I had to tear her dress away from her breasts, I had to free them from the constraining fabric of the bodice. Never taking my hand from her breasts, I lifted the skirt of her dress and reached roughly between her silky legs for her sex. Then I grabbed hold of her slender hips and she pressed her body against me, moving slowly to the music. She was moving more and more forcefully against me now, her sex a warm invitation, her body tugging me in. I opened my trousers and did not hesitate to climb inside her secrets. I drove deeper and deeper until I felt her contracting in low, sing-song sounds of pleasure.
She was holding my wrists, her long fingernails digging deeply into my flesh, drawing blood, and the pain lit hidden fires of violence within me. I started fucking her with thoughts of killing her with my cock. I wanted to fuck her to death. Quite literally. She was screaming, and I imagined that I had been successful. I opened my eyes and saw traces of blood on my hands and then I fell forward, pushing into her last breath.
After we had recovered from our tryst in the corner, we began to move through the peculiar space. I held my mistress’s wrist for some time, but everywhere I turned I was confronted with so many bodies. As my mistress had paid the required fee, I had nothing to distract me. Except my mistress. But as soon as I thought I might have some trouble tasting the fruits of hell, she silently demanded I release my grasp on her wrist. Then she disappeared into the darkness, drawn by some single-minded purpose.
I walked through the labyrinth of bodies until I found the Japanese woman, whose hair was so long that it dragged on the ground. Her skin was soft and white and her legs were spread wide to reveal her pussy shaved of any hair. Her naked sex was a queer sight and it aroused me immediately. She would have looked a child were it not for the decoration of her cunt. The lips of her sex were ornamented with two rings pierced through and, crowning that, her clitoris had been pierced and there was embedded a pearl. I had never seen such a beauty, and my body went before my mind and my hands found her before I could know the word for desire. I wanted to taste her jewellery. I had to kiss her pearl. There were no others near her and I was glad. I wanted to devour her alone. I wanted to take her with my tongue and my fingers and my cock, slowly and with singularity. I wanted to have the luxury of hurting her or pleasing her. Whichever demon, lust or violence, I wanted to act without intervention.
She was a beautiful young woman whose eyes betrayed a liking for opium. Her full lips were parted and she was humming a strange song in a very low voice. I put my hands to her small breasts and took her nipples between my fingers. I pinched them hard and watched her face. She smiled and continued to hum. She parted her eyes wider to look at me, and, as much as her restraints would allow, she rippled her body in response to my attentions. I leaned forward and slowly tasted of her skin. It was salty with sweat, and there was a lingering scent of lavender powder. I let my tongue play lightly over the flat of her belly. I turned my head, resting my cheek on her stomach, and found the sight of her breasts stretched tightly from bondage very pleasing. I fell into her. I moved my mouth slowly over the full, clean lips of her labia. When the tip of my tongue touched one of her rings, I tugged it and she thrust her body lightly against my mouth. I let my tongue enter her flesh, I could hear her pleasure, I could feel it on my mouth. Her body twitched, making her sway gently from the leather straps which held her wrists, ankles, and torso. As I teased the outside of her cunt with my tongue, I found her imposed submission utterly exciting and I slid my tongue inside her once again. I drank there and returned to her outer shell. I wanted to kiss her pearl. As my lips found the cool stone pierced through her clit, I could hear the buzzing of her body. I sucked the pearl and she began to writhe. I stopped. Her moans reverberated through my mouth as I undid my trousers, readying myself to take her.
As I stood, I noticed that two women had found the Japanese woman appealing and had attached themselves to the lovely girl’s nipples, touching one another as they sucked her. The sight only irritated my cock more. I stood between her legs and, taking her hips in my hands, I forced her body over my cock, letting my member slide in slowly so I could completely enjoy the strange new feeling of the golden hoops and cool sea pearl against the heat and sensitivity of my skin as it moved in deeper towards her fiery core. She cried out when I finally fell forward with all my weight, not caring for her comfort or discomfort. I made love to her with more and more force, suddenly feeling the overwhelming need to ravage the girl’s tighter orifice. When I removed my sex and started to push into her from behind, I found she was generously lubricated from the residue of my own kisses. And as much as I wanted to shamelessly brutalize her, I was pleased to find that she was wet with desire and she moved her hips in a slow, swaying motion.
I responded to her mute invitation by shoving my cock into her anus without hesitation. With one finger I began to roll the pearl in her clit. And then, as if a dream, my mistress appeared from some darker place. Her beautiful face was covered in sweat, and I could see her lips were swollen. She smiled a smile that had a hint of malice and without saying a word, without touching me at all, she leaned over the Japanese girl’s exposed sex, putting her perfect mouth on the girl’s cunt, where I kept my finger so my mistress’s tongue licked both my hand and the girl’s pussy.
A fierce bewildering pleasure was welling up from within me and the force of it nearly frightened me. I imagined it was coming from some bilious and evil place, for, as I watched my lover kissing the girl’s sex, as I continued to take the woman from behind, I wanted to put my hands to my mistress’s neck. I wanted to put my fingers into the flesh of her back, or her cheek, and with all my strength to tear into her, to be inside her in a different, an immediate manner. The simplicity with which I could achieve this horrible feat fed my lust and rage and I continued to push my body more forcefully against the girl. I began to know that there was nothing but trust stopping me from tearing the flesh away from my mistress’s body. I realized that nothing could stop me if I wanted to kill her. I considered with cold precision how simple and fragile is flesh.
As though my lover sensed the maniacal rage in my pleasure, she stood and put her lips to mine. I shot my semen into the Japanese woman, as though relieving myself of the hideously dark thoughts that had only moments before nearly overwhelmed me to commit murder. My mistress gently pulled me from the girl. I was walking in a sleeping state, and the sound of my mistress’s haunting and persistent humming chilled me.
My mistress led me to a dark corner of large, soft cushions to recline upon. Someone appeared and gave us champagne. I did not bother to pour the wine into a glass because suddenly I was taken with a thirst so great I thought I might damn near die if I didn’t drink immediately. I felt out of control and at the same time in great command of my body, my life. In fact, I felt more in control at that moment than I ever had, the hollowed-out darkness in my heart seemed to be the very reason for my sense of grace. A vague tingling told me this was perhaps not the first time I had ever felt this way. I stole a sideways glance at my mistress for I did not want to encourage conversation. I wanted to be isolated in this queer and violent loneliness, this satiation. We rested in darkness for a while, then wearily we stole into the early morning light to make our way home.
She went home to her greying husband that morning, while I went to the flat she paid for with his money. It was a nice bohemian hideaway in the troisième arrondissement, the top floor with a large skylight that filled the place with sun when it made its rare appearances in Paris.
I fell onto the generous quilts of the iron bed. The furnishings of this lovely little nest were also compliments of my mistress’s husband. And my clothing, and my food. I felt a moment of great bitterness and envy towards my mistress’s husband. I was infuriated that I could not provide the things for my lover that I knew she needed. I felt irrationally murderous towards him, towards her, my situation, a situation I had been content with until now. It seemed that the visit to that infernal place had started my mind on a danger
ous tread that I could not stop at will. At last I found myself sleepy from all the rage threatening to exhaust me, overwhelm me.
I fell into fantastic and violent visions. I dreamed I had bound my mistress to a thick post in the centre of the theatre of L’Enfer. The air around us swirled in orange narcotic clouds, and her beautiful boyish figure, the fine skin of her legs, shone as though she were drenched in exotic oils. Or perhaps it was a terror sweat. In my satanic dreams, I did things to her that I cannot even write. I attacked her helpless body with such a violent grace and ease that when it was over I scarcely thought about the strength it took to tear her limb from limb, and in fact was more concerned about the mess on my clothing . . . ah, but I must cease. Even the thought of that gruesome, dream, and, worse, the intensity of pleasure as I dreamed it – it is too, too strange.
The sun was warming my aroused flesh, now turning clammy in an unfamiliar orgasmic sweat. I lay there thinking about my mistress, and the nightclub called L’Enfer.
Two days later I received a note and a package from my beloved. The note read:
WE SHALL MEET IN THE DARKNESS AT MIDNIGHT, MY LOVE.
A.
Just reading her note, seeing her handwriting, sent an electric thrill through my body. And then my mind turned instantly, without hesitation, to my unspeakable dream. I stood for a moment reading the sky in front of my eyes that held the terrible, bloody images of my mistress’s demise. At last, and with a great deal of will, I shook my head and body and tore open the elegant wrapping on the box. Inside was a beautiful, black-silk tuxedo, complete with an opera cape with red lining. It was sinister, and I feared suddenly that my mistress sensed my more detestable motivations.
“Folly!” I shouted out loud, to disrupt my own mind from its obsessive wanderings. I shook the cloak free of the box and held it up to the light. It was so black it seemed to absorb the sun, and, when I turned it, the red silk was a great slick of beautiful, pure, fresh blood.
The early edition of the morning paper reported that an unidentified young woman who appeared to be Japanese had been found dead, her head floating in a small valise down the Seine. The police had not yet found the remaining portion of her body. She had lipstick kisses on her white cheeks and a small white pearl in her mouth.
All during the day I was seized with erotic frenzy. Vague pictures appeared and disappeared in my heated imagination. Suspended, naked bodies swayed under my fingers, the memory of L’Enfer a palpable reality. I wandered across the Pont Neuf and stared at the murky, mysterious water of the Seine. I found myself laughing quite uncontrollably as I thought I saw her shoe rolling and bobbing on the filthy surface. As I laughed, emptying my horrible sound into the wind, I envisioned the girl, her head upon the glorious body of my mistress, and the visage of my mistress sewn to the missing body of the dead girl.
I saw her red lips slightly parted, perhaps grimacing in pain or smiling with languorous pleasure. I remembered seeing her mouth open, the pearl tumbling about . . . though I can’t be sure. I cannot remember if she was screaming, but I recall her terror combining rather elegantly with her ancient Asian complexion. I don’t know whether I thought I saw that pearl in her mouth, or if I wished it there. And then I realized I was confusing my lover with the Japanese girl and, then again, I wondered if I hadn’t confused the Japanese woman’s lips for those of my mistress.
When it was time to dress, I was covered with a light sweat of desire and irritated by a persistent guilt. And, worse still, an erection that would not fade. I contemplated abating my need with my own hand, then thought better of it, waiting to see what mysteries the night had to offer me.
She came for me that evening, a vision of carnal appetites. Every detail of her body, her dress, her perfumed hair, exuded a need to be ravished. I tempered my own need, savouring the romantic pain of wanting her, wanting to take her immediately and forget the enticing nightmares awaiting us at L’Enfer. I held myself back, mostly because around the edges of her mouth I could discern a strangeness that worried me. I could tell she wanted desperately to say something about the article in the newspaper, but I put my finger to her mouth. There was a terrible silence inside me that suggested to her that she should not pursue the subject of the dead girl. I told her, while my hand still rested on her mouth, that I had read it too. And yes. It was dreadful. But I felt the corners of my mouth turn upward in an uncontrollable moment of pleasure. My queer expression was met with a questioning look from my mistress.
There was a new tension between us as we made our way to the alley, where we were to meet the tall stranger. I have to admit that I quite liked this new thrill. She was a little afraid of me and this pleased me greatly. I thought it fair for all the humiliations I had suffered. The embarrassment of being so frightfully over-educated and so dreadfully poor. She had given me money and she had debased me with her generosity. So if she feared me that night as we walked silently towards our destiny, it enhanced my contentment.
Oh, how I could hear the bells of Sacré-Coeur ringing for the souls of the dead, how vital, how omnipotent and wild I felt as those bells ran through my body. When we arrived at the narrow, foul-smelling alley our guide was not there. I was in despair, yet my heart still raced. We stood in grim, tense silence as the final tolling of the bells tore through the darkness. And then suddenly on the breeze a subtle caress of my mistress’s perfume.
I stood perfectly still without turning to look at her. She moved close to me, breathing heated kisses on the back of my neck. Her hands wrapped around my waist and immediately she began to unclasp the buttons of my trousers. She squeezed my balls and erect sex firmly, and the sight of her long, elegant white fingers tipped with blood-red enamel stirred me beyond measure.
“I need you,” she whispered into my hair.
I turned to kiss her. She looked supernaturally beautiful. The translucent powder on her face made her eyes and lips glow like fire in the dark. She wore a simple silk shift the colour of champagne and over that a luxurious fur coat. Between the sheer pleats of fabric, I could see her nipples and the full shape of her perfect breasts. She wore an extra-long strand of pearls around her long, white neck, fatalistic tears all the way to her sex, which I could see framed with the dark triangle of hair covering, no, framing, her perfection. I wanted to possess her, give her pleasure suddenly as a form of absolution for all the horror and violence to which I had given rein.
The night was cold and I swung the enormous cape around both of our bodies. I bowed my head without hesitation and I began to taste her breasts through the paper-thin material of her shift. Her nipples responded immediately to my touch. I raised my head and kissed her delicious lips, thrusting my tongue deep into her mouth. I avoided looking at her eyes for fear that some expression of doubt or fear might still linger there. Besides, taking her lips between mine, her tongue in my own mouth was far more telling, for my mistress’s eyes rarely betrayed her state of mind. It was her mouth that told all without speaking, her lips that would betray her. Her tongue greeted my kisses and I was compelled to bite her tongue hard. I took that organ between my teeth and crushed it. How tender, how delicate the tongue really is, how easily I could have bitten it clean off. Her knees bent slightly under the pain I was affording her. Her moan was a sound beyond pleasure. I stopped just after the luxury of drinking a few droplets of her thick, warm blood. She tried to pull away but my hands reassured her of impending pleasures. I slipped my fingers under her dress between her thighs to find her secret anatomy alive and betraying her passion for mingling pleasure with a little bit of terror. Her sex was hot and inviting. I imagined her juices to be warm blood and I was hungry to taste of her. I kneeled.
The flesh of her labia seemed to coil round my lips. I had never felt the terror with another woman as the terror I now felt of tasting her thus. I was overwhelmed with a primordial fear that had no words. All my anticipation of the evening’s events, all my desire for my mistress paled in the light of this new terror. But as quickly as it cam
e upon me, it left, and I let the lips of her sex consume me. I drew my tongue along the outer rim of her soft, hot flesh and let her juices fall on my lips, on my ready tongue. Her body wrapped around me like a bloody mantle. I felt her hair on my lips, I was suffocated in the involuntary thrusts of her body in paroxysms of pleasure. I was filled with a hunger. I wanted to mangle her with my tongue. I stabbed it inside her as though it were my cock. As my tongue went inside her I felt as though I were tasting a great and powerful light, a wonderful and horrible sensation, cannibalistic, wondrous. I had to stop before something dreadful happened.
I abandoned her on the edge of a catastrophic orgasm. She was moaning, crazed, tearing at my clothing. I stood and watched her with a dispassionate stare. I loved the way she was pleading and begging. I was pleased by the fact that she was a helpless victim of her own needs.
I reached down to my trousers, willing to take her there in the alley, but she pulled my hand away. She kneeled in the dank passageway and, pulling the fabric of my trousers away with her teeth, she released my raging cock unto her kisses. She took my member into her mouth, letting it slide sensuously into her open throat. Her lips sucked lightly at first round the tip of my sex, and, as she raised and lowered her head in a steady rhythm, she pulled with her lips more powerfully. She ran her tongue like a feather over the tip of my cock, and with her hands she teased the rim of my anus, gently squeezing my aching sac. I felt more and more helpless as my desire grew. She was a great cat sucking with feline prowess on my throbbing sex. I felt like a child and this made me angry though I felt that could not stop the locomotion of my veins, pressed her head down on me hard and without relent until my seed fell into her throat. It was an awful moment: fleeting images of the Japanese woman, pictures of bleeding and screams more like memories than fantasy.
“Come along, my darling,” she said in a voice husky with pleasure, “we don’t want to miss the show.”
The Mammoth Book of the Best New Erotica Page 5