BODACIOUS

by Sharon Ervin

  As the hand began to probe, Sara’s pleasure bloomed. She closed her eyes no longer concerned about her former inhibitions or the Svengali weaving this magic spell, caught up as she was in the spell itself.

  Losing control of thought or physical response, she surrendered. Every image passing through her brain flitted away, fluttering free, glistening with an eerie, vanishing glow. She moved with the hand, caught up in physical desire, yielded. She became like an animal and strove in a rhythm, her whole body straining toward an elusive pinnacle which always before had taunted her from somewhere beyond.

  She began to weep and her meaningless murmuring became a small voice pleading.

  The pressure from his hand settled firmly over her mound, warming her, and stopped. The other hand released her thumbs but her hands remained where they lay as she moaned objections. She didn’t want the accelerating pleasure to stop. Not now. Not yet.

  Gradually she became aware of her own remote, now familiar voice begging. She opened her eyes only when Bo lifted her legs, pivoted her fully onto the bed, and positioned himself over her.

  “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “Please. Please.”

  He kissed the underside of her upper arm, trailing the soft skin down to her breasts.

  “Kiss me--my mouth.”

  His lips covered hers and Sara felt his thick, marvelous tongue searching the entrance. She sucked, wanting more of him, but still he would not yield, allowing his tongue only to taunt her.

  His hands swept her nakedness, touching then abandoning the soft, tender places. She groaned as he evoked one sensation then relinquished it only to awaken and torment another.

  Eventually, he broke the vacuum between their mouths and set his warm lips back to work at her breasts, this time ruthlessly laving, stimulating the nipples until she cried out with pleasure. Only then did he allow his engorged phallus to begin its accompaniment, touching, pulsating just at the entrance to her.

  She babbled, no longer able to reason or to control herself. As her passion detonated, he slipped a hand under and lifted her hips.

  Methodically, he increased the pressure of his penis against the entrance, advancing slowly into the moist darkness. She pressed her heels into the bed raising herself to receive him, and her groaning became frantic beneath his lips as he positioned his thick tongue at the entrance to her mouth. Both openings begged his entry.

  He went into her gradually, at first allowing only the tip of his tongue and the head of his phallus to penetrate their separate entries. She sucked, urging his tongue inside as he, at the same time, entered her below.

  The cock, like the tongue, was thick and filled her, contenting her for the moment, then neither seemed enough and she summoned more.

  He moved with her unspoken commands, sliding the thick tongue and the engorged phallus all the way into her, then retreating, and in again, accelerating the tempo, swaying with her as she began to follow his dance.

  She arched, pressing herself against him, entreating him to plunge deeper, to plumb her depths.

  As he filled her more and more, she brought her legs up cradling him, urging him deeper and deeper.

  Her fingertips brushed his burgeoning arm muscles as she ran her hands up his biceps, finally burying her fingernails in the thickness of his shoulders. And her pulsating body adopted a dance of its own, movements in sync his, but separate.

  She could feel the pleasure coming, coming... But it was not merely the physical titillation of stories and songs, but a filling, a completion, more beyond more.

  As her body burst in an explosion of lights and colors, Sara threw her arms around his neck and pulled her trunk hard against him. She cried out and he groaned as they erupted together, as one.

  Catapulted, she knew fully, this was it then, the paradise sought but not always found. Having achieved it, she wanted to stay.

  But try as she might, she couldn’t sustain the euphoria. As she felt her spiraling pleasure reverse, she flexed, straining, sucking to hold onto the man’s magic, to force his body to stay within hers, to hold them in paradise, forever.

  Desperate, she twisted and turned beneath him, striving to wring more from him until finally, drenched with perspiration, decompressing, then finished, she clung to him, hanging on, his tongue in her throat, the other penetrating her soul.

  Moments passed.

  Sara began coming to herself. She could hear the sleet against the tin roof, the fire crackling in the fireplace. But she would not loosen either hold on him, trembling with the effort to keep him. She didn’t want it to end. She wanted him to stay inside her...forever. She had never known such exquisite pleasure, such pure ecstasy; was terrified that she might never know it again.

  At the same time, she felt reckless, daring, deliciously wicked; her only objective in life, to hold onto this moment, to make it last, regardless of consequences, of whatever condemnations might follow.

  “Don’t leave me.” She begged, relinquishing his tongue but keeping her arms tightly around his neck as she put her mouth against his ear. “Stay as we are. Please.”

  She could feel his intensity ebbing and she began to weep, quietly, defeated.

  He remained poised over her for several moments before she felt him withdrawing. He attempted to disengage himself, to step over and lie beside her, but she clung to him and sobbed. “Don’t leave me. You’re perfect. Beautiful.” She felt confused, overwhelmed with a mix of sorrow and joy.

  “I didn’t know... How did you know how to bring me to this?” She wept quietly. She had lost herself. Eventually her terror diminished and she grew calmer.

  “Is this the way it always is for you?” She opened her eyes, frightened of the answer, and stared into his face. His dark eyes were glassy. Almost imperceptively, he shook his head.

  “No?” She was alarmed. “But this is the way it’s supposed to be?”

  His face reflected a kind of wonder. Mutely he allowed a slight smile and nodded.

  She again tightened her arms around his neck and pulled him over on top of her.

  “I love you.” She was shocked by her feelings and her words. “Bo, I do love you. You are wonderful...and beautiful. And you make me...” her voice broke, “you make me wonderful and beautiful.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Are you starving?” Sara spoke softly, staring at the tin roof high over their heads.

  She turned, laying her face against the pillow. On his side, his face resting on his arm, Bo grinned vaguely, nodded, and closed his eyes. They were still naked beneath the quilts.

  He seemed momentarily spent while Sara felt exuberant, full of new vitality, energy, confidence.

  She had been reluctant when Bo began a second siege. Just because he had been able to coax those responses from her once didn’t mean the pleasure could be repeated.

  As before, relentlessly, almost ruthlessly, he incited her to the edge of madness before he allowed himself to explode within her.

  No wonder people who experienced this kind of sex called it "making love." Lying there, gazing at the man next to her, she saw him with new insight. His body was able to electrify hers, not just once but again and again, anytime he wanted--anytime she wanted.

  He excavated deep into her soul, found a strain of enchantment, mined it, polished it, and presented it to her as a priceless gift. And he seemed able to perform that wizardry at will.

  In only those brief sessions with him, she realized she had been mistaken all this time. She was not frigid.

  But he had taken her far beyond that. She regarded his strong hand now resting possessively on her stomach, that marvelous hand which had... She bit her lips, embarrassed at recalling the intimacy of that hand.

  Bo had shown her she contained a marvelous depth of passion which could produce a frenzied ecstasy, both for herself and her partner.

  Puzzling, she wondered if these new talents were limited to one benefactor. She thought of Wesley and Jimmy Singer. No, no other man was capable of this...mag
ic.

  She smiled and threw the covers off her warm, satisfied body. Bo reached out, staying her. She hesitated as he pulled her back. She saw mischief in the dark, dark irises.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  He leaned up and over to put his lips on hers, pressing her back, bracing himself on his elbows propped at either side of her head. He brushed her forehead with his thumbs and laced his fingers into her hair. Her hands swept his chest and shoulders and her breath quickened.

  It was a quiet kiss, easy to maintain as they remained comfortably linked. His tongue prodded. She yielded. There was no reason to be coy. He already knew he could come and go as he pleased.

  His tongue grew thick, possessive, as his mouth consumed hers. She felt the excitement swelling again in him and inside herself.

  As he drew away from her kiss, he put his hands on either side of her waist and rolled onto his back, setting her astride him.

  She straightened and tilted her head back. Cupping her breasts in her own hands, she began to sway from side to side ever so slightly. Suddenly she peered down at him.

  “And just what do you expect me to do for you from up here, big boy?”

  He grinned, lifted and moved her down a little on his torso.

  Amazed, she felt the limp phallus resurrect itself beneath her, perhaps without its earlier rigidity, but obviously with the same intent.

  “What are you, super human?”

  He moved, sliding, shifting until he was positioned to demonstrate his continuing capability coupled with some versatility. His eyes became glazed as he looked into her face.

  “Don’t look at me. I don’t want you to...to see what... I lose my... You’ll think I’m... Please don’t watch.”

  The words faded as she felt the exhilaration sharpening every nerve. She clamped her teeth together hoping to maintain some kind of control, but it was already too late.

  She tried to hold herself away from him with her knees but his hands were hot on her thighs, his thumbs working a familiar magic at the vortex which was positioned so that it was completely defenseless.

  “You know all the right buttons...” She slurred the words, swaying to incite, then to postpone the orgasm.

  * * *

  “Please let me fix some food,” she pleaded as they again lay recovering. Dark had come early. She didn’t know if it was still afternoon or night. He nodded, his eyes black, enigmatic slits.

  She pushed his chin aside with her hand. “Will you turn over, face the wall? I have to clean up. I don’t want you to watch.”

  Allowing a wicked little grin, he studied her face a long moment before he placed both hands on her upper arm and summarily pushed her out of the bed. She tumbled onto the floor.

  “What’s the big idea?” She scrambled to her feet annoyed, naked, her hands on her hips.

  Laughing, he followed her out of the bed, threw his coat over his nakedness, slipped bare feet into his boots and darted out the cabin door into the cold and shrouded sunlight.

  Sara glowered at the door as it closed behind him. “I didn’t mean you had to go all the way outside.”

  She grabbed the T-shirt he had discarded earlier, slipped it on, and shivered at the warmth of the thin layer of fabric. She twirled a full turn in the middle of the floor, hugging herself and laughing.

  By the time she had settled down a little, added wood to the cook stove, and repositioned the coffee pot and skillet over the front burners--the two kettles of water occupied the back ones--Bo returned with the oval trough which he placed in front of the fireplace.

  “What are you doing?”

  Acting as if he hadn’t heard her, he again hurried outside. She was putting the overworked biscuits to cook before Bo returned with two buckets of water.

  “You must have pumped your arm off to get that much.”

  He tossed off the coat and, posing nude, except for the unlaced boots, directed her attention to the pumping arm and flexed.

  She smiled broadly. “Big deal. You know I’m a sucker for your muscles.” Her eyes dropped to the area between his legs. “Some more than others.” When her eyes again met his, he winked. She smiled and blushed. “Now I suppose you’ll try to tell me you never get tired.”

  Purposefully he stepped close to her and placed a cold hand underneath the T-shirt slipping it into the V between her legs. She gasped, startled at his bold, icy touch, and stiffened before pushing his hand away.

  “Are you saying you don’t ever get tired of making love?”

  He shook his head emphatically, frowned and allowed both his hands to sweep up the outline of her body without touching her. He stopped with his hands poised at either side of her face.

  “Never get tired of making love...with me?”

  His grin was like sunshine breaking through dark clouds. His face changed from silly to serious before he kissed her. It was a long, sultry kiss. His hands were cold as he stooped, slid them up the backs of her legs beneath the shirt, and cradled her bare buttocks, lifting her against him, making her squeal.

  He released her, grinning, turned, and poured the two buckets of water into the trough. He added water from the two kettles boiling on the cook stove and the one hanging over the fireplace.

  She was puzzled until he retrieved and placed a clean length of flannel on the arm of one of the rockers, put a wash cloth on the side of the tub and stepped out of his boots. He laughed at what Sara supposed was her look of surprise and he nodded, indicating she should get in the tub. When she didn’t move, he again stooped and put his cold hands on the backs of her knees. She fingered the bunched muscles in his shoulders and, giggling, tried to pull back, but he held her.

  When she quit trying to escape, he began simultaneously fingering the backs of her knees and suckling at her nipples through the T-shirt. Her breath caught. Wheezing, she said, “You do know the right buttons.”

  He nodded, then, before she had time to react, he caught the hem of the T-shirt and flipped it up and off over her head.

  He picked her up, placed her in the tub, and climbed in himself, making her yield enough space for him. The warm water had seemed shallow until two bodies displaced it.

  “Getting a little sophisticated, aren’t we?” Sara picked up the wash cloth and the soap.

  They began by washing each other’s hair and moved down from there, touching, teasing, fondling, caressing.

  There was a brief interlude as the bathing provoked renewed interest, after which they rescrubbed specific parts.

  “Bo, have you ever made love with your clothes on?”

  He nodded but scowled.

  “It would probably be warmer, not to get naked every time.”

  His expression softened but he shook his head, no, and allowed his fingers to caress her ear, down her throat and continue, outlining her breasts.

  “You like having all our clothes off?”

  He splayed a hand on her chest and nodded once.

  “You don’t want anything between us?”

  He grinned, nodded, and grabbed the length of flannel. Standing, he offered his hand to help her to her feet. After leading her from the tub, he wrapped the towel around them. They stood wrapped together in front of the fire for several minutes, warming.

  “It’s bad luck to dry on the same towel.”

  He removed the flannel, scooped her up and strode to the bed where he bundled them together beneath the quilts. As she warmed, she dozed.

  By the time they were ready to eat, the biscuits were cherry brown and tough, barely edible. They ate every one.

  Later, when they were fed and dressed, Sara directed Bo to the footstool. She sat in a rocking chair directly in front of him. Patiently she combed his tangled hair and the unkempt beard.

  He had perfect ears, she thought idly. His head was beautifully shaped. She studied his individual features as she worked, but she couldn’t visualize what he actually looked like under all that hair.

  Disentangling it took quite a while but Sar
a enjoyed the intimacy and toiled determinedly, wondering as she worked, about Bo’s manners, his intelligence, his ambition.

  She had had glimpses of his raucous humor and his temper but, thinking about it, she didn’t actually know this man very well, except physically, of course. Carnally, they were intimately acquainted.

  Yet she knew quite a lot, too, she argued with herself, about his gentle spirit, his judicious soul, his depth of integrity.

  * * *

  That night snow clouds rolled in again. Renewed precipitation continued to isolate the small cabin. Sara and Bo made love, slept, ate, and made love, repeating the cycle again and again.

  The unseasonably early winter storm lasted three days, during which Bo braved conditions to feed and milk his cows twice a day. Other than that, and the occasional necessary trips to the outhouse, they stayed in the cabin, frequently driven back to their bed to exercise and entertain one another.

  Despite Bo’s silent insistence, Sara refused to use the chamber pot. After all, she explained to him, she was not sickly, to which he beamed his agreement.

  “Will you let me touch you there?” she asked on the second day as they lay naked side by side. He nodded and locked his hands behind his head, indicating she could do as she liked.

  Examining him, kissing him randomly, she stroked his phallus until it was rigid. His face look pained and he gritted his teeth. Preoccupied with the appendage, she said, “You know, they really should issue operators’ manuals with these things.”

  Bo arched his eyebrows, looking surprised. Sara avoided his gaze as she continued her gentle massage, unaware of his mounting distress.

  “Men should have to take lessons, be licensed before they’re allowed to operate one of these, instead of just ramming them into any old body that’s available.”

  Clenching his teeth, Bo bit back a laugh and shook his head.

  “Besides that.” She stopped the massage and regarded his penis with annoyance, “I think I’m jealous. First I’m really jealous of every woman you’ve had before.” Her eyes rounded and she glared into his face. “There’ve been a bunch, haven’t there?”