Lapiz Lazuli

by Leigh Clark

  He crawled back under the table and continued to check the soil heating system. He was reaching for the last set of cables when he felt Janice’s warm hand on his cock through the boxers. But when he looked, it wasn’t her hand, it was her foot.

  She’d slipped out of her boot and sock and her slim toes were curling around his shaft like little fingers. Even as he watched, her big toe slipped into the boxer fly and the head of his shaft jumped up to meet it. Janice’s sole was warm and soft and he hardly dared to move. The woman couldn’t be unconscious of what she was doing, surely, but hell, it was too good to draw attention to in case she stopped. He squirmed a little, to get the whole length of his cock under her foot. For a while he was content to stay there, feeling the gentle movement of his foreskin as her foot pressed slightly backwards and forwards. He still wasn’t sure what was going on here, but it was obvious that he was going to reconsider his ideas about Janice. Soon though, the experience began to pall, it wasn’t that the massage wasn’t good, but flat on his back under a broken heating unit was not a romantic, or warm, place to be, so he began to push himself slowly back out. As he slid forwards, he saw a ball of tree twine that had rolled under the table and grabbed it.

  Sitting up, he took hold of Janice’s foot and began to caress it, running his nails up her sole until she giggled and tried to pull away. She was still pretending to be focused on the plants—her eyes on the marigolds she was arranging in the broken unit. He grinned, sure now that this was some kind of pose that she was adopting, so he continued to massage the foot, gently placing it on the ground to explore her instep and calf, pushing up her jeans to see her soft, biscuit-colored flesh, pressing his thumbs into the hollows on either side of her ankle before making a bracelet of his fingers and locking it around her calf. Then he bit through a good length of twine and swiftly lashed her ankle to the table.

  Janice shrieked and pushed away from him, but as she bent down to try and untie the twine, he grabbed her and pressed her spine against the unit. She shook her head but she was grinning too. Her long hair whipped from side to side, but she lifted her chin and tried to stare him down – making it obvious that she was equal to whatever he had in mind.

  Vince took the opportunity to survey her. He felt as if he’d never looked at her properly since her interview. He was forever grabbing sidelong glances, but it had been weeks since he’d allowed himself to really observe her. Her eyes met his, dark and defiant. She was breathing fast and he could see her nipples through the soft denim of her work shirt. Her shoulders and hips were both narrow, she had the slim build of a distance runner, which he knew she was, which only heightened the sensuality of her small, widely-spaced breasts. He grabbed a handful of potting soil from the nearest sack, tugged the waistband of her jeans out, and thrust the rich black compost inside. “Whoops,” he said, still gazing into her eyes, “it looks like your jeans need to come off too.”

  Janice shrugged and folded her arms. The challenge spoke for itself.

  Vince cocked his head, raising his eyebrows. “A dare?” he asked. Where this was going he wasn’t sure, but something, some weird relationship, was being created in the warm, damp air of the greenhouse and he felt prepared to trust his instincts with Janice in the way he did with his plants, judging purely on gut feeling what to do and when to do it. It was like bringing on some rare orchid to flower, watching the bud, turning it to the light, guessing water and warmth until finally the blossom opened to its full exotic glory.

  She shrugged again, but couldn’t keep a straight face this time. He unbuttoned the jeans and eased down the zip, feeling the soft, dark compost as it spilled from her clothing. He reached for another handful and trickled it inside her shirt, moving his hand over her shoulders, and down to the front of her red panties, which he hooked forward with one finger, taking a good long look at the narrow band of pubic hair and ripe labia that lay inside, before anointing her sex with the earthy blend. Janice gasped and lifted her head, swallowing hard, and he admired the long column of her throat, almost olive-colored in the azure glow of the lamps. He pressed his lips against the pulse in her neck, feeling the thready heat of her arousal.

  He began to unbutton her shirt, seeing earth fall from her red brassiere. The black compost lay on her breasts like snow in reverse. He bent his head and blew gently to remove the soil, watching her nipples crinkle like hazelnuts—then he took one small breast as far into his mouth as he could, feeling the earthy grains like black sugar, and let his tongue coat her in slippery moisture. Her hands slipped into his hair and then her nails ran gently down his back, making him shudder. He felt her pinch his ass, light, sharp movements that just aroused him further and he let his teeth test her nipple, elongating it gently before letting it slip from his mouth. Her back arched, offering the breast to him again and he sucked hard on her flesh, leaving a ripe strawberry mark on its curve. She grabbed his head with surprising force and pushed it down further, so he let himself drop to his knees and slide the panties down. He was ready to eat her, more than ready, but she made it clear that wasn’t her interest.

  Instead—as soon as the panties and jeans cleared her free ankle, and were piled around her bound foot—she used her hands to open herself. He stood back to watch as she began to roll her clitoris between her thumb and forefinger, holding her outer lips wide so he could see deep inside her. She was as dark in her hidden depths as her coal-colored hair had suggested, but the sheen of juice over her inner labia caught the light like tinsel, gleaming violet and mauve. She tried to spread her legs, but was pinioned by the tied ankle, so he stepped forward again to help her, lifting her free leg onto the bench so she was wide-spread in front of him. Without taking his eyes from the view, he reached for his cock and began to stroke himself in time with her hand, seeing her face with his peripheral vision, watching as her mouth opened and she smiled into his eyes, her teeth gleaming in the blue light, her tongue licking her glistening lips. It still wasn’t clear to him if this was an invitation to sex or simply a mad moment, brought on by the novelty of being alone together at night, and he was determined to let her set the pace. Janice began to shudder, her breasts jiggling and her other hand traveling down to press two fingers deep into her slit.

  Vince could feel his orgasm approaching and leaned forwards, wanting to get his tongue into her mouth at least, before he came, but she surprised him again. Instead, Janice leaned back, splaying herself over the marigolds. She grabbed his hand, and his shaft, and pulled him towards her, sliding him inside her as easily as repotting a plant. She was slick and hot, as though all the heat that should have been in the unit was deep in her instead. He pushed trays of seedlings out of the way, hearing one crash to the floor, as he tried to find purchase on the broken unit so he could thrust inside her. She matched him thrust for thrust and grab for grab, snatching the pungent flowers from their pots and rubbing them, roots, stems and all, against his flanks. He smelt the pepper of crushed blossoms and felt the dark granularity of earth against his ribs.

  He looked down and could see soil in her pubic hair. He tore marigold petals and sprinkled them against the dark strip, decorating her. Then he felt her body lifting and was amazed at her strength as she began to come, the onset of her orgasm arching her spine until her entire body hung in the air. Still she remained silent, only the gentle rasp of her breath hinting at her passion.

  As she began to subside, he got faster, trying to make himself come before she finished, but as her body declined from its taut arch, he couldn’t resist pulling free on the final stroke, so some of his semen flowed across the petals and soil in her pubic hair. When he’d recovered enough to be able to concentrate on details again, he glanced down. Her cunt looked like a miniature garden—pale water, dark undergrowth and bright splashes of blossom. She was a regular Eden, his own personal pleasure ground. At last he bent over her soft body and kissed her gently, tasting coffee and earth on her open mouth.

  �
��Better get back to work,” he said eventually, forcing himself away from her ripe lips. Janice nodded and he crouched to untie her ankle from the table. While he was there, he glanced into her bag and saw….

  “What the hell?” He rummaged in the side pocket that had gaped open and pulled a ceramic fuse from it. When he walked round to the back of the unit he saw the gap where it belonged.

  “I knew you’d find it before you locked up,” she said. “I took it before I left for the day. The plants weren’t really at risk and it seemed the only way to get your attention.” She didn’t even look embarrassed. “I’ve waited months for you to make the first move, so I thought I’d get things rolling.”

  He stared at her, beginning to grin again, finally chuckling in admiration. She’d tricked him perfectly. Janice looked at the carnage in the marigold plants and began to giggle too. Vince grabbed her and held her closely, until he felt himself swelling again.

  “Things are warming up,” she said, and wrapped her legs around him.

  The Biggest Banana in Florida

  Florida is not all it’s cracked up to be—not if you’re trying to put a relationship back together. Liam had been seduced by the adverts on TV into thinking the Florida Keys were the answer to our problems: more seduced than he was by me, these days. He’d found a cut-price holiday and booked us on it, saying that while there was a recession, we should take advantage of this kind of bargain because who knew when one of us might lose our job and then holidays would be a thing of the past. It wasn’t the kind of sales technique that was guaranteed to win me over to the idea, even if we’d been getting on well. But we weren’t.

  We’d hit a rut, after four years together, and the fact that we both had demanding jobs didn’t help. Two weeks away, in an almost tropical climate, with all the attractions of The Sunshine State … it should have revved up our sex lives no end. No chance. First Liam got jet lag and walked around like a zombie all day and then couldn’t sleep at night and sat up, zapping from channel to channel on the TV. The hotel he’d booked us into was a dump too. And just when he got into synch with the USA, I developed an allergy to mosquito bites, and swelled up like I was wearing a fat suit. Now I was drowsy all day with antihistamines and steroids, and spend the nights scratching my bitten ankles. We were so not enjoying ourselves. The scenery was not as good as it appeared on the adverts and most of the people around us seemed to be auditioning to appear in Super-Size Me, where were all the slim, sexy, sun-tanned buff boys and bimbos that showed up in the American soap operas? They certainly weren’t in the bit of the Sunshine State we found ourselves in.

  Then Liam sprang his surprise—our first weekend in Florida was to be spent on a paddle steamer—more heat, more swamp, more bloody mosquitoes! It was the worst idea he’d ever had and I let him know it. But he’d paid the money, so off we went.

  Okay, the boat, or ship, I’ve never known how you decide which, was pretty impressive. It was like a wedding cake with a hamster wheel stuck on the side but scaled to the super-size people we’d been passing in the malls and streets. It was huge. And white. And weirdly sexy. Compared to the boat, we were small and white and weirdly unsexy, and as we trudged our way on board, with our weekend holdalls and our antihistamine smeared ankles, I almost feared some top-hatted impresario would stop us at the top of the stairs and say, “Dear people, you are not fit to mingle with the good folk who will be enjoying themselves this weekend. I regret to say you are too ugly.” No such thing happened, but I watched Liam walking ahead of me, his skinny backside swaying, his tartan shorts contrasting horribly with his pale legs, I started to feel as if our relationship was doomed. I was doomed. I’d been declared ugly and without some fairy Godmother waving a wand, all the fun in my life was over.

  I spent the weekend avoiding Liam and trying to manage some kind of transformation scene for myself, with the limited supplies I had on hand. I sunbathed all day, worked on my hair before dinner, and spent the Friday and Saturday evening walking the promenade decks, trying to work off the pounds I was putting on with comfort eating. I wished there was a spa on board, or even a plastic surgeon. I could have used a nip and tuck. So while Liam hung in the casino, losing money, I lay in our cabin and did sit-ups. Many, many, many sit-ups.

  The highlight of the Sunday evening was the Starlite Banana—a giant inflatable, carrying shrieking passengers, towed behind the steamer as the sun set. It sounded like hell on earth and I point-blank refused to go. “You can fuck off, Liam, and take your banana with you,” is what I actually said, and he gave me a disgusted glance, pulled on his Bermuda shorts and left.

  An hour later he was back, slapping his thigh and woo-hooing like a cowboy. “It was great, Kat, just great! Such a buzz!”

  He knelt beside me, putting his hands high on my thighs. I was trying to paint my nails, so I couldn’t push him off, which was my first, irritated reaction. Instead I scowled at him and then shivered as his thumbs dug into the soft flesh close to my hips, a place I’ve always been very sensitive.

  “Kat,” he looked into my eyes. “I know it hasn’t gone well, so far, but trust me, you’re going to enjoy this.”

  Something in the way he said it made me shiver again. There had been a time when Liam had known me better than any other man: he’d read me like a book—a dirty book whose pages he couldn’t wait to turn. I arched my back, pushing my boobs into his face, and he grinned. The sight of his smile made me wet, in the split-second, knee-trembling way it always used to, back when things had been good. For a moment I thought he was going to lean forward and press his mouth against my cleavage and I prepared to roll back, taking him with me, wrapping my legs round him, but instead he blinked as if shaking off a stray thought and said, “Come on.”

  “Come on where?” I snapped, flapping my still-wet French manicure in the air.

  “Ride the banana!” he yelled and grabbed my hand. The manicure was ruined.

  “Liam, you arsehole! What about dinner? And I wanted to spend this evening doing some stretches.”

  “Kat, come on! Who cares about dinner? We can get fries and Cajun sauce in the casino until midnight and you can do your nails later—damn it, I’ll even help you. I’ll hold your ankles while you do sit-ups, I’ll carry your water-bottle while you do your deck laps, whatever you want. But I want to do something really good fun with you, right now. The banana guy is waiting to give us an extra ride, just you and me—what do you say?”

  So I had a choice—I could sulk over my nails or take Liam’s word for it and ride the banana. For a second I hesitated, the strong smell of varnish hanging around us like a curse, then I grabbed his hand and let him lead me to the deck.

  The banana man was waiting, with his giant, bright yellow banana floating just behind the steamer. He was an elderly black man with a seamed face and he was wearing a checked cap and a string vest with a pair of suit trousers. His whole appearance was pretty incongruous and I stared at him for a moment before Liam helped me climb down and sit astride the monster banana. It felt weird—solid yet flexible. I grabbed the handle in front of me, smearing it with the last of the French manicure polish, and felt Liam settling himself behind me, but the banana guy had begun to pay out the line and I was too nervous to look round at Liam. The banana bounced over every wave, and rolled slightly from side to side—not enough to frighten me, but I needed to concentrate to keep my balance.

  Once I was sure my knees would grip the banana tightly enough to stop me sliding off, I looked at the view. Moss-covered trees lined the banks and the evening sky was full of sunset clouds. Night-birds called and the ripples on the river were silver. It was very romantic.

  I turned to say so, but the movement made the banana rock, and I shrieked. Liam’s hands came round my waist to steady me, and then moved higher until he was cupping my breasts. Immediately my nipples began to ache. I felt his hot breath on my ear.

  “Turn round,
” he said.

  I giggled.

  “I mean it, Kat. You told me that when you were in Pony club you could do that thing—what was it called?”

  “Around the world,” I said. “It’s where you take your feet out of the stirrups and swivel so you’re facing over the pony’s back and then round again so you end up where you started.”

  “You’re going to end up with a surprise,” Liam said and I began to turn round.

  I ended up in his lap, and he’d pulled down the waistband of his shorts so his cock was showing. I looked up at the boat, but I couldn’t see the banana guy against the darkness, so I didn’t think he could see us. I hitched up and pulled my own shorts off, tucking them under the handle behind me to keep them safe. Then I lowered myself onto Liam’s shaft, hearing him groan with pleasure. I was wet and I slipped down faster than I’d planned, feeling him big inside me. We both gasped as I came to rest—it felt to me like the head of his cock had ended up somewhere around the bottom of my lungs!

  After a couple of seconds, as we got used to the rocking, rippling motion, Liam started to thrust with his hips, reaching around me to grab the handle, while I put my hands on his shoulders and began to move, matching his thrusts. The banana bucked and rolled in the water, making it impossible to predict what would happen next—would he fill me to the hilt or almost slide out?

  It was both sexy and funny, like when you’re first getting into sex and you’re doing some dirty thing and you remember that you’ve seen it on a film or somebody told you about it in a whisper and now you’re making it real and you get a big foolish grin on your face. I remembered when Liam and I first got together, we’d been so desperate for each other than we hadn’t even managed to get home to his flat one night, even though his flatmate was away and a double bed and privacy awaited us. Instead we’d found ourselves under some railway arches that were on the route home from the pub, and we’d decided that one dark corner was ideal for a knee-trembler. I’d been wearing a dress, fortunately, because it just would have been impossible in trousers, but there was a moment when I found myself with my leg hooked up around Liam’s back, his hands fumbling with a condom, because I wasn’t on the pill then, and his trousers fell to his ankles, landing in the puddles around us. We’d started to laugh and then Liam had slipped his cock inside me, and we were laughing and fucking at once and it had been a deliriously funny, sexy, silly few seconds until, without warning, I came. It had happened so fast even Liam was taken by surprise. We’d had such good times, once. And amazingly, we seemed to be having them again.