by Willow Sears
She came hard but didn’t want me to relent, pressing at my buttocks to urge more deep pumping, making me fuck her with the same gusto, emptying her of her juice and crushed fruit cocktail until she was quaking once more, and yet still she gripped my arse and forced me forward. I was too fatigued and had to break her embrace. I kissed and sucked her face to buy me time but she grew insistent for the dildo again and so I dragged her off the chest by her hair and threw her onto the bed. I took a bottle of lube and climbed on her, calling her a cock-hungry bitch. I told her it was time I got my fun and roughly man-handled her onto her hands and knees, pulling her cheeks apart to get a first proper view of her anus. It was a pronounced, well-fucked oval surrounded by dark skin, so different to X’s little puckered knot that seemed determined to suck itself inwards and hide despite her constant pleas for me to stick things up it. Why had I never licked my girlfriend’s so-cute bum? It was crying out for it. I wanted this first time to be heralded but instead my virgin taste of another girl’s anus passed in silence, my tongue-tip lapping the rim and sneaking inside, while the recipient sighed and wriggled and tried to force her cunt up to receive all the attention. I gripped her buttocks hard and kept her in place, determined to enjoy myself even if she would not. Eventually her indifference proved too much and I spat inside her and let her go, my disappointment verging on hatred at the way she wouldn’t love the things I did, and the way her nipples and cunt and anus were so different to how I pictured them in my dreams, so different to my girlfriend’s.
Only when I rose up on my knees to fill her wet arse-hole with lube did I see the tattoo on her back. I had never even heard tell of it before and yet it was a work of art, a sublime outline and shading in black ink from her nape to the small of her back. It depicted a woman from above, on her hands and knees exactly as I saw her now, her head down and her hair spread out across her arms. The detail was brilliant, copying her form and figure precisely in miniature. Behind her knelt a man, looking down at her with his hands clasping her thighs, his groin pressed so hard to her squashed behind that his buried member was completely unseen, the detail on him again impeccable, so difficult with the dramatic foreshortening of his body and yet so absolutely accurate. The faces were both hidden so it was impersonal, but any of the many men who had been behind her like this could have gazed down and seen their exact image mirrored on her body and would have striven to reflect the art exactly and drive his prick inside her so that none could be seen, whatever huge length he was blessed with. It was like an instruction manual etched into her skin and I despised it, not just because it was a reminder and statement of her cock-worship but because I knew nothing of it until that moment, and thus I didn’t really know her at all, knew nothing of her secrets and her intricacies, when so many others did.
I still fucked her bottom, despite my jealousy. After all X’s pleas to do her bum I considered it to be something of a speciality of mine, an experience to make this thankless bitch kick herself for pushing me aside for so long. I wondered briefly whether, if she hadn’t been under my spell, she would have stopped me, but in fact her arse seemed as well versed in big pricks as her pussy and I sank into it with ease. This dildo was bigger than any I ever used on X but this Goddess pushed out and slid back onto it, groaning as she forced her rectum to accommodate the whole length, taking it in a minute or so when it would often take me ages to fill my girlfriend. And she wanted it all, too. She wanted to feel my groin squashing her arse. She arched her back to make her rump stick out more and even held her bottom open so that my journey inside her would not be impeded. I wiggled inside her then started my long, measured strokes, thrusting hard enough to jiggle her buttocks and deep enough to smell her sweet tang escaping with my retreat. I built up momentum, digging my fingers into her flesh to hold her still as I sent the impact waves jarring through her wobbling bottom. She wanted to feel the whole length, pulling her hips in as I came out of her to encourage a full withdrawal, so that she could take the whole length inside her in one go each time.
She began rubbing her clit furiously and a couple of times, when the dildo slipped out of her, she pushed herself up on her knees and craftily made me thrust it back into her pussy, regardless of where it had just been. Although I cursed her she squealed out in victory and slapped her arse back against me to take as many strokes in her cunt as she could before I managed to pull out and slide it back up her bum-hole. I rained down hard punishment smacks but she just gasped in triumph and did her best to trick me into fucking her puss once more. I made her turn around and suck the mix of juices from the dildo and as she resumed her former position she stayed up on her knees and sank against me so that the toy went straight in her sopping quim. She yelled in triumph and wriggled in my lap, grinding away as she forced her weight back against me to stop me from displacing her, making herself come before I thought to pinch her nipples and pull her by them back onto her hands. Even now, even when she was mine and under my power, she simply would not do as I wanted.
I was too tired to fight her so gave up and lay down on the bed for her to mount the dildo and ride her way to further pussy pleasure. I just lay there, playing with my own desperate nipples since she would not, watching her happy face as she bounced up and down, oblivious to anything except the thrill of huge cock inside her. Every now and then she would climb off and suck it, as if manically trying to drain it of spunk, and then her face would cloud with fury because there was none to have, then she would remount and fuck her anger away. Her face was set in her task and though beautiful it was alien too, her bliss unconnected to me in any way, the contact between us irrelevant as long as the big cock stayed in her pussy. I had to remind myself again that I had been the one to put her in this trance.
When she finally began to flag I pulled her forward to me and held her and hushed her until she stopped her humping. I quickly pulled off the hot pants before she could regain her strength. It was such a big deal for me to bare my cunt to anyone and yet I had to instruct her to go down on me. She shuffled straight between my thighs and lapped hungrily. There was no build up of tension or teasing exploration. I wanted to tell her just how few girls had ever had this privilege but what was that to her? She engulfed my clit and sucked it without subtlety, like it was a mini prick. She didn’t force my knees up and suck my bum cheeks into her mouth like X would have done, didn’t send tingles across my anus with that exquisite flick of her tongue-tip. She munched noisily and then forced two fingers inside me before I could stop her. I grabbed her hair with both hands and tried to slide up the bed away from the clumsy invasion but she held me and my wetness gave her victory. She bludgeoned my poor little puss, wriggling them in and out as she feasted on me. I felt like crying, the sensations way too much to cope with. I came instead, loudly and hip-jerkingly hard, so that my gush showered her face and went into her mouth. She moaned as it hit but she kept going, wringing the climax from me as I writhed and tried to break free. When I was done and panting I managed to open my eyes to see her wiping my juice from her face and drying her fingers on the bed sheets. It wasn’t an act of displeasure, more one of indifference. She loved come, but only men’s, it would seem.
With my pussy wet and opened it struck me that there were no dildos smaller than the one I had brought, and no other at all that could be strapped on. The thought of the huge purple dildo inside me was dreadful but I had dreamt for so long of this girl lying on top of me and fucking my virginity clean away in a sweep of ecstasy while I held her bottom and told her that I loved her. She would surely know how to fuck me and make it beautiful? She would realise, even in her trance that my tiny quim needed gentle handling and go easy on me, stretch me open little by little so that the panic couldn’t take hold, comfort me through the pain, grip me and guide me towards the unique pleasure. I couldn’t tell her to do it, though. The thought of being forced open stuck the words in my throat. Instead I gave the decision away, nervously passing the hot pants to her, putting them into her hands and then squee
zing her to let her know that anything she did would be alright.
Her eyes were liquid bright and her smile wide. She accepted the dildo-pants like they were a gift from above, holding the prick with reverence as she tried to contain her joy. She kissed me and then took the plastic prick into her mouth to fellate it and give it a slippy film of spit. I hoped she used some lube too, no matter how soaked my pussy was after my coming. I had never been more nervous. My stomach was flipping and my body fizzed but I stayed still as her hands went down, clutching the pants ready to pull them on. She chose this intense moment to begin her teasing. Her descent down my body was slow, her lips alighting on my tingling skin, her tongue tracing wet lines over my chest and tits, over my ribs and belly, across my sides and outer thighs. Then she was at my puss again and depositing a thick blob of spit onto my clitoris, to ooze mercilessly down between my waiting lips.
She looked up at me and gave another gleeful giggle and then I felt her on my legs, felt the huge plastic cock on my knees and shins. I felt the slide of the material over my feet but I didn’t know what to say, although the reality was dawning. She pulled the pants up over my calves and my jittery stomach somersaulted again. In truth, I felt as much relief as desperation and so I stayed quiet, apart from my little whimpers as the tears escaped and rolled down the sides of my face. I even raised myself up to help the cock-obsessed bitch pull the pants up my thighs and over my bottom. Although my belly was jumping with my silent sobs I said nothing at all as she climbed on top of me and lowered herself back down upon my prick. I even held her as she wriggled and writhed and fucked the dildo so deep inside her, still kissed her when she lay right on me, even forced my fingers in her bottom to help her come once more. Sometime in the night, with me still empty and longing as much as ever before, she slipped off me and fell asleep by my side.
When my eyes blinked in the morning light the cock was still on me, making a little tent of the covers. She was facing away from me and I could hear her shallow breaths. She roused and let go a series of soft, rippling farts to expel the air I had fucked into her. She got up on her elbows and looked at me, disorientated. She managed a smile but didn’t speak. I had been expecting her to demand to know how she came to be there but she already seemed to know. She got up and walked to the window, picking up her tailcoat on the way and pulling it over her shoulders to cover her nudity, clutching and rubbing her crotch as if to gain a status report of her most prized asset as she gazed out onto the world. She opened the window a fraction and then reached into her coat pocket for a cigarette. The smoke smell hit me almost immediately and made me feel sick. I hated it. I hated the way it clung around her face to make her hair stink and make her mouth taste the way it did. But I had accepted it last night because I was in love and did so again this morning because she was beautiful, especially in this dishevelled, vulnerable state, with her hair sticking up and her make-up all smeared. She looked at me but didn’t know what to say. I understood this. I had felt the same after that night with Blueberry, when he had asked me to execute his prick. The details were there somewhere but clouded and too hard to reach.
She threw three-quarters of the still smoking cigarette out of the window then wordlessly gathered her clothes from the pile on the floor and dressed. In some ways I was dying for her to come and cuddle me but part of me couldn’t countenance it. I felt further away from her than ever. Closeness it seemed, even when we were fucking, was not something we would ever achieve. Still she seemed lost for words and I had nothing to say either. She wore her usual slight smile, as if she was fully aware and in control of everything, like life was all just part of her little plan. She didn’t seem at all worried that I had tricked her into bed, or that she had been in my power, but then who had actually been in control?
She was going to leave and I wasn’t going to stop her. She turned back as if to speak, but apparently couldn’t find appropriate words, so she did something else instead: she climbed onto the bed and stood over me facing my feet, trapping my arms under the covers, and then she pulled down her britches and panties, squatted down, and sat her soft, warm arse right on my face. Her moist puss spread against me, releasing the heat from last night’s fuck. She ground against me and I didn’t know what else to do and so I licked, snaking my tongue right up into her. Her bum was at my nose and I hoped she wasn’t going to fart again as retribution for my sins against her. She didn’t. She just coated my face in her lovely sweet cream and then eased her weight off. I thought she was just preparing herself for another ride on the dildo but she wasn’t. This, it seemed, was her way of rewarding me, of showing me her affection without bowing to me. She climbed off the bed and pulled her clothes up, still smiling at me. She went to leave, stepping over the heap of Rosalind and the serving wench at the threshold, the compliant duo covered in a blanket by some kind soul. Before she disappeared from sight the Goddess looked back at me, grinned a big grin, blew me a kiss, and said, “Last night was good.”
She was wrong.
I didn’t speak to anyone for days, especially not her. I lay around the house wondering how my dream could be shattered so badly. I thought Ariadne would be everything but instead there was nothing. There was no shared essence, no spark, and no commonality. We didn’t see the same, we didn’t love the same things, there was after all no burning need for touch and closeness, and she didn’t even make me laugh. I could never give her what she craved and lived for. I was just another brief pussy-pleaser in her long line, and she, when naked and with only me to think about in the whole world, was not quite the Goddess I had dreamt her up to be. I considered calling her and using my trigger phrase on her again, to see if it would be different a second time around, but I wasn’t sure I could go through that frustration and heartbreak again. I wondered if the connection between us would have been different if she had not been in her trance. Some of you doubters might think that she was never under any spell at all, that I seduced her as I could have at any time if I had just possessed the confidence and the gumption, and if I didn’t relish the safety of the chase more than the inherent physical pitfalls of the kill. You might point to the fact that although I lead the way, she was actually the one in control, and ended up having six or seven juddering orgasms while I barely managed the one. You might think our fuck was just all part of her relentless tease and her way of winning the little battle between us. I think that she just adores cocks: loves them in her, loves to see them in action, loves to see and feel them spunking. Trance or no trance, her response to anything phallic is innate and unstoppable. I think she responds to beauty the same as anyone and will fuck a girl like me if she can still get filled. But she could never love a girl because they cannot give her what she needs. When all is said and done, all I have for her is a false prick, and it is simply not enough.
On the third or fourth day of my self-imposed isolation I got a call from X, our first contact since the day of Vincent’s party. She tearfully told me that she was leaving me. She said she couldn’t cope with the distance between us and of playing second fiddle to everything else that came up in my life. She told me she was seeing the model (the Diva’s now presumably ex-’fuck-buddy’) and that the two of them were now an item. I got the sense that if I would just go out there, put my foot down and claim her, then she would come running straight back to me. I didn’t have the energy though, and I didn’t deserve her either. Her news ripped the last happiness from me but she is just too beautiful for my twisted soul. I need to straighten myself out if I am ever to go and find her and make her mine again. Knowing me, I would probably just end up trying to fuck the Diva!
My torpor was broken by a call from Harvey, who had news for me and requested my presence. If my time with Ariadne had been as I had hoped I might have gone to him willing to let him claim any prize as a reward. Instead I was suspicious of his motives for calling me back to him, although I went anyway. He looked as flushed and glad to see me as ever but, tellingly, this time he didn’t cross his legs as I ente
red. The cold adrenalin ran through me and I blatantly stared at his crotch, searching fruitlessly for signs of his excitement and only growing more convinced that there was now nothing there for him to hide. He spoke to me as he always did, betraying no sign of anything between us, moving straight on to business and telling me that his friend had managed to translate the recordings of me speaking as Salacia. He told me that it had not been too difficult, since the language was rooted in Latin and therefore the more ancient it was, the closer it came to something that was known and understood.
Harvey and the translator between them had pieced together the fragments of a story. In a nutshell it transpires that I (or rather Salacia) lived sometime around the mid 1400’s, travelling with my guardian around an area of Europe presumed to be Wallachia, now southern Romania. My guardian was an executioner in the service of a regional overlord who belonged to the Draco–the Order of the Dragon. This, despite its irreverent-sounding name, was actually set up by devout Christians to fight enemies of their religion and non-believers, or so Harvey told me. This particular branch might well have been more sinister however, and my guardian was clearly not the purest of individuals. As prime dispatcher of such godless souls he earned the singular title of Draco–which may well have meant dragon back then, but in Romania today it now means devil. My guardian and I travelled around from year to year, pretending to be father and daughter, knowing that death awaited us if ever our secret was discovered. We followed our lord, who in turn was doing the bidding of a Prince and hunting down and executing the boyars, a class of the old ruling aristocracy whom this Prince believed had killed his father.