by Violet Blue
Now standing outside, desire cooling in the night air, she yelled loudly for the neighbors to hear, attempting to strike his sense of propriety: “I’m not your prostitute. I have feelings!” She stomped hard on the wooden porch and a smattering of pearls fell around her ankles and bounced away into his shrubs. She clutched her clothes closer to her breasts. It was a cool night, like most nights in the country alongside the redwoods. When it was clear that Tom would not respond to humiliation or her hurt outrage, Kajol padded barefoot, ragged in lace, the mile home to her country cottage down the road.
Over the following weeks, Kajol was listless and short with the clients that came through her office. The San Lorenzo Valley housed primarily white people of lower income level with issues ranging from domestic abuse to meth addiction. As a social worker, she should have shown more restraint, but she found herself unable to grant the slightest compassion to her hapless group. She could not help herself. Despite the humiliation of being cut off from spending the night with Tom, Kajol’s pussy hummed in constant anticipation of contact with him. Her desire for him refused to leave her in peace.
Irritability and longing escalated when she occasionally ran into Tom at the farmer’s market or the post office. Sometimes Tom would make it a point to find Kajol off guard down some aisle of the food market or behind the blue kettle corn tent at the ice-cream social just so he could wordlessly stare her down. These encounters proved stressful. His gaze impregnated her dreams. He would stare at her from a distance in the tinny gray of her dreams. Some mornings, she would awake to find claw marks on the insides of her thighs and teeny bite marks at her wrists. Her breasts became heavy with want as she found herself carrying the weight of both their yearnings.
Kajol had at first underestimated Tom’s androgynous stature. He was slim not like some femme-boy, but wiry and hard like a sharecropper or an apocalypse survivor, his build coupled with a formidable glare and an equally formidable large cock. She wanted to slap him when he pulled these silent staring games on her in public, slap that gaze right off his face and make that unaffected mouth say something, do something to her pussy for just fucking once—but she dared not do it. One time in bed she had slapped him to see what would happen. He did not express the usual shock, protest or arousal other men had. He did not skip a beat in his stroking deeply into her cunt, but his face turned to stone and blanched papery gray. Her blood had chilled and she would never do it again.
Finally, one Saturday morning while Kajol was nurturing a cup of chai spiced with orange peel at a local coffee nook, Tom came in with paper in hand. Impulsively, she sank her nails into her wrist as she jealously watched him converse with the barista. His favorite color seemed to be green and today he was wearing a fitted green plaid button-down under his leather jacket. His pair of jeans seemed a bit worn at the cuffs. It fit the San Lorenzo Valley look just fine except that his dark black hair was cleanly short. He was wearing a belt with an electric blue lightning bolt traversing the length of his waist, and Buddy Holly glasses. For reasons unknown to her, the Buddy Holly glasses hardened her nipples. She shuffled in discomfort. Tom seemed to sense her presence and turned from the barista midsentence. Before turning away with his soy mocha latte to go, he winked at her.
Kajol, a woman born to significantly prudish Indian parents, bristled. Good girls were not to be winked at. Shaking, she said: “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be winking at me.”
As he was about to exit, he turned and winked again.
This time she stood up and shrieked after him, “I mean it. A man of your age, winking at me, a young woman, is absur—”
He cut her off with another wink and went out the door.
Kajol grabbed her purse and bolted after him.
Tom’s beige Toyota was parked behind the main strip next to the Victorian library overlooking an empty overgrown green lot. He was setting his drink and paper in his truck and was about to settle in himself when he turned around and spotted her. Self-conscious and unsure of what to say, she stopped just a few steps away from him and they both stared at each other. Kajol squinted as she faced the afternoon sun and Tom’s glare. She noted that though Tom held a good poker face when he wanted, his hands did shake a little just now. The wind blew a little against Kajol and pushed her unkempt shoulder-length black curls back.
The sunlight brought out hues of gold and red in Kajol’s brown skin. The deep richness in her skin highlighted the glint of that yellow gold necklace Indian girls like Kajol were prone to wearing. He could see the outline of her sturdy and graceful legs as the wind licked the hem of her crimson dress.
She absently pressed the folds of her dress downward so as not to reveal herself. He guessed her to be wearing French lace, probably black. Just then, the wind blew the sheathy red dress against her and he could see the outline of her abdomen, her navel, and a bit lower, the cleft of her pussy. His heart clattered to his groin. Maybe she wasn’t wearing anything at all.
He raised his eyes to her cleavage, which primly revealed itself from behind her dress neckline. She was glaring up at him. Not to be cowed by her presence, Tom grabbed Kajol by the wrist and pulled her close to him. He found himself sweeping his hand over the front of Kajol’s dress. With one movement he cupped one breast and handled the heaviness and the firmness of her and swept across through the indentation of her cleavage to the other one. He marveled at the firmness of her, the sweet buoyancy as he combed his fingers over her tits.
There was a kind of mischief in his eyes as he lightly teased the nipples to excruciatingly taut erections with his thumb and forefinger. He watched Kajol’s brow tighten and her mouth open at his gall. She inhaled in disapproval and squirmed against his grip. Before a word was uttered, he closed his mouth over hers, muffling her protest. He locked her mouth in his and kissed her until she gave way and let his tongue explore the soft pink insides of her cheek and lips.
She tasted like orange peel, cinnamon and cardamom. He broke away and nipped at the apples of her wide cheekbones. He slid his mouth to the rim of her exposed cleavage, licking behind the cloth at her nipples. He gave way to a moan as he eyed her dark purple-brown nipples nestled within her dress. She definitely wasn’t wearing underwear today. He pried one breast free and when it bobbed into full view, he flickered his tongue and then sucked a mouthful of her tit. He held her, a hand supporting the small of her back; he bit and sucked deeply, rocking her gently into his mouth.
He rifled his hand under her skirt and cupped her pussy and beckoned her body closer. She was slithering wet. With some greed, he shoved a finger at her vagina and felt satisfied of her tightness. Kajol panted with abandon; her hands gripped him around his shoulders, clawing deep into his shoulder blades.
She searched with her cunt for the trace of his hard-on through his jeans. He watched her jaw clench as his coarse jeans pressed into her. He squeezed her outer labia lips together and pulsed them against her clitoris. Heavy lidded, Kajol moaned with the desperation of a dying bird and buried her face in the crook of his neck and absently sucked at his skin. With his other hand he grabbed her asscheek and pressed her gyrating cunt against his erect member.
He kneeled down, hand still in her pussy, pushed her dress out of the way and watched his fingers sink deep inside her. He beckoned with his fingers and kneaded her ribbed G-spot. She gasped and shuddered hard with one hand over her mouth and looked away as though what he was doing to her was too private for her gaze.
Antagonizing her modesty, he roughly parted her legs and stuck his nose into her cleft. He inhaled deeply. Kajol’s pussy was always the sweetest: fresh, clean, like fruit. He rubbed his mouth over her engorged pink clit and made sure to run his stubbled chin against it. She shrieked and grabbed his head as if to stop him, but found herself pressing his open mouth onto her clit. She came hard with his fingers digging into her G-spot. Still hoping for another, she ground her pussy against his rasping tongue.
Tom pulled away for a breather, hands on her hi
ps, and wiped his face on her dress, “Goddamn, Kajol. Just wait a fucking minute, will you?” She laughed lustily, leaned back and playfully pushed him back with her heel. He swatted her leg away and undid his trousers. The head of his dick peeked over the rim of his blue boxer briefs. Kajol inhaled softly at his member and found herself gently stroking his penis through his briefs.
Tom’s dick stood in attention waiting for her. She tsked, flirted at it and kissed the underside with her eyes open watching. She followed with more kisses and then let the head slip into her mouth. With a firm hold of it in her mouth she licked over and around his head and dipped the tip of her tongue into the opening of his penis tasting the salty come that beaded in drops there.
After generous sucking and kissing at the head, she stopped and looked intently at Tom’s dick. He watched her as she spoke not to him, but to his cock. “I like you, it’s him I have problems with,” she said, and pointed at Tom. She snickered to herself and then looked up at Tom, eyes shining. She stopped and admired his member; it was swarthy with a slight undertone of pink. She pushed at the ridges of his head and firmly slipped the tip in and out of her mouth.
Tom watched her and smiled. Kajol, who was prone to nervousness, lost all sense of decorum when it came to sucking dick. Just a few moments before she had frozen up at his winking, but now out in the open air, albeit an empty parking lot, with very little shelter from a truck door, she sucked slow and steady with relish. She relaxed when it was important, sighing and slipping his head in and out of the side of her mouth with some whimsy and loved to take her time slowly sucking on him. She jabbered to herself with eyes half closed while she let her mouth water over it. He never understood what she was saying when her mouth was full of cock.
She stuck out her tongue under his head and allowed a copious strand of clear precome to run into her mouth. She made kissing sounds at his penis as if to beckon more fluid. She scratched gently over the contours of his balls that were ribbed with desire and took all of him in her mouth, sucking the excess skin of his ball sac and tonguing down the meridian. At this he relaxed. She pressed firmly behind his balls, at his perineum. His knees buckled against her bare tit, scratching her already sucked-sore nipple. His belt buckle scratched a red line at her chest as she drank another sip of his precome. The heat of her mouth was delicious; Tom thought about coming down her throat. He threateningly jabbed the back of her throat, toying with the idea. However, as Tom found himself at the edge of release, he decided he wanted to fuck Kajol in thanks for what she was doing with her mouth.
He pulled his member out of her mouth and rubbed himself against her forehead, her cheeks, down her neck and against her tits. She rhythmically moved her cleavage against his dick, pushing at the head, sometimes looking up at him for cues, and sometimes flicking her tongue at it. He pulled her up and kissed her. She kissed him back in her sleepy way, moaning at his tonguing and the wet grip she had on his dick. Tom pulled away from her.
Kajol’s hair was an assortment of curls that leaned to one side and her mouth was wet and swollen from her desire. She was a glossy mess, those scathing, large Indian eyes looking mean and furrowed; she was panting with open lust, fingers at her pussy underneath the folds of her dress and her other hand preventing herself from falling out of the open door of the Toyota. His cock stood on alert, angry at Tom for pulling away from Kajol. Tom wanted to scratch at her, to make her feel the effect she had on him: hear her scream out in raw panic.
Instead, he grabbed the hem of her dress and lifted it off her body. In one zip-slip moment Kajol was standing there in black heels, unapologetically naked. She shivered at his nerve and seemed wide-awake now in her vulnerability and yet she never took her eyes off Tom. He marveled at how she did not look to see if anyone was around. Only an occasional car passed by and Kajol seemed content with the privacy of being behind the open car door. She absently brushed her forearms alongside her body, feeling her own nakedness, watching him.
He wadded her dress into a ball and waved it before her, gauging her demureness. She smiled at him, like he was slow witted, as if to say: “You big dummy, don’t you know what I’m here for?” She grabbed at the wad of red tissue in his hand and tossed it to the ground. She kicked it under the truck. She was staring at him. She was measuring him.
Languidly, leading with her hip, she turned around, half mounted the car seat, and leaned into the truck. Her full, thick, apple-bottom ass was up in the air, legs parted revealing the pink slit of her pussy just for him.
“Lay it down on me, Tom. What are you waiting for?”
He placed one foot on the truck’s doorstep and one knee alongside Kajol’s body. “I don’t like your tone with me, Kajol.”
He slid his finger from her anus down to the deeper cleft of her vagina, ascertaining his mark. Grabbing the interior door handle of the truck for support, he thrust into her cunt. Kajol screamed in pain and pleasure.
Patting her ass as though comforting a steed, he paused so she could adjust to his width and girth. He rocked his hips methodically in limbo, waiting. She moaned and pulsed her pussy around his dick, bearing down on him with her Kegels to control the discomfort of his size. It had been a month since she engaged with Tom and she had a tendency to narrow in size when not in use. The heat of possession gripped Tom.
Grabbing the sides of her hips, Tom collapsed her body down farther on the driver’s seat. Needing leverage to gain access to her G-spot, he had her lying facedown over the seat, removing her comfort and the support of her elbows. Now with her face buried into his newspaper, arms sprawled outward in prostration and ass jacked in the air, he loped in and out of her to agitate another series of orgasms out of her.
Kajol petulantly hammered her fists and muffled her screams into the leather passenger seat. He chided her, “Are you drooling on my leather?” There was a menace to Tom’s voice that Kajol knew well. He was kidding and then he was not. She readied herself for a round of punishment. He swatted her ass with the palm of his hand and dicked hard into her. She huffed and screamed.
In her screaming, she found clarity. He could be obsessive or nonchalant about her, driving her wild, confusing her, keeping her hanging some days and satisfying her on others. She knew deep in her heart that this is how he planned it, keeping her desire leashed solely to him. She was screaming herself hoarse. When she caught her breath to speak, her voice seemed hollow, disembodied and distant.
“Was that the best you could do, Tom? Stop fucking around and do it right.” She egged him further by spreading her pool of drool around in wide circles on the leather. She talked tough, but she was panting and there was a touch of hysteria in her voice. Tom stroked her body with wide arching sweeps of his palm. Her body reflexively quivered. She flushed red over her shoulders and around her hips and buttocks.
Tom relaxed, groaned at her nerve and her physical robustness. She could take a real thrashing to the pussy, like no other woman he had met before. Other girls were waifs in comparison, unable to handle Tom’s stamina, often complaining once he was beginning to warm up. She was always challenging his complacency, what he thought he knew about women. Nothing was safe with this girl.
Internally, he could feel her G-spot swell. “I think you’re ready, Kajol,” he murmured. He lay on top of her, almost losing his footing, and kissed her between her shoulder blades. He reached down underneath her with one hand and pressed into her lower abdomen to prime her for the round of deep orgasms he was about to lay onto her. He hammered her. She fought his grip and squealed. With his other hand, he pushed down between her shoulders to control the angle he needed to rub her G-spot. He breathed deeply, forcing himself not to come at her moment.
Then it happened.
All cries of desire and pain, all the screaming, wrist-biting, scratching, panting, huffing, thrashing, seemed childish and stupid. Deep within her, Kajol rattled off countless deep moans. She could not remember anything. She came in waves. How many times was she coming? Forty, a hundred? She w
as not all quite there to be able to count. When she came to it was just for the moment to ask him to stop. Her G-spot was inflamed and could not produce any more. She could feel Tom come inside her. He released with a short cry, but this was irrelevant to her; nothing seemed real, not even Tom.
Time slowed; her brain seemed to shut down on her. Tom scooted Kajol into the passenger seat. She did not look at him or even notice that he was in the car handing her red dress back to her. He pulled her toward him and she sluggishly brought herself to hang her arm across his chest.
“Kajol,” Tom began, slowly kissing her nose and parted mouth, “am I good lover?”
Kajol forced herself through a haze of sleep to look up at Tom, with his green eyes: sweet, dangerous, lovely. “Yes, Tom. The best lover.”
LOLITA
Zahra Stardust
Lolita has lovers in almost every country of the world. Acquiring them is a fetish of hers that developed—initially at least—quite unintentionally, and rather spontaneously, and has somehow become a trend that she finds no immediate desire to escape.
Now Lolita is sitting on a couch opposite a man in a hostel in Tehran. He is watching her eat watermelon that is wet and heavy like a swollen clit. The juice is leaking down her chin and she is spitting out the seeds but they are landing on her top, already carelessly stained with juice, or on her bottom lip.