Eddie's fingers ran across her torso, pausing at the still neglected right side of her chest before traveling down across her taut stomach. He hesitated at the line of elastic on her cotton panties, then gathered his courage and let his fingers slide between her legs. The resolve to ignore his fears paid off as Vivian's breath caught and her hips rose to meet his fingers.
His fingers fumbled across the cotton, exploring the outline of her pussy and playing with the edge of her panties and the small curls poking from beneath the fabric. Vivian moaned her encouragement and he responded, slipping a finger under the barrier and running it through the forest of soft hair guarding her inner sanctum. He paused only slightly before gliding it along her slit, and her lips parted in an unseen smile at his willingness to overcome his inhibitions. At the same time, she spread her legs a bit wider and pushed up, hoping to force his finger into her wetness.
As he touched her silky labia, his mouth left her, and she opened her eyes to find him staring into them. A last act of gentlemanly deferral, looking for that final permission. She nodded ever so slightly, and his white teeth emerged in a brilliant smile while his probing finger slipped inside her.
Vivian nails curled into his back. He tensed at the slight pain, and it caused his finger to slide deeper, which had been her intention. She released her nails and pulled his head in the direction of her neglected nipple. As his mouth closed over it, she whispered in his ear. “Take them off of me. I want nothing between your fingers and me."
He groaned, the rumble reverberating through her breast in a most pleasurable way. He slowly pulled his finger away, reluctance to leave her showing as obviously as the concern about overstepping boundaries had earlier. But he showed no such hesitation as he pulled at the sides of her last remaining garment. Vivian lifted her ass off the couch and eagerly reached down to help. As she tugged at the sides, his hand finished the job, and they slid down to her knees. She lifted one foot and the panties fell to rest across the foot that remained on the floor.
Eddie's hand moved swiftly back up her thigh and parted her nether lips. The air caressed her. It combined with his circling fingers to send a shudder through her body that matched the rumbling noise emanating from him.
Her hands traveled to his shoulders, and one continued down to the hand that was now sliding in and out of her. The slurping sound of her pussy grasping his finger excited her as much as the physical sensation, but she wanted more. Gently, she took his hand and pulled another finger into her wetness. Eddie took the silent suggestion without comment apart from a gentle bite on the hard point of her nipple. Her hips began to rock as the second—and then a third—finger joined the endeavor.
Vivian felt the rise of her passion. A detached part of her wondered at the quickness of it but that was soon eclipsed by the rush of blood and sensation. Her orgasm took her in a body-tightening implosion followed by a cry of joy that startled her lover just as much as the thrust of her hips beneath him.
When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, his eyes filled with both questions and pride.
"That was incredible!"
"Did you really ... I mean, did I just ... I mean, so fast?” He stopped, squared his shoulders, then simply said, “I'm glad you liked it."
"My turn,” she declared as her breath returned, slipping free of his weight and pushing him onto the cushions of the couch. His eyes grew larger as she stayed on her knees and began to unbuckle the garters holding up his socks. Quickly, they joined the growing pile of his clothes, a pile that had one remaining component. Vivian took the elastic of his boxers in her hands, gathering fabric in her fingers. “Lift,” she commanded, and he obliged.
His cock sprang free as she pulled the boxers from his legs and nonchalantly tossed them over a shoulder to land where they would. The motion caused the hard shaft to quiver in front of her. A moan emerged from him as her fingers ran along the edge of the purple head before she wrapped her hand around it and stroked. Eddie's entire body convulsed in response.
"Oh, sweetheart, that's nothing."
The words as much as the image of her lips sliding down his cock sent another shiver down Eddie's spine.
"Vivian, if you do that ... I can't, I mean, I won't...” He sighed, sensing that the words he was about to say would ruin his chance of realizing the fantasy in his mind's eye. “I won't be able to hold back like a gentleman."
She surprised him with a gentle giggle.
"So? That sounds nice to me. I want to know I can make you lose control."
Eddie watched, mesmerized, as she lowered her head. As much as he wanted to visually witness his cock disappear into her mouth, the moment her lips made contact with his glans, his eyes involuntarily closed. The heat of her mouth seemed to draw all sensation into one concentrated area, intensifying the bliss but inhibiting his ability to do anything other than savor it. The only muscles that would agree to move were those responsible for ensuring that his cock continued to travel in and out of that divine orifice, and they gave him no alternative, either.
Before he could even think about trying to stop them, his hips left the sofa of their own volition. They pushed upward into Vivian's mouth. He tried to apologize, but his attempts at speech resulted in moans and gasps that did not resemble individual words, much less a coherent sentence.
Vivian took everything he gave, adapting easily to his spontaneous jerks and thrusts. He tasted of summer; that sensual, salt-tinged musk that spoke to her most primal impulses. As she explored with her tongue, her hands sought other territory. Every new touch—to thighs, to balls, to ass—brought a new note in Eddie's guttural responses, and she delighted in his vocal accompaniment. What words he did occasionally manage to speak were Spanish exclamations of either praise or prayer.
Judging by the way his hands grasped the sofa cushions on either side of his legs, he was rapidly approaching his zenith. He clutched them tightly, the blanched points of his knuckles standing out against caramel skin. When his fingers began to flutter with a pent-up restraint, she knew from experience it meant he was resisting a powerful urge to grab her head.
As much as she wanted to prolong his pleasure, Vivian rationalized that there would be ample opportunities to do so in their future. Eddie was not a one-night stand, after all. She wouldn't let that happen, no matter how much either of their families might squawk about their diverse relationship. No, this was the start of something big. She could feel it in her heart—in addition to a few other places.
Those other places—namely her pussy and her nipples—were clamoring for more of Eddie's attention, and the sooner she took him over the top, the sooner they could have it. So, when his sounds gained in both frequency and volume, Vivian didn't hold back. Her head bobbed faster and one hand chased it, slippery from her saliva. With the other, she cupped his balls, stroking her thumb along his taint with deep pressure.
"Madre ... de ... Dios!" he gasped as he came, repeating the first words he ever spoke to her. His entire body shuddered with the force of his orgasm.
Vivian stilled, holding him in her mouth until the pulses subsided before pulling back to swallow.
As the shaking slowed and the muscles in his legs relaxed, Eddie gazed down at her. Her throat moved as she swallowed, and his jaw dropped in surprise. Although this was not the first chupadita of his life, the other women had each reacted to his orgasm with, at best, mild disgust.
The look on Vivian's face was one of enjoyment. His apology for not holding back died on his lips as she got off her knees and crawled on top of him on the couch.
He tried to think of something appropriate to say. But every time he began to formulate a thank you or a compliment, it vanished from his mind. Lacking words, he took action and pulled her hard against his chest in a crushing embrace.
Her breath tickled his ear as she laughed into his shoulder. The laughter also caused her breasts to jiggle against his chest and he was surprised to notice his cock reacting to it despite the recent explosion.
This American woman was of a type completely outside his experience. He wanted to please her as she had him. Placing his hands beneath her arms, he pulled her higher on the couch so that her chest was again at the level of his mouth, albeit from a different angle. He immediately popped a hard nipple into his mouth, sucking gently yet trying to capture not only the tip but as much of her as he possibly could.
Her giggling was replaced by a long sigh, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. He released the suction and turned his head to take her other breast into his mouth as deeply as the first. Her hips swiveled, grinding her pussy into him, and he became aware that the wetness there had not abated.
He dropped his hands to the round globes of her ass and squeezed. She bucked against him, and her tit was torn away from his lips. He kissed the center of her chest, letting his tongue wander side to side along the curves that formed the bottom of her glorious bosom.
Vivian rocked forward, and he found her tummy now against his lips. The damp nest of curly hair that concealed her silken pussy rubbed against the hair of his chest. Making a decision and acting upon it, he closed his fingers around the softness of her ass again and pulled her hips toward his mouth.
He had scant experience in this. The women he had been with before were reluctant to allow it. Their attitude, he knew, came from the same misguided shame that forced sex to be an activity pursued in the dark, beneath the covers and with the shades down. When he had been able to convince them, it had been only with the sheets pulled over his head.
Not with Vivian. Although they had turned on no lights and the sky was rapidly darkening, he could still see the brown curls and glimpse the pink of her pussy through them. He used his nose to part the obstructing hair and let his tongue slide out to flick across the glistening rose petals hidden beneath her bush.
She tasted of salt from her sweat, a combination of the summer's heat, and their earlier activity on the couch. Underlying it was another flavor that was quite unique. Eddie had enough experience to know that each woman tasted different. Vivian's flavor was entrancing. He kissed her nether lips as he would those that had just pleasured him, turning his head slightly and caressing them, his tongue darting to run along a slippery fold or delve into the entrance to her cunt.
She moaned again and pushed down on him. His fingers contracted, and he loosened his grip, fearful that he would bruise her in his enthusiasm.
As he sucked one of her labial ridges into his mouth, he again felt the reawakening of his desire. His cock, which had softened but never completely collapsed, was growing hard again.
"Want you inside me. Do you have,” Vivian wrenched herself off his face and panted, “protection?” With the last word, she slid down his torso and wiggled her hips against his erection.
The crestfallen look that overtook Eddie's face was almost comical, a caricature of disappointment. “I never ... I mean, I don't usually ... That is, spontaneity is not exactly ... No,” he finally admitted, “I do not. I'm sorry."
She rested her open palm against his cheek, still slick with her juices. “It's alright. We can have plenty of opportunity for that in the future, can't we?"
Vivian grinned at the instantaneous and complete reversal of his expression. He lit up like a little boy upon discovering a coveted Red Ryder BB gun hiding under the Christmas tree.
"I was hoping you felt that way. Sí, se puede. The thought of this being an isolated encounter is just ... Well, it's just wrong.” Realizing how his words could be interpreted, his visage again shifted. “I don't mean to trivialize this, by any means, but—"
With a laugh, Vivian moved her hand to cover his mouth. “Hush! I understand what you mean, and I agree. We can talk about that later. Right now, we have a more immediate quandary. Just what are we going to do about this?” She wiggled again to emphasize her point.
It was Eddie's turn to laugh. “My dear lady, that has been a quandary several times throughout the day, as I'm certain you noticed. It's something I'll simply have to become accustomed to in your presence. I consider it a delicious dilemma."
Vivian affected a pout. “But, I don't like to let a perfectly good erection go to waste. Is there a pharmacy nearby? When is your roommate due back?"
At the mention of his absent roommate, Eddie's eyes brightened. He nearly dumped her onto the floor in his haste to stand. With his cock bobbing before him, he dashed from the living room, pausing only momentarily before he disappeared down the hall to say, “Be right back!"
Perplexed, but amused, Vivian stood. She noticed the spilled wine and assumed one of them must've knocked it off the coffee table in the heat of the moment. As she grabbed her already-soiled dress to sop up the mess, sounds of drawers opening and closing emanated from the hallway. There was a triumphant exclamation and, seconds later, Eddie returned carrying a small box.
"I will replace these before he returns,” he explained with a sheepish grin, removing one of the Trojans and dropping the rest of the box on the coffee table. “Although I doubt he'll notice. In two years, I can not remember him having cause to open this box."
"I see your archaeological skills include digging for erotic antiquities in your roommate's bureau. That would make it an erotique, would it not?” Vivian took the condom from his hand and ripped it open with her teeth. “Allow me,” she said, spitting out the thin strip of wrapper and dropping to her knees. Deftly, she rolled the sheath onto his cock then pushed him backward onto the sofa. Without another word, she climbed on top and straddled him.
"Eddie,” she breathed as she lowered herself onto his cock, “at last."
"No, darling. At first. This is something that is going to last our entire lives."
"And then some,” Vivian murmured as she began to move.
* * * *
AUTHORS’ NOTE: The adventures of Vivian, Eddie, and the Long family continue in ArtiFactual: Tales of the Erotique Mystique, a finalist in the 2007 Dream Realm Awards. It is available in both ebook and print from Phaze Books and all major online booksellers.
* * * *
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Matilda's Touch
© Saskia Walker
Her hands working the dough, that's how I always think of her. Her long, strong fingers coaxing the dough into life, giving it the ability to swell and blossom in the oven. The first time I saw her hands at work in the kitchen I knew, instinctively, that her touch would be firm and sensitive.
Matilda's touch changed my life, but she led me to that touch slowly. She overcame my reluctance for human contact through an undemanding friendship, gentle and pure, and then she led me further.
It was 1961. I had just turned eighteen. My mother had sent me away from London to Fawcett-McLaughlin's—a finishing school for young ladies—after the trouble at home. She had taken sides against me with her latest boyfriend, Jack. He was one of several, since my father had left us when I was fourteen. She didn't really have time for a boyfriend—she was one of a rare breed in those days, a career woman.
Jack wasn't much older than me and acted even younger. He was wily and slick, with a nasty streak that he never showed when my mother was around. The trouble came when he started picking on me, teasing me for being such a tomboy and not having a boyfriend. I called him a spiv when he called me a scruffy tart. My mother walked into the kitchen just as I flicked a spoonful of porridge over his smarmy face, assumed I was having a tantrum for no good reason, and packed me off to the school for the summer.
Jack would soon be gone, I knew that, and I was bound for Art College in the autumn, but my mother's actions hurt. It was my last summer at home, and she had sent me away because she didn't know how else to deal with the predicament. I felt ugly. I felt betrayed. I traveled the length of the country in silence, sat in the taxi from the station and looked at the dreary gray school building feeling numb and indifferent toward it. I sighed and wondered why life had given me so many things that were beyond my contro
l.
It wasn't a finishing school of the fancy type one might read about in Switzerland or on the French Riviera. It was on the Northeast coast of Yorkshire, England's bracing coast. Bleak and desolate for the most part, often gusty even in summertime, but with an eerie, gaunt beauty nonetheless. Fawcett-McLaughlin's was named after the two prim proprietors and was set in a decrepit old manor house with rambling gardens. Even in the early 1960s, it had that dusty post-war feeling of make-do about it. Alas, the same could be said of the prevailing attitude.
The other girls were mostly middle-class, their parents aspiring to make something special of their daughters. They sent them off for the summer to be taught how to act like a lady, how to run a home properly, and how to use a typewriter—the latter in case the requisite husband didn't appear and they had to support themselves. The 1960s had only just begun, but mercifully they were under way.
Arabella Fawcett, the senior tutor, soon realized my typing wasn't improving with any great haste. She called me to her room, where I had been deposited by the glum taxi driver two days earlier, and offered me some tea.
"Sally, dearest, are you settling in?” She gave a plump approving smile when I nodded. There seemed little point in saying otherwise or complaining about the lumpy dormitory bed.
"That's good. We like our girls to feel at home. But typing isn't really your strong point is it, Sally?"
I struggled with the urge to respond with monosyllabic answers. I had barely uttered a complete sentence since I'd left Ealing.
"I gave it up for woodwork at school,” I managed.
She frowned, fingering the ruffle on her fuchsia blouse.
"They might let young ladies do things like that in London,” she didn't look convinced, “but we don't, here at Fawcett-McLaughlin's."
I sighed. At least in the typing class, I had avoided communicating with the other girls. They had divided into cliques and were well ahead of the new girl in the set exercises. I didn't mind feeling like an outsider; it seemed easiest. Truth be told, I was still smarting from my mother's rejection.
Coming Together: At Last, Volume One Page 4