by Ronica Black
“I think so.” I offered a smile of my own. He looked to the hood and then poked his head inside my window. I leaned back, slightly offended at his proximity. He clicked his teeth as he studied the gauges and then turned his head to look at me, his nose an inch from mine. Again the smile. He smelled like car grease and bubble gum, and I noticed a used sucker stick tucked behind his ear like a cigarette.
“I think so too.” He backed out and opened the door for me. “Pop the hood first.”
I did and then crawled out to watch him, wiping my brow. As he fanned away the smoke and leaned in, I heard the sound of water spraying. I turned slightly, to focus on the side of the garage. Standing in the shade, spraying herself with the hose, was a sight I will never, ever forget.
She was tall, about five foot ten, wearing cut-off jeans and a white sports bra, hair short and dirty blond in color. She was grinning into the white mist, her toned, somewhat muscular body glistening. Having thoroughly soaked her bra and shorts, the water was running down her legs to her Doc Martens boots. She didn’t seem to mind.
The young man was saying something to me, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was too busy watching her. She seemed to sense this and lowered the hose, turning off the water at the squeaky spigot. When she stood, she ran her hands through hair and smiled at the feel of the water sloshing down her back. My heart stood still at her smile and then I heated at the sight of her wet bra clinging to the small, taut breasts, their tips a dark rose.
She walked toward us and I smiled broadly as she approached.
“Overheated?” she said looking into the smoke pit of an engine, her nose crinkled.
“Yeah.” He continued to fan away the smoke.
She sank her hands into her pockets and looked toward the sky, as if the sun were delicately massaging her face. “Don’t open that radiator, Rudy. It’s too hot. Let the engine cool down first.”
“I know,” he said, moving his hand that held the rag he was going to use to try to open it.
“I know you know,” she said. “Just reminding you.”
Rudy tucked the rag in his back pocket. “Sorry, ma’am, but we need to wait awhile before I can get in there and fix it.” He clicked his teeth again and dug in his pocket for a soft-looking cube of bubble gum.
“This is my sister, Iris.” He happily chomped.
“Hi,” I said, trying hard not to stare. “I’m Whit.”
She turned her head but didn’t look directly at me. “Hello.”
We stood in silence for a moment and I thought maybe she’d seen me gawking at her and was offended. Again, I had to remind myself that I was home again and things were different here. I couldn’t just gawk at every attractive woman I saw.
“You can wait with me behind the garage,” she said. “It’s cooler.” She started to walk away and I followed, eyes trained on her bottom. We walked behind the garage on a well-worn path through the overgrown lawn to a tall, older home and a medium-sized shed beside it.
“In here,” she said, opening the door to the shed and entering without turning around. I held open the rickety door and stepped inside. “Please close the door. Rudy will be out with your car touching it every few seconds until it cools.”
I nodded and pulled it closed. The shed smelled musty with the faint scent of wet clay. Like the way an art room smells at an elementary school. It was considerably cooler, with a small air conditioner in the back window. The walls were white with beautiful colorful swirls painted throughout. Sunlight streamed in through the two uncurtained windows.
Iris stood at a large table, palms resting on its surface, her back to me. “Please come in.”
I walked to the table and looked around at the shelves lining the left wall. They were covered in sculptures and busts, some of them fired and painted, some of them smooth and white.
“Did you do these?” I reached out and grazed one of a woman, beautifully detailed, breasts, nipples, musculature.
“Yes.”
The table was covered in dried clay remnants but nothing else. She was staring at the back window.
“Do you think I’m beautiful?” she asked as if she’d just reached up and pulled the question from thin air.
I was completely startled, unsure I’d even heard her correctly. But the answer came out before I could stop it.
“Yes.”
She was a golden goddess, bronzed and wet, shimmering in the flowing sunlight.
She cocked her head. “Come here.”
I hesitated.
She pushed herself up and away from the table. “Please.”
Swallowing, I stepped closer to her.
“Your breathing has changed,” she said as her hand came up to touch my hair. I looked in her eyes, the ones that wouldn’t look at me, and saw their unfocus.
“You’re blind.” It was a whisper, a surprise.
She laughed, throaty and deep. “And you aren’t very perceptive.”
My cheeks burned as my eyes devoured her hungrily, finally free to do so. Smooth and moist, her skin was sun-kissed and flawless, dark, honeyed freckles dancing across her nose. Her eyes were blue and endlessly deep, a shade I’d never seen before, like where I’d imagined Atlantis to be.
“You don’t put chemicals in your hair.” She paused and my eyes nearly rolled back in my head as she finger combed my hair. “You’re trembling.” She slid her hand down. “And you can’t seem to breathe.” She leaned in a bit and dropped her hand to mine. She turned it over and brushed her fingers lightly over my palm. My breath hitched. She smiled. “I know all about you now.”
“You do?” I watched her lips—a soft pink—part slightly before she answered.
“Yes.” The lips tugged at one side, amused. “You don’t smoke but you were around someone who does. You’re fairly young, mid twenties. Somewhat educated, you are from here but your accent gives away your home now. And…” Her hands drifted up my arms to my shoulders. Then, fleetingly, she touched my face. “You’re very beautiful.”
I closed my eyes, warming from her touch, nearly swooning as I leaned toward her.
“You like me,” she acknowledged.
I opened my eyes, afraid. “I’m sorry I—”
Her fingers found my lips. “Shh.” She lowered herself to breathe against my neck. A small noise escaped my throat at the feel of her breath. “Your perfume, I can’t place it, but I like it.” She straightened. “I want to sculpt you.”
She gripped my shoulders and turned me so that my back was to the table. In a daze, I watched helplessly as she lifted my T-shirt over my head and tossed it to the side. My chest was heaving, the cool air kissing my back. Then her hands were at my shorts, unbuttoning and lowering. When they reached my ankles, her hands came back up to tug down the underwear. She was careful to avoid my skin, and I shivered, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“Wait, I—”
But she shushed me again, finger on my lips. “Are you wearing a bra?”
I stared at her, my head buzzing. “No.”
She inhaled through her nose and I saw her pulse jump in her neck. “Sit on the table.”
As if I weighed nothing at all, she pressed her hands against my hips and lifted me onto the table. It felt rough and cold against my backside and I was about to protest when she cupped my face in her hands.
“What is Whit short for?”
I had to clear the rocks from my throat to answer. “Whitley.”
Her thumbs parted my lips and dipped just inside, feeling my tongue. She groaned. “I’m going to touch you now.”
She left me struggling for air on the table. At the shelves, her hands searched until she found what she wanted. Turning, she popped open the pink lid and squirted baby oil into her palm. My heart jumped.
“What’s that for?” I could already smell it.
She held up her hand. “This is how I see. And this”—she held up the bottle—“this helps me to see.”
She crossed the small room and stood before me.
“Now, lie back and rest on your elbows.”
I was already wet and I could feel it when I leaned back and stared into her face. The vein in her neck jerked every second and her lips were swollen with excitement. She rubbed her hands together and then held the bottle over me, squirting the cool oil between my breasts and down to my navel.
Her nose flared and her deep eyes flashed. Her breath hitched as she set the bottle down and then reached out for me. She started in the center, palms flat, and moved her hands outward. She smoothed her palms over me, up the planes of my stomach to my neck and shoulders, careful to avoid my breasts. She did this for a while, until we were both breathing heavy with desire. She raked her nails down the center of my chest.
“I can’t wait any longer,” she rasped. “I need to see you.” Her tongue slipped out to lick her lips and she moved her hands upward. A loud groan escaped her as her hands slid over my breasts, slick with oil. She jerked with excitement.
“Oh God, I can see you now. Oh, I can see you.” She moved her hands faster and in larger circles, exploring my upper body in a splendor I’d never seen. It was as if she were touching herself, her excitement growing and building. I arched into her, excited as well, feeling her hot hands slide over me and wanting so much more.
“You’re making me wet,” I said, wanting her to know just what she was doing to me.
She laughed and ran her hands up to my neck and held me a moment. “I know. I know.”
Then, with another groan, her hands drifted lower and she rubbed and squeezed my breasts and pinched my nipples. I cried out and reached for her head. I knotted my fingers in her hair as she went lower, rubbing my hips and trailing down to my thighs. She lowered herself and inhaled and then raked her hands back to my breasts.
“Oh, I can see you.” A groan. “So beautiful.”
I pulled myself to her, wanting to kiss her. But she planted her hands on the table and pulled away, my hand falling from her hair.
“Not yet,” she whispered. She worked her way down my body again, her breathing rapid, her eyes wild. Her hands worked like magic, discovering and rubbing and giving and taking. She moaned as her palms rubbed my inner thighs and her thumbs lightly swept my hair.
I tried to sit, trembling. She continued to tease, lightly brushing over my pussy with her thumbs. Her head was tilted to the ceiling, as if she were giving thanks. She stood like that for what seemed like an eternity, gently teasing my hair, lightly teasing her fingertips.
“I’m throbbing,” I said, unable to sit up, unable to take much more.
“Shh.” She pressed into my shoulder. “Move back some more and lie down.”
I was burning red hot inside, my pussy full and throbbing. My back to the cool surface of the table, I rubbed my hands over my slick breasts and watched as she gently spread my legs, placing my feet on the table.
“There,” she said. “I want to see this part of you.” She bent and breathed against my aching flesh. “I want to see every last bit.” She spread me with her thumbs and we both cried out when she found my slick arousal. “Oh God, yes,” she whispered. “This is better than oil.” She turned her hand and dipped into my folds, rubbing up and down.
I pushed my hips in the air, hungry for it.
She bit her bottom lip as she worked me, holding it with her teeth. Then she lifted her hand and rubbed my juices over my breast, pinching and rolling the nipple.
“Whitley, you are so beautiful, so beautiful.” She ran her nails down my abdomen and again spread me with her thumbs. She lowered herself to her knees and eased her nose into my hair. Another groan escaped her as she inhaled. “Oh God, you smell good.” Her eyes closed, she pushed herself further in, rubbing her nose, mouth, and cheeks against me. An erotic laugh seeped from her throat as she rubbed her face into me like a cat rubbing on scent. “You are so wet, so wonderful.”
My hands clawed at the dry surface of the table, flakes of dried clay coming undone. Her cheekbones were pressing into my clit each time she turned her head.
“Iris,” I whispered, wanting terribly to grab her head and hold her to me so I could gyrate against her and come all over her face.
“Shh,” she said again, sensing my excitement. “You are wet and thick, your flesh very full.” She pulled back, holding me open. “I’m going to find you now.” She stuck out a long tongue and flicked my tiny clit lightly. I jerked and moaned, thrusting into her. She laughed again and pressed closer, lapping at my clit. She flicked me again and again, so quick and light, her tongue like a machine. I could feel myself growing harder, growing larger, my small red tip extending outward, reaching for her tongue.
Oh sweet God, it felt so good.
“Mmm. So little and hard.” She stopped her machine-gun assault and lapped harder and longer, using both the front and back of her tongue.
Oh motherfucker, her tongue was firm and wet and heavy, and I wanted more, would kill for more. Then she started to swirl. Great big wet circles all over my clit.
“Ahh!” I clawed at her head. “I’m gonna come,” I warned.
She stood from her knees and wrapped her hands around my hips, lifting me with her. Her hungry mouth fastened to my flesh, she sucked me into her, holding me snug inside her mouth. Her tongue worked the underside of my clit while her lips and teeth dug into the top.
I cried out again and again, the feeling of being feasted upon overwhelming. Her eyes were closed and her hungry mouth made wonderful feeding noises as her head bobbed, sucking and pulling.
“Motherfucker,” I seethed, coming so hard my head snapped back and my body strained against her. My nails clawed at the table and my eyes clenched along with my legs. I was tensing and dying, tearing at the table, coming in her mouth. The orgasm had built and built and then burst inside me, my flesh begging and stealing, needing more, more, more. Nothing had ever felt so good. Nothing.
She held me like that, to her mouth, until I finally stilled, heart racing, swallowing against a dry throat.
I jerked a few more times against her mouth, sensitive.
She opened her eyes and pulled her mouth away slowly. She licked her lips and lowered me back to the table. I could see the redness of her swollen mouth, the wet flush of arousal on her cheeks. She had me all over her face, glistening in the sunlight.
She smiled down at me and rubbed her hands over my breasts. When she twitched with delight I knew she was close. I sat up and scooted off the table. Her head followed me, but she said nothing.
“I want to touch you now,” I said, reaching out with sore fingernails full of dried clay to unbutton her fly. Her hands ran through my hair as I forced down her wet shorts and found no panties.
I kissed her lightly on her thighs, working my way up. She groaned and pushed herself to me.
“Are you going to taste me?”
I could smell her arousal and see the slickness of it on her dark honey hair. “Yes.”
She massaged my scalp and her breathing quickened. “I’m going to think about you every time I use the hose to pleasure myself.”
The vision of her spraying herself with the hose came to mind. Then I imagined her holding the end of the hose inside her shorts, coming against the cool flow of water. I wrapped my arms inside her thighs then and held her buttocks to me. I pressed into her wet flesh with my tongue and found her clit large and full and waiting. Her nails dug into my scalp and she held me tight and I knew there would be no waiting. I took her in my mouth right away and sucked her just behind my teeth to the roof of my mouth. I played her with my tongue as I worked her like this, tugging her hard and fast. Her warm excitement spread over my chin, and I closed my eyes at the wonderful taste.
She began to groan, louder and louder, her hands running over my face, her fingertips at my mouth, feeling me sucking her.
“Ahh, ahh.” She thrust into me, faster and faster. Her fingers pressed into my cheeks, trying to get to my mouth and I pulled away for a split second, letting her. Hurriedly, she moved her fingers to he
r clit, framing it with her fingertips. I licked at them hungrily and felt her twinge with need. Then I took her in my mouth again and sucked and swirled her clit with her fingers right there, watching.
She threw her head back and came loudly, stumbling backward against the shelves. I held her tightly and followed on my knees, pressing into her harder and faster. She continued to come, howling with a raspy throat, jutting herself into me. She pushed her fingers into my mouth and I sucked them off, swallowing the come right off them. Then I went back to her clit and did it the same. As she forced herself into me, her legs quaking, her come hot and slick in my mouth, I lowered my right hand from her backside and rubbed my own seeping wetness into oblivion once again. I came and pressed into her pussy, moaning and thrusting my face against her.
We both shook and groaned, holding fast to one another, our bodies tight and writhing like spent bows.
When my tremors stopped I turned my face and rested against her flesh, desperate for breath. She moved her hands and stroked my head, her own body still trembling.
“Whitley,” she said, her voice deep and rough, so sexy because I knew it sounded like that because of me. “How long are you here for?”
I looked at her and licked my sore lips, her come thick and salty and sweet. “I’m not sure.”
“Will you come back before you leave?”
I stood and leaned into her moist neck, unable to keep my balance. She shuddered.
“Yes.”
Her hands found my face where they traced over my mouth. “Good. I want you to see your sculpture.”
“You’re still going to sculpt me?” She hadn’t even started. We’d gotten too carried away.
“Oh, yes,” she laughed. “I’ve got you all right here.” She pointed to her eye. “I can see you forever now.”
She brought me closer and we kissed, wet, glistening lips, tasting ourselves. She felt warm and inviting, her tongue a soft, firm velvet. I wanted to get lost in her forever.
As I closed my eyes and kissed her earlobe, I knew I too would hold her forever in my mind.