He backed off and let her breathe, lapping at her swollen lower lips and swirling his tongue around in her hungry cunt. Meanwhile he was pumping his cock down her throat. She could feel the tension coiling under his skin.
He was close, they both were, and suddenly all she wanted to was to taste him. She worked him harder, sucking until her jaw ached. She willed him to come.
He seemed to sense her need. She felt the contractions rippling up his shaft. She forgot that she didn't like the taste of come, swallowing the bitter fluid as fast as it spurted across her tongue. She wanted it all, everything he could give her, anything that he would do to her.
His cock remained hard in her mouth. She wondered if he could still fuck her. He licked steadily at her clit, but she needed something to fill her, to satisfy the aching hunger in her cunt.
All at once, she was full, something cool and hard and definitely not human sliding into her slippery depths. “Oh...” she began, and then couldn't say anything else, the pleasure driving away words. Whatever it was, it felt heavenly.
"Like that, princess?” Frank's voice was kind, with a hint of laughter. All Kit could do was grunt. He stroked once, twice, thrusting deeper each time. At the same time, his tongue danced over her clitoris. She hovered on the edge of ecstasy; he pushed her over and into free fall.
A whirlwind took her, fireworks, explosions of sensation. Endorphins raced through her blood, flooding all her senses with delight. Her mind was drugged almost to insensibility by pleasure. It was just so amazing...
Kit lay with her head on Frank's furry chest. His arm around her felt natural, right. She could hear his heartbeat, smell his sweat. Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness; over on the bed table she could see the penis-shaped incense burner she had noticed in the shop, still slick with her juices. The odd, haunting music flowed over them. She was floating, totally satiated, completely comfortable. It was an unfamiliar feeling.
"I really thought that I blew it,” said Frank softly. “I was sure that you'd never come back, Katerina. And I was so very sorry."
"Well...” Kit began. She didn't know how to answer.
"Anyway, I'm surprised that you're here, on a weekday. I would have thought that you'd be at work."
Work. The staff meeting. Kit felt a brief stab of panic. The comfort overwhelmed it. She settled back into his embrace. “I should be. But I decided that I needed a break."
Frank's laugh woke new tingles in her sex.
"But what about you? You're a famous chemist. I didn't know ... I thought that you were just some weird old hippie, living in the past."
"I am. I quit, quite a while ago. I just couldn't stand to see profits be given a higher priority than people. Just a crazy idealist, I guess."
"But the lab, downstairs...?"
"Well, I still dabble a bit. Play around. Try to keep up with the journals.” He circled one of her nipples with a lazy fingertip. His other hand crept across her belly toward her pussy.
He captured her clit between thumb and forefinger and squeezed gently. She gasped at the sudden surge of pleasure. As the ripples faded away, he followed up with a kiss.
His mustache was sticky with her secretions. He tasted like the ocean. It was sloppy and messy and delicious. Somehow there was a question, though, nagging at her. She couldn't quite relax.
"So what are you working on now? AIDS? Parkinson's?"
"Nothing so important. I've just been experimenting with a little private project. Something to amuse myself and a select few of my friends."
Drugs, Kit thought, annoyed that this world-class mind should be focused on something so frivolous. But what else should she have expected? “Some kind of hallucinogenic? Or a new synthetic stimulant?"
He kneaded her breast in his broad, stubby-fingered hand. Her cunt contracted, echoing each caress. “No, nothing like that."
Her hand closed on his swelling cock and squeezed hard. “What then? Tell me!"
Frank groaned, then giggled. “If you're trying to torture it out of me, you've definitely got the wrong technique."
"Come on, Frank! You can trust me."
"You promise that you won't be angry?"
"Angry? Why should I be angry?"
"Well...” He was suddenly coy. “You might feel that you've been manipulated. Just remember, though, what a good time we've had."
"What in heaven are you talking about? What is this project, Frank?” Kit was feeling more and more suspicious. Then he slipped his fingers back into her wet depths, and she nearly swooned.
"It's an aphrodisiac."
The pleasure welling up inside her was distracting. “What?"
"An aphrodisiac. More precisely, a hormonal augmentation trigger. It amplifies sexual responses in the subject and also in members of the opposite sex who are exposed to the subject."
Kit pulled herself away from him, struggling to sit upright as waves oscillated through the mattress. “And your subject is...?"
"Myself, of course. I need to make sure that the substance is safe. And it does seem to be. None of the risks or unpleasant side-effects of Viagra or Cialis or Spanish Fly..."
"And I was the guinea pig member of the opposite sex? How dare you!"
He pulled her back down, hugging her to his chest. Despite her indignation, she couldn't deny the sense of peace, of physical well-being, that washed over her. His erection bobbed flirtatiously against her thigh, then slid toward her still hungry sex, leaving a trail of pre-come on her skin.
"Come on, Katerina, don't spoil it. Life is just too damned short. Take your pleasure while you can."
"But—it's not real. It's artificial pleasure."
He jerked his hips, embedding his cock in her folds, then rolled her over onto her back. “Not real?” He began to thrust, gently, rhythmically. Sensitized from her previous climax, she sensed a new orgasm hovering close. She arched, grinding her pelvis against his, aching for the release that was just out of reach. “What could be more real than this? This isn't plastic or electronic. This isn't cyberized or sanitized. This is flesh and blood, saliva and sweat and pussy juice and come, the whole organic stew that makes sex so glorious."
Kit was panting with desire, yet somehow she still struggled to keep up her end of the argument. “But—I'd never have wanted you ... if you hadn't ... if you didn't..."
Frank pulled his cock out of her, and she cried out, empty and disappointed. He raised himself off her, weight on his forearms. His blazing blue eyes searched her face. “Are you so sure, princess? What if I told you that I was just kidding, that there wasn't any aphrodisiac? That I just made it up to see how you'd react?"
Kit whimpered in frustration and confusion.
"Tell me, princess, do you want me now?"
"Yes,” she moaned. Frank answered by ramming his cock into her with such force that the waves almost tossed them off the bed.
After that, there was no more discussion. Frank fucked her hard. She wailed with delight at every stroke, clutched as his shoulders, dug her fingernails into his hairy back. Her burly lover growled and muttered as he slammed away at her, knowing that the time for gentleness had passed. They grappled together, rolling from side to side, struggling to hold tighter, delve deeper.
Finally, Frank roared, and Kit felt a rush of liquid heat deep in her sex. It kindled her own climax, which raced through her like a forest fire fanned by summer gales, burning everything in its path: confusion, uncertainty, fear, guilt and regret. All that was left was an open vista of pleasure, swept clean, empty and peaceful.
* * * *
The red-gold light filtering under the drawn shades told Kit that sunset was not far away. She had missed staff, missed a whole afternoon of work. She tried to summon the requisite spike of anxiety and failed.
Frank was lying on his side, his back to her, watching the patterns of light on the wall and humming to himself. She touched him lightly on the shoulder. He rolled toward her and swept her into a wet kiss that Kit felt in her fingers and toe
s, her breasts and her clit.
"Hey, princess, you're awake. Are you still mad at me?"
She snuggled up against him, breathing in his special scent. “No. I can't manage to stay mad at you. That first time, I came over to ball you out for making so much noise, and look what happened."
"Yes, well, there was some balling done..."
"Oh, you old goat!” She licked at his ear lobe.
"That tickles! And I'm no more ruttish than you."
"And who's responsible for that?"
"My lips are sealed.” In fact, they were not; they were sucking energetically at Kit's nipple, making her squirm.
"But seriously, is it true?"
He paused briefly to look up at her. “I'll never tell. Anyway, does it matter?” Not waiting for an answer, he slithered down and began applying his agile tongue to her clit.
I suppose not, Kit thought, as he took her steadily higher. Either way, it was chemistry.
* * * *
www.lisabetsarai.com
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When the Angels Fall
© Helen E.H. Madden
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
On the other end of the vid line, I heard a small sigh. The view screen showed nothing but the grille pattern signifying the confidentiality of the confessional's call-in line. Even so, I knew who waited on the other end. Father Raphe.
Of course, Father Raphe knew who he was talking to as well. “Hello Daniel. How long has it been since your last Confession? Two whole days, perhaps?"
"Not quite,” I answered sheepishly. I settled back in my chair, relaxing as the older man's words floated to me through the speakers of the vid phone. The tone of his voice promised much needed admonition, and my cock twitched in anticipation. I clenched the arms of my chair tightly, trying to keep from touching myself for a little while longer. I was already half undressed, my shirt unbuttoned, exposing my bare chest to the cool breeze blowing through the bedroom window. My pants and briefs lay in a rumpled heap around my ankles.
"I thought we'd agreed that you would only call me for Confession once a week,” Father Raphe went on. “During the day.” His voice was mild, smooth with age, with only a hint of irritation to it.
"We did,” I answered, “but this is sort of an emergency."
Another sigh from the vid phone speakers. I imagined Father Raphe sitting in his syntha-leather arm chair, rubbing at his temples. A real fire blazed in a brick hearth behind him, casting golden glints onto his wavy silvered hair. He would be wearing a nightgown, I surmised, something long and light that draped over his lean figure in fluid folds, with a robe over that to protect him from the chill spring night. Personally, I liked the cold. It made me feel even more naked as long icy fingers of night air plucked my nipples into hard little knots.
"What's the emergency this time?” Father Raphe finally asked.
I squirmed. This was the hard part of Confession, actually owning up to the crime. “It's my mother. She's dying."
"And?"
"And when her lawyer called to tell me she wanted to see me one last time, I told him to go fuck himself."
"Oh, Daniel."
I writhed beneath the gentle disappointment in his voice. It was both sweet and painful as hell.
"I couldn't help it,” I went on. “I hate her. That bitch made my life miserable. You know what she did to me!"
"Yes, I do, but I also know that you make yourself even more miserable by hating her and by acting in such a poisonous fashion. Daniel, your mother was a cruel woman, but at some point you have to let go of your hate in order to heal."
Like that's going to happen any time soon, I thought. Out loud, I asked, “Will you pray for me, Father?"
"That depends. Where are your hands?"
I blushed. Even though he couldn't see it through the confessional screen, I knew he could sense it. “They're on the arms of my chair."
"And your clothing?"
"I'm dressed!” I protested. “I swear. Would I lie to you?"
"Not lie, no. But you have been known to bend the truth. Really, Daniel, the purpose of Confession is to relieve the burdens of the soul not the genitals. Your propensity to masturbate while we pray is ... disturbing."
I grinned, though still embarrassed. “I'm wearing a shirt, pants, underwear, and socks. I promise."
"All right then. As long as you don't remove any clothing, we'll pray, and then I'll give you your penance. But will you please promise me something, Daniel?"
"What?"
"Promise me the next time you feel the urge to call me in the middle of the night, you'll forgo the charade of Confession. It's not a sin to care for another person, you know. You've come so far these past few years. If only you could just take that last step..."
I sank back into my chair, really ashamed now. “I'd like to, Father Raphe. I really would. But I'm just not ready yet."
There was a pause and then, “Now that sounds like a true confession. At least we're accomplishing something tonight. Let us pray."
I imagined Father Raphe on his side of the vid line, on his knees, head bowed, hands clasped in prayer, robe and night gown gracefully spread on the floor around him. Holy words flowed from his full lips, spilling through the vid line to pour their blessings onto me. My dick swelled beneath the benediction, and I prayed right along with him, holding tight to the arms of my chair until I thought I'd die if I didn't touch myself. Through ten rounds of ‘Merciful Mary’ and one ‘Lord Jesus Who Loves Us All,’ I ran my hands over my cock, just barely stroking it at first, then squeezing my balls with one hand as I pumped my shaft into the fist of the other. I prayed hard, and I came hard, well before the final ‘Amen,’ and then I grew hard again, just in time for Father Raphe to give me my penance.
* * * *
"God damn that priest anyway!"
My rented hydro-car sailed along the highway at a good hundred fifty clicks. I was going a little fast, but it wasn't like anyone was going to pull me over for speeding way out here. I was out in the middle of fucking nowhere, in Bible Land for Christ's sake. The place was nothing but an isolated stretch of rolling hills, dotted with only the occasional farm or fuel-cell station. Most of the hydro-cars I saw were at least fifty years old, and they sat abandoned in weed-choked yards attached to run-down houses I could barely see through the dust kicked up by my speeding. The fine grit coated the hydro-car's plaz windows and turned everything outside a lifeless yellow-gray. It reminded me of corpses. It reminded me of my mother. I shuddered.
"God damn Father Raphe and his God damn penance,” I muttered as the car droned along the empty road. The blasphemous words sent a wicked thrill that ran down my spine and straight into my cock. Still, it didn't help me shake the feeling of dread that had hung on me since the night before.
"I want you to go back to Bible Land,” Father Raphe had instructed me after we were done praying. “I want you to see your mother."
I remember gaping at the vid screen with its impenetrable grille pattern. My hands and cock were still sticky with come. “You're kidding me!"
"No, I'm not. You need to see your mother."
"Why? So I can forgive her?"
"No,” Father Raphe had replied. “I doubt she wants forgiveness, just as I doubt you're ready to give it, so what would be the point? But I think it's high time you realized that she no longer has any power over you, and the best way to do that is to go see her."
"I already know she doesn't have power over me anymore,” I argued hotly. “That's why I'm not going. To prove that she can't force me to do something I don't want to do."
"No, the reason you're not going is because you're frightened.” I could see him shaking his finger at me behind the darkened screen. “Even after all these years, you're afraid that the moment you see her, you'll become a helpless child again and be right back under her control. But that won't happen, Daniel. Oh, I expect she will say some things that will hurt you. Being rejected by one's p
arents is always hurtful because our parents are the people who should love us no matter what. But you're a grown man now. She can no longer control you unless you let her. It's time you realized that. It's time you faced her and took the reins of your life into your own hands."
Easier said than done, I thought. But penance was set, and Father Raphe refused to listen to any further arguments. I had asked for it, he said, and he was right. But I still wasn't happy about it.
"God damn it,” I whispered, watching the yellow-gray world slip by.
My mother's house was set deep in the heart of Bible Land, at the top of an artificial mountain. At one time, the place had been a church, the now infamous Sermon on the Mount, where the late great Reverend Robert Thorpe had tried unsuccessfully to convince two thousand people to leave behind a world of sin by ingesting cyanide pills. Poor Reverend Thorpe. He had been an old time Bible thumper, a former tent preacher wildly popular among the small but rabid Moral Minority, that exclusive club whose members believed that they and they alone would enter into God's Kingdom. Unfortunately for him, there was a limit to how far people would follow. Being a martyr was all well and good, but if they all died, who would be left to carry on the fight?
In the end, Reverend Thorpe bit the big one all by his lonesome while his congregation bravely stayed on to continue his work. My mother was a card carrying member of the Minority, said card having been handed down to her from her father, who had gotten it from his father. My great-grandfather had been the chief financial officer of Sermon on the Mount during Thorpe's reign and had prudently decided that since the good Reverend no longer needed his church, there was no reason why it should go to waste. So, the old man set up house in the place and kept it running until the day he died, at which point it passed to his son and so on down the line. Thus, Sermon on the Mount, along with all the hate-filled religious psycho-babble of the Minority, became my mother's birthright, and she had planned to pass it all on to me, except that I had turned out to be queer, which really fucked up her plans.
Coming Together With Pride Page 9