"How does it feel?” he asked me with a smile.
"Cold.” I laughed, reaching down to touch myself. So smooth! The air had dried my skin, and it was as soft as rose petals under my fingers. I stared at him, amazed. “Can I see?"
"Turn around.” He came to stand in front of me, helping me swing my legs around on the counter, leaning back against him for support as I did.
The mirror filled the whole wall behind the double sinks. My eyes were drawn between my legs, and I gasped. Completely shorn, my pussy looked so tiny, almost like a little girl, no more hair spreading upward in a triangular thatch to give the illusion of larger proportions. My lips were pink and swollen, parted enough to show my clit peeking out at the top. I touched it and moaned softly, the sensation intense.
"She's beautiful.” Del held me against him, cupping my breasts and then moving one big hand down my belly, seeking the wetness between my thighs. “You're beautiful."
His hand stroked my hairless and exposed labia, and we both watched in the mirror as his dark fingers parted my pale, creamy lips, sliding a finger into me. He lifted his finger to his mouth, tasting me, and I moaned.
"Let me kiss her.” He held my shoulders and turned me back toward him.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, my tongue seeking his and finding it, tasting my juices in his mouth. He pressed his crotch against me, his cock hard—big—straining at the fabric. The roughness of the denim over my exposed skin was a powerful sensation, incredibly arousing in a way I'd never experienced before. I rubbed myself against him, sucking his tongue into my mouth.
He groaned, breaking the kiss and adjusting himself again as he knelt between my thighs. His breath over my now-bare skin was a panting heat, and I wiggled and moved my hips closer to his mouth. He feathered kisses over my pussy lips, moaning at the smoothness, and I marveled at it, too. My wetness had nowhere to go, nothing to contain it, and I felt my juices beginning to flow, a steady trickle between my legs.
"Oh, God!” I felt him spreading my wetness over the sensitive, unprotected skin of my lips, his tongue lapping it off. He nuzzled my clit with his nose, delving in with his tongue to find more of my juices, drawing me out. He made his tongue flat, moving it over my whole pussy in long, easy strokes, bottom to top, stopping just short of my clit every time.
I grabbed for something to hold onto, to pull him in, my fingers finding only the smooth skin of his scalp. I moaned in frustration, “Lick it! Please!” directing him there with my hands, my hips, and sighing as his tongue finally swept over my clit, still flat and soft and open, teasing me with slow, gentle strokes. I watched him, my now-bald pussy lips disappearing when he opened his mouth to suck on them. It may have appeared smaller and more dainty, but my cunt felt three times more swollen and sensitive in this unveiled state. I moaned and rolled my hips, spreading my legs wider and pressing up against his mouth.
He slipped two fingers into me, pumping them through the dripping, soppy mess I was making all over him and the counter, but it felt so good I didn't even hesitate when I started fucking him back, thrusting my hips against his hand. He groaned an encouragement, his tongue moving fast and furious against my clit now, his fingers matching my fierceness.
"Close,” I whispered, but he knew it and didn't stop, giving me more and more, until I bucked and twisted and shuddered, coming in a flood all over his face. I shivered, the cool air over the bare moisture between my legs giving me goosebumps, and let my body start to relax, my feet slipping off the counter and resting over Del's shoulders. I gasped and panted, still feeling a quiver deep in my lower belly.
Del stood then, grabbing my ankles in one hand and putting them over his shoulder. His mouth and face were glossy and slick, his eyes burning as he unbuttoned his jeans to reveal his hard cock. It was beautiful, thick and uncut, and he pulled the dark foreskin back, revealing the pinkish head.
I gasped when he shoved it up against my pussy, my legs still pressed together, straight up, my ankles crossed against his left shoulder. He rubbed the fat head of it all through the wet heat of my now-smooth skin, my slit squeezed together, tight, a moist resistance against the force of his hard cock slipping through, up and down, again and again.
"Fuck me,” I begged.
The wet, smooth entrance of my pussy now gave him no fuzzy obstruction as he slid the head of his cock down and pierced my flesh. He groaned, stopping when he was fully in, the saddle of his hips rocking me back toward the mirror. I moved to open my legs, but he held them tight against his shoulder, beginning to fuck me that way, my pussy a snug, smooth, shaven crease, all wet heat and tight friction. He cupped my breast with his other hand, pulling and twisting my nipple. He felt enormous inside of me this way, and I trembled as he drove into me, his breathing harsh.
The sensation of my now hairless pussy being squeezed and pummeled at once, the delicious, damp grinding of his hips against mine, feeling him shove into me faster and harder as he worked his cock through my flesh, was almost too much. I had never been the kind of girl who had multiple orgasms, but the stimulation between my legs now was fast driving me toward the contrary.
"I love your shaved pussy,” he growled, moving his hips in small circles, working his cock against the pressure and tension of my legs squeezed together, my pussy lips closed firmly around him. I arched my back and moved my hips with his, straining to grind my clit toward ecstasy.
Closing my eyes, I felt him start to thrust deeper and make the low, grunting noise he always made just before he came. I strained against him, twisting in exquisite torture with my clit trapped between my swollen pussy lips, my compressed thighs, and then I felt a dam burst, a violent shudder racking my body as I came again.
Del groaned and pulled quickly out of me, opening my legs and aiming his cock directly at my clit, finishing himself off quickly with a few strokes of his hand. The heat of his cum over my pussy was a burning shock, and I gasped, writhing as wave after wave seared the bare skin of my vulva.
"Incredible.” He smiled as his fingers spread his seed over my lips. “So, how do you like it?"
"I love it.” I sat up and put my arms around him. “I can't believe how sensitive my pussy is now."
He groaned. “Don't start tempting me again! My mom will be home in an hour!"
Well, let's get cleaned up before Mommy comes home.” I slid off the counter, wiping up with Kleenex and looking longingly at the marble bathtub. Then I followed him into the other bathroom where there was a shower stall, and we spent entirely too short a time lathering each other up and rinsing each other off.
Then, déjà vu, I found myself back in his room, brushing my wet hair and contemplating the pictures of his girlfriend tucked into the mirror while Del pulled on his jeans.
"I want to meet her some day.” I fingered the edges of one of the photos. He stared at me for a moment.
"That would be interesting.” His voice said otherwise.
"She doesn't even know I exist.” I frowned. “No one knows I exist."
He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I know you exist."
He kissed my neck, and I got an even stronger wave of déjà vu, looking at my body in the mirror, the triangle between my legs a now conspicuous absence, a point of reference.
"You're both very different.” He ran his hand over my hip.
"I figured.” I stared at the smooth skin between my legs, the tiny cleft. Why had I let him shave me? Why had I let him? “Aside from the age difference, I mean."
"Your pussy looks so sweet like this.” Del's eyes and fingers caressed me there.
I smiled, twisting out of his arms and grabbing my panties and jeans off the end of the bed. “So, tell me the truth, did you get involved with me just because of the sex?"
"No, Sam.” Del finished tucking in his shirt. “You know how I feel about you."
"She's your girlfriend.” I glanced back at the mirror as I did up my bra. “But I'm your lover."
"Do you mind?” H
e smoothed his hands over his bald head, as if there was hair there to smooth down. I understood the feeling, shifting as the seam of my jeans rubbed my now-exposed pussy.
"Do I mind being your lover? No,” I assured him, reaching for my T-shirt and pulling it on. “Do I mind that she's your girlfriend? Yeah. A little. I guess I do."
"Not enough to leave though.” He came to stand in front of me, putting his arms around me. His tone soft, knowing—too knowing. It was true, and in many ways, I resented that he knew it. I rested my forehead against his neck, feeling him long and lean against me.
"I love you, Sam.” He hugged me, and I squeezed him back, wondering if he realized I knew how much he manipulated me. How much I let him.
"I know.” I made my voice light, easy. “We'd better get out of here before Mommy returns to find her little boy in his bedroom with some older white woman."
Del laughed and pulled back. “Okay."
I looked into his eyes for a moment, wondering if I really knew him—or if I even really wanted to. My pussy ached, blazing like a fireplace with no screen, exposed, vulnerable, the heat seeping out around the edges, uncontrollable. What had I done?
Del smiled as he took my hand and led me out of the bedroom.
And I let him.
* * * *
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She's No Shrinking Violet
© J.M. Jeffries
"Violet Carsdale, I cannot believe you carry this sort of filth in your mother's bookstore."
Violet turned her head away from her computer screen to see the mayor's wife, Tibby Maxwell, waving a copy of Anaïs Nin's Delta of Venus in the air.
"It's my bookstore, Miss Tibby.” Well, at least it was for the next six months until her mother's estate was settled. After that, she would sell the store to Bree and blow this Popsicle stand of town, head back to New Orleans and concentrate on her writing career. She was counting the seconds.
"Then why are you allowing this in your store? In this town? Your mother, God rest her soul, would never allow pornography in her store.” She slapped the book on the counter with a large thud.
Who died and left her the thought police? Did she wake up in Iran this morning? “Because this is America."
"This is pornography."
Violet put her elbow on the counter top and rested her chin on her fist. Her dark spiral braids curled around her mocha skinned arm like black snakes. Actually, Delta of Venus was pretty tasty read that got her motor running when she needed a little inspiration. In her mind, it was necessary like ... oh, air. But she wasn't going to say that to Ms. Starchy britches. “No, it's classic literature."
Tibby huffed. “I'm complaining to my husband, and I'm never going to frequent your tawdry little shop again."
Violet shrugged. “Okay.” Wasn't any sweat of her nose.
"Well, I never.” The short woman squared her pudgy shoulders.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say: Well maybe you should. But, she didn't. “I'm assuming you don't want to buy this book."
Tibby pale, thin lips puckered. “I'm going to put a stop to this immediately."
She lifted her hand and waved at the new mayor's wife. “Have a nice day, Miss Tibby."
"That's a powder keg ready to explode.” Violet turned to her employee and best friend, Bree Hanigan.
"The only reason, she came in to this shop was to gloat."
Bree's blonde head nodded. “I know. It's all my dad's fault."
Had Bree's father not had a heart attack and been forced to retire as Kenyon's mayor, Miss Tibby's husband, Floyd, would have never run unopposed and she wouldn't be lording it over everybody. “I'm going to your parents’ house and slap him in the face after I close the store."
Her blue eyes twinkled. “I'll meet you there to help.
Violet went back to putting in a new book order and, just to get a little back for herself, she ordered several erotic titles. If old Tibby was going to start a ruckus, she was going to give her something to really get riled up about. Step on her right to do business? Oh, hell no! Erotica was one of her hottest sellers and plus, unknown to the town of Kenyon, it was paying her bills in a style she'd become accustomed to. Nobody told her what to read or sell. Write? Yes, but then she loved her editor, who gave her a sweet three-book, six-figure contract deal.
* * * *
As she walked on the sidewalk the next morning, Violet inhaled the tempting aroma of caramel, coffee, and fresh whipped cream, courtesy of Wallace Vance's dairy cow Lulubelle. For eight months, Wallis had been making her the Red Star Diner's version of the caramel Macchiato on the sly. God forbid anyone in Kenyon knew he was making fancy coffee, but the five spot she slipped him—three fifty of which he pocketed—went a long way to convincing him to do her a little favor.
She turned the corner of Jackson Street and looked up, stopping dead in her tracks. Tibby and her gang, the Poly Esthers, were picketing her store. Catching the words on one sign, her mouth dropped open. Smut Peddler in big block letters. Oh no, she didn't!
Violet fished her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed the store's number, knowing Bree opened early for children's story hour. After one ring, Bree answered. “Good morning. Carsdale's Books."
"How long has that bitch and her posse been in front of my store?"
"They got here five minutes after I opened."
Violet forced her voice to remain calm. “How is business?"
Bree sighed. “Half of the story regulars didn't show up. Most of the kids came for story hour. We're getting a lot of calls for delivery. The book club crossed the line and—get this—they decided to an erotic book this mouth. I sold eight copies of Bound Heat."
That was one of her books. “Bitch."
"I called my brother."
Violet took a sip of coffee letting the sweet taste of caramel roll over her tongue. She could handle this herself. “What do I need a lawyer for?"
"Not Sean. Flynn."
Violet groaned. Not him. Flynn Hanigan still had the power to make her panties wet, then melt right off of her. Six and half feet of blond-haired, blue-eyed god. He was the last man she needed getting tangled up with again. Five minutes alone with him, and she be begging him to do all the things she wrote about, but didn't have the time to do. All the things they used to do in the bed of his daddy's Chevy truck. She gulped. She'd made a point of avoiding him since she returned home to care for her dying mother. She didn't need the temptation.
"Do I need a cop?” Yeah, that question sounded good. She didn't want Bree to be suspicious or anything. Back in the day, they kept their little fling on the Q.T., not thinking that Kenyon was ready for their version of a meeting of the races.
"Miss Tibby and the Poly Esthers are as mean as snakes. You never know what they are going to do. Better safe than sorry."
Violet felt her eyes roll so far back in her head they were sliding down the back of her calves. “Shit."
"Go home. Flynn will meet you in a couple of hours. I can take care of the store. And, worse thing you can do is confront them. If we ignore them it will irritate the more."
"I want to jump her.” Knowing Bree was right didn't make it any easier not to march up to those old biddies and give them a piece of her mind. She growled.
"Let it go, Vi."
Violet hated being out maneuvered. She wanted her pound of flesh or ... to kill them with kindness. That would get their polyester panties in a twist. She was raised right. “Do me a favor. Call Wallace and have him send over some drinks and snacks for them. Have him put it on my tab."
There was dead air for about five seconds. “What the hell for? They are cutting into our business."
She could be civilized. “Make sure he adds his lemon cookies. You know Raylene Lavell can't resist them."
Bree snickered. “You are so sneaky."
"But not in a bad way.” She could fight dirty. “I was raised right.” Just to prove a point, she'd get all up in
the mud. No problem.
* * * *
Flynn Hannigan got out of his squad car and walked up the steps to Violet's house. There was a fresh coat of yellow paint on the old Victorian and a For Sale sign in the front yard. So she wasn't sticking around this time either.
He was later than he said he'd be, but earlier than he expected. This was last place he wanted to be. She was the last person he wanted to see. After a seven-car pileup on the interstate, he was in no mood. For the last six months she'd been in town, he'd been able to avoid her. No use bringing up the past. And he wanted to keep her there. He had to. Thirteen years later, and he still wasn't quite over her. But do you ever get over your first love?
The scent of the roses permeated the air. The porch swing squeaked in the slight evening breeze. One hot summer night, he'd made love to her on that swing. Was his dick getting hard? Jesus Christ, was he still sixteen when a stiff breeze could get it up for him?
He walked up the steps and knocked on the door. No answer. Now that was strange. Her black Honda was in the driveway. He leaned into the door and heard the faint strains of music. Bob Marley, he assumed. She was still a big reggae fan. That was comforting.
Why wasn't she coming to the door? Had the situation gotten out of hand already? On instinct, he reached down and unsnapped the flap on his service weapon. He tested the doorknob, finding it locked. Almost forgetting that she'd been living in New Orleans, she still kept her doors locked. Kind of like her heart.
He moved off the veranda and headed around the house. The wooden door of the fence didn't squeak as he opened it. The music became louder as he turned the corner of the house, and he found himself tangled in lacy purple lingerie. Backing up a step, he discovered he'd walked right into the clothes line. And what a sight to see! Bras and thongs of every color a man could want to see were hanging from the lines. He got even harder. Slowly, he reached up touched the silky material. He let his fingers run down the narrow crotch string, just imagining what parts of Violet's chocolate skinned body this tiny bit of material caressed day after day. Her hot little pussy. Her hard sensitive clit. Her tight, high ass cheeks.
Coming Together: At Last, Volume Two Page 20