The Cult of the Black Virgin

by Serena Janes

  Finally, finally he moved. Bending his knees more deeply, he asked, “Now? You want me now?” Her only response was a renewed burst of straining towards him, another attempt to engulf him, to swallow him. But still he held her off.

  “Now, Joanna?”

  “Yes, YES, NOW…Oh please…” And at these words he pulled back and plunged, once, directly upwards, deeply into her.

  She gasped, or squealed, or shouted, made some kind of noise as the force of his thrust ground her back into the wall. He held his position deep within her for a few seconds, then slowly pulled away, leaving her breathless and unable to move.

  She was truly shocked at the way her body was responding. Something deep inside her was slowly revolving or expanding, readying in anticipation of his next thrust, preparing to pull him into her, to swallow him.

  “More, Joanna?”

  She bit him, somewhere on his mouth, and pushed towards him with all her strength. “YES!”

  Again he pulled back, again he drove himself deeply into her straining and shaking body.

  Hard.

  Yes—she was opening up inside like a blooming flower, petals unfurling to expose a secret center.

  “Mon Dieu—you’re so hot. So tight and hot.”

  Again he pulled back, paused, and thrust, impaling her as her arms and legs wrapped around his large body. She was held up against the wall by his hands under her buttocks and his cock pinning her fast.

  And again. Again. Again. Words no longer necessary, she was completely open now, releasing herself. Relinquishing, becoming more inside than out, her body beginning to meet his rhythm, pulling him in deeper each time.

  And again. Again.

  Now she was shouting too loudly, or whimpering, or calling out something. He placed his hand tightly over her mouth and drove her harder.

  She called out again, unaware of what she was doing, but the sound was caught in his hand. She couldn’t help shouting as he pushed her further and further into a wild, dark, rolling, grasping, sucking wave after wave of deep contractions. Her insides were sucking and sucking, and greedily sucking more, more, the most she could drain from him. She’d no idea there were such powerful muscles deep inside her body, muscles with a life of their own, trying to take Luc’s seed for their own special purpose.

  Time, place, direction—they were lost in a rolling ride of such intense beauty and pleasure that she found tears streaming down her face. She wept for the joy of the moment, and for the sadness that she’d lived her life not having known such joy. She wept for the gift of awareness that her body could respond like this. And, she wept because she knew it was only through her deceit that she could experience this joy.

  Her body involuntarily spasmed with contractions and sobs while she and Luc slid to the floor, still entwined. Then she lost a few minutes. The next thing she knew they were lying on the bed side-by-side but not touching, chests heaving, sweat-drenched.

  Silent, both remained still until their heart rates and breathing began to slow. Jo, still trembling slightly, stirred first, wiping away the last of her tears and moving her face to a level with Luc’s. She kissed him, sweetly, sincerely, her kiss expressing a genuine awe at what they’d just shared.

  He returned the kiss, saying softly, “And now you can say you’ve had a French lover.”

  A slight smile played on his lips, which she kissed away.

  She didn’t have to speak. He knew what he’d done for her.

  Chapter Five

  As her head began to clear, Jo wondered how much time had passed since Luc had come to her room. Where were the others? Would anyone see him leaving?

  She nervously anticipated the next installment of Ave Maria.

  Reluctantly, she got up to use the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Again, she was grateful for the bidet. When she was done she walked back to Luc, still spread across her bed.

  But he wasn’t sleeping—he was wide awake and appraising her nakedness as she sat down beside him. At once his hand was on her, caressing her breasts, still damp with sweat, nipples hardening under his touch.

  “Mon Dieu, que t’es belle.” He lifted his damp head to nuzzle and lick until she moaned.

  Ave Mar-i-a-a-a.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting back? I mean, isn’t it getting quite late?”

  She had no idea of the time. Instead of answering her question, he pulled her towards him and silenced her with a passionate kiss. Straddling her, his stirring cock pulsed against her.

  “Oh no, Joanna. I don’t think we’ve finished with each other yet.”

  Instantly she forgot about time as he kissed her again, his mouth burning her skin as it traced a path down from her neck to her erect nipples. He suckled them each gently, cupping both breasts in his moist hands, then sliding down her legs he kissed his way to her navel. Circling the little slit with his tongue, he forced another series of low noises from her throat. Powerless, she arched her back and pushed upwards, inviting him closer.

  “Oh no. No, please. I can’t take any more of this. I can’t.” Yet as she spoke she was lifting her belly upwards, spreading her legs against her will.

  He raised his head for a moment. “I think you can, ma belle. I think you can.” Still hovering over her he moved toward the foot of the bed.

  With the tip of his tongue he parted her pubic hairs. She gasped as an excruciating spear of pure pleasure caused her insides to turn into liquid honey. Her entire body began to shake in expectation. His hands rubbed her belly as his tongue darted in and over the wet folds of her pussy. She remembered the limestone labia in the caves as she felt her own flesh swell again, every nerve on fire. Patiently, he waited until her moans were just the right pitch before he began to tease her clitoris. His gentle probing caused her to lose herself again. Her legs fell open, spilling her juices, and she was his.

  To her surprise and delight, he didn’t bring her to climax right away. Instead he began to carefully and methodically lick and kiss every lip and fold, crack and crevice, everything from her pubic bone to her tailbone, and back again. At one point he turned her slightly on her side to do a thorough job.

  It seemed to take him hours, but she was past caring about the time now. Nothing from the outside world could dull the pleasure of this intimate gift.

  She gasped and wriggled and squirmed and spread her legs so far apart that she knew she’d walk funny for a week. Such an excruciatingly delicious and intense pleasure—she thought her labia and clitoris were able to taste him, to kiss him back, as if her cunt could suck on him like a mouth. She thought her engorged flesh tasted an overwhelming sweetness—a sweetness beyond that of sugar or honey. Waves of this sweetness flooded over and into and through her, saturating every cell of her body, causing it to jerk rhythmically as she called out in oblivion.

  She pushed her face into the pillow and wailed as lights flashed behind her tightly closed eyes. She rolled and squirmed and shuddered, plunging into waves of orgasms that rolled through her as steadily and forcefully as the relentless surf.

  He was expert in bringing her slowly to an edge, only to draw away and begin again, forcing her to higher and higher plateaus of excitement, each orgasm stronger and more delicious than the last until there was no strength left in her body. She tried to push him off, but she was too weak.

  “No more! Stop! Stop! Please! I. Can’t. Breathe.”

  Finally, he did stop, and towered over her, erection huge. He ripped open another foil package and deftly slipped on a condom.

  His voice was low, ragged. “I’m going to fuck you now. And I might be rough.” The look on his face caused her to respond with a mixture of fear and arousal. Abruptly he fell onto her and rammed into her open, wet, still-sucking cunt.

  She recoiled in pain and surprise. He wouldn’t look at her as he pulled back and once more thrust into her as far as he could. She settled her body to accommodate his thrusts, but she knew he would hurt her if he kept this up for long.

  He pushed i
nto her again, and again, his movements for himself alone. The idea began to excite her.

  Just for him, she thought as she felt her fear dissolve and passion begin to build again. His body was one big, hot, hard, wet, rocking muscle. Her lungs struggled to expand as he pushed and pulled, and pulled and pushed, with exquisite precision and force. He was a strong and beautiful skin and muscle and tendon and bone machine. The heat of the room and his exertion made his skin run with sweat. The ends of his long hair rained drops onto her face as he strained to control his pleasure.

  She felt her fear gave way to something else as the pain of each thrust transformed itself, began to spread throughout her body in pulses, ripples, waves of deep visceral pleasure.

  All her senses were overloaded at once. What she saw, heard, felt, smelled, and tasted rolled together to intensify each sense, so that what she felt all together was explosive. Despite what he’d just given her, she now wanted more, more than she thought possible. Wanted to split herself even wider and suck him into her.

  Then, unbelievably, she found herself being pushed into yet another round of orgasms—she screamed and bucked and heaved upwards as best she could to meet his downward thrusts. And again and again and again, he kept hammering at a rhythm that she sensed was still just for himself, despite her violent responses. And even though he was being too rough with her, she loved it. Loved it! She would give him anything. Anything.

  She was his completely.

  With a great shudder he called out something in French—she didn’t know what—groaned to a stop and rolled off her onto his back, gulping air.

  Ave Maria sounded once again, but neither of them heard it this time.

  Minutes passed and eventually Jo’s breathing slowed as she finally began to get enough air into her lungs. Little by little she became aware that she hurt. All over. The skin on her back and the top of her buttocks was smarting where the plastered wall had scraped her raw. Her back hurt from violent upward thrusting. Arms and shoulders hurt from straining. Legs hurt from more straining. Hips felt dislocated, then pushed back into place. Tongue hurt—was it bitten? She touched her mouth with the tips of her fingers—her lips were swollen. Neck was tender from being squeezed. Her fingers moved to her chin. Ow—the rasp of whisker burn, too. And every single part of her insides, and everywhere between her legs, throbbed with a pleasure that was turning into an exquisite aching.

  Tears were filling her eyes again—would she ever stop with the emotion? She felt delirious from what she’d just been through. Shocked. Disassembled. She knew she was changed.

  She felt privileged.

  But as she came to her senses, the fear began to return as she realized the seriousness of what she’d just done. She’d just cheated on the man she loved with a virtual stranger.

  But worse than that—it had been far too good. She didn’t know sex could be this good, that a man could know so much about how her body worked. That a man could enjoy her body, and make her enjoy her own body, this much. This was new knowledge, and she knew it would be dangerous.

  Oh God, be careful what you wish for.

  Again, they lay side-by-side, wet and spent. She had no idea what he was thinking, and she was shy about looking at him. It wasn’t her nakedness that was making her feel shy, rather, she felt more than naked. He’d taken her to new places, and that made her feel vulnerable. He now had a knowledge of and power over her that no one else had. And she had given it to him willingly.

  Part of her wanted him to know how deeply moved she was. But she wasn’t able to speak, and so had to take pleasure in simply holding one of his hands. She closed her eyes and tried to hold on to it, and the moment, as long as she could.

  Eventually Luc had to get himself dressed, return the empty glasses and the bottle of pastis to the bar, and get back to the caves to pick up the spelunkers.

  As he got up and slowly dressed in silence, Jo watched him from the bed. Neither spoke. There seemed to be no words to fit the occasion. She saw him run a hand quickly through his wet hair to tidy it, as he glanced in the mirror.

  Then he walked towards her, still stretched out on the bed, and sank to his knees on the floor beside her. He picked up one of her hands in both of his and raised it to his lips. The expression on his face was tender, serious.

  “Get some rest.” He leaned over and kissed her lips lightly. The smell of his body was exquisite to her now. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  And then, carefully looking down the hall both ways before he left, he shut the door quietly behind him.

  Once he was gone, Jo permitted herself the luxury of a good cry.

  All emotions paraded through her exhausted brain, including fear, guilt, and a sharp shame. But the prevailing feelings had to be awe and intense excitement, deep pleasure, gratitude, amazement, and even more excitement. She felt too much, including ambivalence with a capital A. Which just happened to be the first letter of Adultery.

  If he’s lied to me about being divorced, I’m an adulteress now.

  But I believed him when he said he was single. Didn’t I?

  And even if I’m not an adulteress, how can I face James again? After what I’ve just learned about the way I respond to the right man? And how on earth can I get through the week without everyone being able to read the guilty joy on my face?

  What have I done, and what’s going to happen next?

  Although she wanted to keep Luc’s scent on her as long as she could, she knew she couldn’t go down to dinner smelling of sex. A bath was required, and she limped into the bathroom to draw a very hot, very fragrant tub of water. There were still a few hours until she was expected to join the others for drinks, and she could get herself together before then. Lowering herself into the scalding water, she winced at the stinging open skin of her back and between her legs. But she cleaned herself as best she could, being careful of the sore areas.

  After washing her hair, she put on her robe, plaited her wet hair, and smeared moisturizer over her face and lips.

  Anticipating the next few hours, she swallowed two aspirins, hoping they would reduce the inflammation and pain she knew she’d feel all over her body.

  Lastly, she drew the flimsy drapes, wetted a face cloth, and crawled into bed with the cloth draped over her eyes. Perhaps it would help reduce the swelling of her red eyelids. She pushed her face into the pillow that still smelled of her first French lover, grateful for this slight trace of him.

  Ave Maria sounded, an ill omen this time. Jo knew now that Our Lady of Rocamadour definitely did not represent the Christian Virgin Mary with all her virtues. Now she understood that the ancient dark Madonna’s wise face held a secret. A dangerous secret. She embodied the powerful female forces that had been so suppressed in Jo’s world that Jo herself didn’t know, until now, their full power. Until she met Luc, she didn’t know the strength of her own lust, and what it would make her do. She wondered what else it could make her do.

  What else am I capable of? What’s the limit? And who sets that limit?

  Now that she had an inkling of the power inside her, she was beginning to understand why, historically, all of societies’ forces were out to suppress female sexuality. And especially the women who flaunted it. Otherwise, world order would topple, and there would be chaos.

  And who would look after all the babies?

  Jo soon decided she couldn’t face dinner and drinks with the others. Not with her French lover sitting at the same table. When she’d calmed down enough to feel hunger, she raided her luggage for snacks, devouring all her emergency granola and chocolate bars. Food had never tasted so good, she thought.

  Chapter Six

  Nursing his beer, Luc sat downstairs fielding questions about Joanna from almost everyone seated at the bar. He did the best he could, but he didn’t really know what to say. Still high, he hadn’t thought about what would happen after he stole out of her room. All he knew was that he had to make time for a quick shower before driving back to the caves to pic
k up Sarah, Duncan, and Edward.

  Now it was time for dinner, and Joanna still hadn’t appeared.

  Pourquoi? Why?

  He had no idea.

  What should I do? Should I go get her?

  He himself was feeling a bit tired from his exertions. And once he thought about it, he realized Jo must be exhausted.

  “I’m going up to her room to see if she’s alright,” he announced as he stood up. “Maybe she’s fallen asleep.”

  He was a little nervous as he tapped at her door for the second time that day. When she didn’t answer, he tapped again. “Joanna?”

  The door opened. She looked sleepy, and deliciously desirable, wearing a flowered robe and probably nothing else. He felt another wave of desire for the damned woman as she smiled sweetly and stepped back to let him in.

  Non! Pas maintenant! Not now!

  And then he realized he wanted not so much to take her again as to go lay down beside her on the rumpled bed. True, it was still oppressively hot in the room. True, he was hungry and wanted his dinner. But looking at her damp, messy hair, her puffy lips and her beautiful moist eyes, he wanted to hold her again. Gently. Maybe stroke her head. Kiss her lips lightly, tenderly.

  Mais qu’est-ce que tu fous là? What the hell is going on?

  Not only was he confused, he was surprised at himself because, out of character, he felt an urge to talk about what had just happened between them.

  * * * *

  Jo was dozing when Luc’s soft rap at her door woke her. She saw concern on his face as he silently pushed past her, closing the door quietly behind him.

  “Are you okay? Everyone’s worried about you.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just not feeling very social, at the moment,” she said with a small grin as she clutched her robe around her, sitting down carefully on the edge of the bed. “Tell them I have a migraine. Brought on by extreme exertion in the extreme heat.” Her smile widened.