dream. She would listen to him gasp and moan in French as he fucked her, rough and dirty words about how wet she was, about the cream that soaked her cunt, and how silky-tight she felt inside. She would drive him crazy, the man she wanted to make love with.
She didn’t know who this man would be, so she didn’t put a face to him. But if she had her way he would be handsome, oh yes, and have a pair of lips very much worth the kissing.
Marie planned on having a fine night.
All she needed was a willing participant. And this was New Orleans, no? If no one came along looking for her, she’d go down to the clubs. Dressed up in her finest “come fuck me” clothes, she’d definitely find what she wanted.
Wait a minute, child, a voice sounded in her head, waking Marie from her daydream. You won’t need to go out tonight.
“I won’t?” Marie asked in mild curiosity, stretching her legs. “But it’s such a good evening for a trip down to the party zone.”
The Halloween night was warm and balmy, the weather unseasonably fine for this time of the year. From her balcony in the rebuilt French Quarter, Marie could drink in the humid midnight air and savor the smells, the sights, the sounds of nearby Bourbon Street.
You can’t stop the party for long in the Big Easy, no matter how the hurricanes come and go, the voice ‘said’ in satisfaction as Marie took a sip of her red wine. The last sip, it drained her glass.
She toyed with the idea of reaching for more. Best to keep a clear head, the voice warned her. Someone’s on his way. Even now, he’s finding the directions to your house.
Marie spoke aloud, as she always did to her unseen guest. “Someone who wants a little voodoo magic?”
What else?
“Tell me about this man. Please.” Marie toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “Is he handsome?”
To die for. The voice chuckled, a deep contralto sound. My little joke. Ah, but he is fine, Marie. Deep brown hair the color of good strong coffee, oui, and eyes as rich a brown as good whiskey in the glass. And his build? C’est magnifique! Marie got the mental image of someone kissing their fingertips. But la, you will see for yourself soon enough, will you not?
“He’ll be here soon then?” Marie reached for the bottle to pour herself another half-glass.
Exercise caution with the strong drink, young miss. You need a clear head to judge this man.
“You won’t help me? You won’t be here?”
I am always here. You are my emissary, and I am reborn in you. What you feel, I feel. What you do, I do. What you say, I say. You are me, and I am you. The voice purred, exactly like a cat. The sound was something that Marie had once found disturbing, but now she liked the soft rumble, like a witch’s familiar licking his chops over a particularly fine meal.
She closed her eyes and crooned back to her unseen friend. “Le sexe… I’ll do my best. But a little more wine won’t kill us.” She paused. “Joke. Besides, I have a high tolerance.”
I want you clear-headed. You see, Marie, you are going to fuck this man, and I do not wish for you to have any regrets in the morning.
Marie grinned, her sharp white teeth showing beneath carmine-red lipstick. She tossed her head, sending soft brown curls tipped with blue streaks flying. “So it’s gonna be a party in the old town tonight. But -- a stranger? I’m not sitting up here to advertise the goods.”
You will fuck him, and you will both scream with pleasure from the act.
“Whatever you say.” Marie poured her glass and took a swallow, relishing the tart taste of the rich red as it crossed her tongue. It went down smooth as silk in the back of her throat, like the dark velvets the voice had voted she decorate her apartment in. “I should trust a stranger, then?”
No. You should trust in me.
“Fair enough.”
I will withdraw a bit, for he comes. Oh -- one more thing, Marie.
“Yes?”
He does not believe in me, nor does he believe in you, what you are now, and what you claim to be. You may try to convince him if you like, but let nature take its course. Fuck him for me, Marie, and for yourself. Again the low chuckle. It has been far too long since either of us has, how do you say it, ‘gotten laid’.
“They’re all too scared of me.” Marie took a drink. “All right, then, Madame Laveaux. I’ll take it from here.”
These are words I like to hear, the Voodoo Queen said before she departed. Marie felt the severing of their connection -- but knew Madame Laveaux had not gone far. She never did.
And so there would be someone coming to her home in just a minute? Well. Let him come then. She grinned to herself. If the Madame, reborn in Marie’s own body, was right, he would definitely come. She hoped she would, too.
Marie lifted her glass. “To life, to love, and to sex,” she said, lingering over her syllables. “To a wild time in the old town tonight on All Hallows' Eve. Salut!”
She waited for a few minutes, crossing her legs at the knee and admiring the long length of creamy café-au-lait legs that were revealed by her short leather skirt, and the stretch of her toned arms, the swell of her breasts in their leather vest, and the way her arms looked, strong enough to hold a man down and soft enough to make him weep from pleasure. Her wrists, small and strong, cuffed by leather bracelets deeply engraved with magical signs and sigils. The way her pentagram necklace fell into her cleavage. The wind ruffling through her soft curls. Oh, yes, it was a good night to be alive, and to be Marie -- the Voodoo Queen reborn.
Even if only a handful of people believed in her. So far.
Footsteps sounded on the street below her apartment, someone approaching. Marie cocked an ear, listening to the person’s approach. She had very, very good hearing, and she could pick out the vibrations of someone bent on meeting her.
She didn’t fi
nd it hard to pinpoint her visitor among the handful of people walking up and down her street. When she saw him, her heart sped up. Had the Madame claimed he had a magnificent body? She hadn’t emphasized the fantastic in fan-fucking-tastic sufficiently.
He was tall enough that she would have to stand on her tiptoes just to kiss him, and rippled with muscles. His hair was short -- a pity, for Marie liked long tresses on a man -- and his face was determined as he made his way to her door. He limped, as if one leg had been wounded and never quite healed properly. Despite the holiday, he wore no costume. Marie took in all this and more as she watched the man come to a stop almost beneath her balcony.
As he looked up at her, the heavy humidity of the New Orleans Halloween night coalesced into a mist of rain, barely enough to dampen her skin, but enough that it would be a fine aid to getting this man inside her house, which she wanted to do. Her pussy dampened at the thought of him being between her legs.
He stood, gazing up at her. Their eyes met, and Marie flashed him a grin. She lifted her glass. “Trick or treat,” she called down to the street. “Do you have some candy for me? Throw me a little something.”
A wry grin twisted the man’s lips. “Only if you show me a little something.”
“Is that what you want?” Marie’s fingers went to the front-facing zipper of her leather vest, hovering over the coffee-creamy swell of her breasts. “I can, if you like. No one will see but you, I promise.”
“No.” The man shook his head. “I’ve come here to see Marie. Are you the one -- I mean, are you her?”
Marie inclined her head.
“The Marie? The one and only?” The man looked doubtful. “I thought you’d be… taller.”
Marie tilted her head back and laughed. “Don’t believe everything you’re told,” she crooned. She let her fingers fall away from her chest, then stood up, arching a body she knew was magnificent in the moonlight. The rain began to pick up, starting to wet her hair. “Come inside,” she invited, tempting as the devil himself. “Nothing bad will happen.” She licked her lips. “Nothing that you don’t want, anyway.”
She saw the man swallow, the jerk of his Adam’s apple up and down, and then he nodded. “Unlock the door for me.”
“It’s already open.” Marie lifted her glass and saluted her stranger. “I knew you were coming, you see.”
And with that, she turned and made her way back into her opulent apartment, carrying her bottle and glass, to wait for the man to make his way upstairs. Her heartbeat quickened in her chest as she posed herself in the middle of her sitting room, full of soft couches and fine fabrics. The voice had said she would fuck this man, and she was already so wet at the mere thought.
Oh, how she hoped he would come upstairs and prove the Madame right.
She didn’t have to wait long -- the sound of someone climbing stairs filtered through to her ears soon enough, and then a polite knock on the door. “I told you it was open,” Marie said, cocking her hip. “Come in, and tell me who you are.”
The door cracked open, then swung all the way on its hinges. The man stood before her, built like a stallion and just as handsome as a wild beast. Such a man, with his shaggy short hair and slightly wild brown eyes, a scar on his temple and the rain soaking his sheer shirt to the skin.
They gazed at each other for a long moment, Marie drinking in the details of the man, from his broad, hard chest to his well-shaped feet. She let him get a good look at her, too. She stretched and preened, knowing that he would be wanting her. Everyone did, once they got a look at Marie. Even more so, once they stepped into her home.
The man opened his mouth. “They say you’re the reincarnation of Marie Laveaux,” he said hoarsely. “Every bar, every jazz joint I go to, I hear the whispers. Marie’s back, Marie’s back. I went to her tomb, and it’s still covered in chalk signs with offerings of little bottles of whiskey and cigarettes, but they’re all old. People think that the Voodoo Queen is back, and that she is you.”
“So they say.” Marie toyed with her zipper again. “So I say. What do you say?”
“I think…” The man shook his head, small droplets of water flying. “I think you’re casting a spell on me,” he said. “You’re making me feel this fire in my belly. This…”
“Ah, yes.” Marie sauntered closer, deep enough into the man’s personal space that she could all but feel the pain in his bad leg. She ran midnight blue nails over his chest, tracing his nipples through the wet fabric. “You want to fuck me, don’t you? The need, it’s consuming you from the inside out. You want this body underneath you, naked and writhing.” She felt the man shudder, as if the mental images were almost too much for him to handle. “I’m casting no spell on you,” she said, tapping a finger on his chin. “This is just the magic that’s as old as time. Woman and man and attraction.”
Marie leaned up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Will you fuck me?” she crooned. “Take this body and drive deep inside it until the thirst you feel is quenched and you’re lying naked by my side?”
The man shuddered again. “Yes,” he said raggedly. “God, yes. It’s not what I came for, but now that I’ve seen you, met you, it’s all I can think of.”
“Good.” Marie traced his full, kissable lips and smiled. “Tell me your name. I like to know what to say when I scream. I am a screamer, by the way. Does it bother you?”
The man closed his eyes briefly. “No. I’m fine with noise. And the name is Paul. But I swear, I didn’t come looking for sex. I don’t think of you as some kind of a two-bit whore.”
“I’m worth far more than two bits.” Marie nibbled at Paul’s ear. She withdrew, looking up at him. “I’m worth the cost of a soul. But for you, tonight, I’m free for the taking.” She walked her fingers up his chest. “So, will you take me, or will you not? The choice is yours.”
“Call me by name, just once.” Paul put his arms around her. Mmm, good solid arms. He bent just a little, his lips hovering over her own. “Call me Paul, Lady Marie.”
“Only if you believe. Do you?”
He swallowed. “Now that I’ve seen you, how can I not?”
“Good,” Marie breathed, “Paul. Now kiss me, Paul. I want you to kiss me so bad.”
“Then let me kiss you bad,” he whispered back, and laid his mouth on her own.
And oh, that kiss was wicked bad. He tilted their heads so he could angle his lips over her own at the best possible slant, plunging his tongue into her mouth at first roughly, then, as he seemed to struggle for control, with finesse. Marie crooned in satisfaction, thrusting her own tongue along his own.
She wore no panties, so the skin between her thighs grew slippery and damp with her own juices. The smell of her sex drifted up between them, no doubt prompting Paul’s soft moan. He reached for her, playing with the hem of her dark skirt, then sliding a hand beneath to toy with her pussy, tugging at the strip of dark curls that ran down the middle of her folds. She could feel his fingers getting wet with her cream. Both moaned.
“So hot,” Paul muttered, pulling away from her mouth to rain kisses down her neck and on the bit of her shoulder that wasn’t covered by tight leather. “So wet. Is this for me?”
“All for you,” Marie answered, winding her arm around his neck. “Fuck me, Paul. I want to feel that cock of yours inside me.”
He chuckled. “And what if I’m not well-endowed? Would you still want me then?”
Marie laughed in return. “From what I can tell?” She ground her pussy against the swollen bulge of his shaft. “I have nothing to worry about.” She stepped back, knowing she looked tousled and wanton, reveling in every second of the moment. “Strip for me, Paul. I want to see that body of yours naked.”
Paul hesitated, then nodded roughly. He peeled the wet shirt off his body, and dropped it on the floor next to him. Marie licked her lips at the sight. He was almost hairless, just the way she liked her men, with just a small vee of curls disappearing beneath his waistline. His hand hesitated at the w
aist of his jeans. He flashed her a look she found hard to read.
“All of them,” she ordered. “Nude, you must be nude.”
Paul sighed, then put his hands to his zipper. He wore no underwear either, and Marie caught her breath at the sight of his magnificent cock, fully eight inches and uncut, though he was already aroused enough that the foreskin had drawn back around its swollen head. He must have misinterpreted her sound of appreciation as one of dismay, though, for he flinched as he stripped the jeans off his body to reveal one perfect leg and one covered in scars and rough patches of skin.
“No, no, no,” Marie hastened to calm her guest, her soon-to-be lover. “I am not shocked or disdainful. There is nothing shameful in scars, Paul. I have a few.”
He gave her a half-grin. “Anything like this?”
Marie had to shake her head. “But what difference does it make? I want you, and these are part of you.” Graceful, despite the tightness of her short skirt and the wetness between her legs, Marie sank to her knees in front of Paul and laid both her small hands on his scarred calf. “I want all of you, even that which is not ‘perfect’ in some eyes.”
And so speaking she kissed his scars, running up and down the length of his leg, from calf to thigh, tracing each white line with her tongue. Paul breathed in sharply, as if he couldn’t believe she was doing this, and was stiff as a board… but Marie saw his cock twitch, and knew he was turned on by her actions.
Her lavishing of love on his wounded leg completed, Marie turned her attention to the cock her mouth had been watering after for what seemed like an eternity now. She took the head into her mouth, savoring the salty tang of his semen, already beginning to trickle out for her.
“Wait,” Paul choked. “Condom.”
Marie sat back in annoyance. “Do you have one?”
He nodded roughly. “In the back pocket of my jeans.”
Marie laughed, a low ripple of sound. “So you came prepared?”
“No.” He flashed her a rueful grin. “I’m a man. I don’t know one who doesn’t carry.”