by Sacchi Green
Amie said, “About future glorious orgasms. At home, I built a glorious rainstorm shower. And I have a bed. A very nice bed in an alcove with no dust, dried mildew, or cobwebs.”
Sunshine wrapped her arms around Amie’s waist and they hugged in silence for long moments, sweat and grime and all. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Amie groaned. “So, can we move on to the showering-together fantasy I’ve been having since I installed the new fixtures? The future orgasms could happen then. And then making love in my bed? And then, maybe talking about how long you can stay around?”
Sunshine grinned and kissed her collarbone. “I think I would be into that.”
ORIGINS
Amanda Rodriguez
Nowadays everybody knows who I am. I seep into the edges of conversation. I’m in regular rotation on the nightly news. Folks think they know my story because of that first big hoopla I made in the papers when I ended that standoff at the bank, but someone discovered me long before that. That’s when I became something. My story begins on that night.
I was in a club, feeling nothing but the bass in my bones and the sway of my limbs. When I closed my eyes, the flash of strobe lights illuminated my darkened lids. When I opened them again, a woman was staring at me with one side of her mouth hooked into a wry smile. She was tall with evocative curves and big, black eyes. I casually danced closer, only glancing at her once in a while, trying to play it cool. Every time I looked at her, she was looking back at me. She wasn’t shy. Maybe I shouldn’t be either.
I walked over close and stood looking up into her eyes. She began to dance around me, not touching me, sensuously moving her long body like a snake. Then she ran one light-brown finger down my dark-brown chest, tracing a line of sweat that ran between my breasts. The world receded as her finger lingered on me. As if hypnotized, I let her take my hands and put them on her. Together we moved. The beat infused our movements with rapture. Our wet limbs entwined like water. Our hips thrummed with fire.
Some guy came up behind me and put his hands on my ass. The steamy, sexy spell was broken. Outrage choked me. I slapped him away, yelling, “Fuck off, creep!” My fingers spasmed.
He moved behind my dance partner and pawed at her. She swatted at him like the cockroach he was.
Then it happened . . . again. My vision blurred as my eyes rattled around in their sockets. All the hairs on my body stood up, and gooseflesh rushed to cover every inch of my skin. My teeth tattooed a spastic rhythm. The ground shook, and the concrete floor cracked in a circle beneath my feet.
I reached a shaking hand out to the man harassing her and grabbed his wrist. He stopped kneading her thigh and went rigid. His eyes rolled back, and he convulsed. I dropped his wrist, afraid of what I’d done.
All the manic energy drained from me, and my vision cleared. The woman blinked from me to him, her mouth a shocked O. I shrunk into myself, turned and pushed to the exit. The air in that place was too hot and too close.
When I spilled into the street, the night was cool with a light, misting rain. Bent double, I swallowed deep breaths and whoa’ed my heart to slow its canter. I looked up to see her standing in front of me.
“Holy shit,” she said, her voice a higher pitch than I’d expected. “What did you do to him?”
I could only dully shake my head.
“That was so fucking cool!” Was that awe in her voice? Reverence? My eyebrows drew together. She grabbed my hand and pulled me into a run.
“C’mon! Let’s get out of here before that asshole recovers or the po-po show!”
With her warm hand enveloping mine, it was hard to focus on the thoughts ricocheting like bullets in a barrel around my brain. I picked up my pace until our strides slapped the damp pavement like matched heartbeats.
Between puffs of breath that clouded the cold air, I asked, “Where are you taking me?”
She flashed a wide, red-lipped, Cheshire-cat grin. “Patience, my dear!”
For the next few blocks, all I could think about was that mouth, that mouth, that mouth. I was still imagining how acrobatic a mouth that big must be when she abruptly stopped.
We stood in front of Cat’s Corner, a greasy spoon diner. The large windows were smudged with grease and fingerprints. The booths looked like an ancient mountain lion with blunted claws used them for scratching posts. The people inside moved lethargically as if the air had heft to it.
I arched a brow. “Is this the place you take all your potential conquests?”
“Only the superhuman ones who might be on the lam from the law.”
I flinched.
“Plus, they have the best fries.”
I squared my shoulders. “I will judge them by their milkshakes.”
We were seated at a two-top booth that was so small our knees touched beneath the table. Her hands rested in her lap, and her fingertips brushed my leg. My esteem for the place rose.
I gave her an appraising look, which she returned. Thankfully, half the lights in the place were busted, so we weren’t bathed in unflattering fluorescent spotlights. Her olive skin was shiny from the rain. She had bold, liquid eyes that matched her confident mouth. After our run, the fine, dark hair piled on top of her head was an artful mess. A head and a half taller than me, she had curves for days.
I hoped I passed muster with my compact form, shaggy hair, and deep-brown skin.
Her glistening fries arrived along with my enormous strawberry milkshake. Feeling oddly exposed, I slurped down a couple of quick swallows of shake.
“Wow,” I said. “I think they use real, actual strawberries.”
She snatched her hands away from the fries, shaking burnt fingers. “Never judge a diner by its”—she looked around us—“everything.”
“So who are you, mystery lady?”
There was that wry smile again. Her words came fast. “I’m Amira. I was born in Pakistan, but my parents moved to the States when I was four. I’m a programmer at a tech firm. Snore. I’ve lived in a loft a couple blocks from here for six or seven years. And my cat, Witchy, is the boss of me.”
I closed one eye and squinted out the other one. “Tell me something sexy about you.”
She leaned in closer, her round, braless breasts resting on the table. “What isn’t sexy about me?”
I wondered what it would feel like to hold each of her breasts in my hands. How heavy would they be? Would her nipples grow hard under my thumbs? What sound would she make if I touched those nipples with my breath? Grazed them with my lips?
Her smile quirked at me. “I like to play video games in lingerie.” Without missing a beat, she continued, “But I think the real question is ‘what’s your name?’”
“Mora,” I said. “It means blackberry in Spanish. My parents always say I was sweet and dark as a blackberry when I was born.”
“Are you sure it’s not Quake? She-Shake? Maybe The Southern Rattler? Maybe you’re a member of a superhero club?”
I looked down at my melting pink shake. My hair fell into my eyes. “No one’s ever seen me do that before . . . or more like no one’s ever known it was me who was doing it before. It’s like you’re the only one who’s ever really seen me.”
I dared to look up at her from behind my bangs. Her eyes were round, her lashes a painter’s elegant feathered brushstrokes. “How?” she asked. “When I saw you back there, you were a magnetic pulse that I could feel through all the noise. Like a desert calling to water, I felt you calling to me.”
My lips parted, and I let loose a whisper of a gasp.
She flashed a fox grin. “Plus, girl, you are a whole lot of hotness in such a small package.” She put on a twang, “And that down South accent, mmm. I could just eat . . . you . . . up . . . .”
I snorted. She reached across the table and gripped my arms. Her touch sent waves of heat through my body, making me question which one of us had superpowers.
“Seriously, you’ve got to tell me. I’ll die of the shame of ignorance if you don’t. Literally. I’ll d
ie a hot, lonely tech nerd. You’ll have basically killed the digital age equivalent of a sexy librarian.”
Thinking, I licked my lips. “Invite me back to your place, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Like a withering flower, she drew back her outstretched arms. “Is it . . . I don’t know . . . safe? You’ve got some serious, uh, kick when you get worked up.”
She was right; it probably wasn’t safe, but my heart was hammering out a syncopated ditty. My thoughts were clouded with the sweet scent of her. I ached with want and had to squirm in my seat.
In the quiet fields of North Carolina where I’d grown up, I had practiced controlling my power on broken tables and rusted-out cars. In the secret of solitude, I’d even used that power on myself, regulating the waves of vibration for pleasure and, sometimes, a delicious edge of pain.
Mustering a veneer of confidence, I said, “Take me to bed and find out.”
By the time we left the diner, the sky had let loose its troubles. We flat-out ran for Amira’s apartment while the fat raindrops soaked us through. Her hand clasped mine and practically dragged me up the flights of stairs. Before I could settle my breathing, we were inside her apartment.
She made no move to turn on a light. Instead she let me stand there, looking around. Her place had big windows. The city lights shone through, casting abstract shadows across our faces. I fumbled with a floor lamp until a feeble, amber light emerged from its Edison bulb. The apartment was one open room, and my eyes lingered on the neatly made bed. The floor was old, scarred wood. Little toys sat like totems in twos and threes on the mantle, coffee table, and counter. I recognized a Legend of Zelda figurine and smiled.
Then I looked at her. In the soft light, her face was anxious. Almost against my will, my gaze was drawn downward. The wet fabric of her pale dress clung to her curves. I could see her dark nipples and the outline of her thighs through the thin fabric. The dress cleaved to the place where her legs met. I stepped toward her, reaching. I stopped in mid-motion, my arms halfway extended.
I swallowed. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”
Amira didn’t say anything.
I whispered, “Ever since I saw you, I’ve wanted to touch you. Can I?”
She bit her lip, weighing, deciding, choosing.
Then her lips were on me; her body against mine. If I was the quavering earth, she was fire made flesh. Her skin steamed beneath her wet clothes, and her big mouth enveloped me. She swallowed me, consumed me. My universe was her mouth, her lips, her tongue. Our breath was a living being, passing back and forth between us. She nipped me, and the flash of pain was exquisite, lighting up my body, reminding me I had a body. I had been born with hands to worship at the altar of her.
I drew my hands up her legs, pulling her dress up over her head. I stood transfixed, staring at the mound of her hip and curve of her breasts, each nipple like an upturned purple bud seeking sunlight. She tore off my shirt and unzipped my pants. I knelt before her, tracing the line of her little red panties with the tip of my tongue. Her hands in my hair, she moaned and leaned into me.
With agonizing slowness, I used only my teeth to tug her panties down. Small gasps kept escaping her. I wanted to bury my face between her legs and lap like a kitten at her clit, but I held back. Instead I darted my tongue out in quick motions, licking the lips that were hidden beneath soft, black hair. My darting tongue parted those lips, but I wasn’t ready yet to search for her treasures.
“You tease, Mora,” she moaned.
I laughed and stood up. “I can’t have you coming too quick, sugar.”
We kissed and petted each other, laughing and stumbling to Amira’s bed. She was on top of me, towering over me like a goddess. Her hand snaked down my pants. When her fingertips found my clit, it was like an electric jolt ran through me, and I cried out and spread my legs wider, my body, of its own will, begging for more.
She bit my ear and growled, “You’re so wet.”
Soon I was bucking against her hand, gliding up and down the lengths of her fingers. Two fingers slid inside me for an instant, and then they were gone, back to their rapid, slippery strokes. Her mouth was on my nipple. She bit and sucked and caressed it.
“You have the perkiest little tits,” she breathed.
“Please.” I begged, not knowing what for.
Her fingers were back inside me, and I ground my pelvis against them. I threw my head back, panting. Then her fingers were outside me again, rubbing my clit in circles until I ached with the need for release. Suddenly a torrent of heat and pleasure wracked me, and I was calling out her name.
I lay there, catching my breath.
She said, “My philosophy is cum early and cum often.”
I laughed. “Touché.”
I kissed her then like kissing was the only language I knew. My eyes were closed, but every part of her I touched came into sharp focus. The supple skin of her belly beaded with sweat. The delicate hairs on her arms standing on end as she shivered beneath my touch. The strength of her long legs as they gripped me. She was the only thing real in this world, the only person to truly know me and to trust me. I’d been with other women, but I had always kept the truth of me secret. Over the years, this power of mine had become my weakness. Her desire for me in spite of, or maybe because of, that power was a gift, and I intended to show my gratitude.
My touch light as a breath, I ran my hand down her chest, down her belly, to rest on the pulsing lips between her legs. Her hips thrust forward, but I kept my touch gentle. My fingertips probed, seeking the heart of her. I wanted to lay eyes on her hard, beautiful clit, but for now I would have to content myself with imagination. With the greatest care, I let my fingertips minutely thrum.
She gasped in shock. In the next breath, she laughed.
“You’re amazing,” she said.
“I’m just getting started,” I murmured.
“Mmm,” she cooed. “Giddyup.”
Like a radio frequency, I tuned in to her. Listening, feeling, gauging what would make her sing to me. Her body was an exquisite violin, and I the lowly violinist who sought to release her innate music. She writhed and panted as if in a trance. I was in awe of her beauty.
I turned the intensity of the vibrations up and up, searching beyond what she wanted for what she needed. My hand blurred with steady speed. She gripped the sheet in her fist. Her teeth bit into my shoulder, muffling the cry that exploded from her as she convulsed in climax.
Before she could recover, I pulled her on top of me, my fingers slipping inside her. I paired the vibrations with the slow beckoning motion of my fingers. With my free hand, I kneaded the generous flesh of her ass. Like a queen, Amira sat tall atop me. Her broad, dark shoulders and full breasts filled my vision. Her hips rocked in time with my movements.
I spread undulations outward to my palm and then pressed it against her clit. As her excitement increased, her rocking became more forceful. She rode me hard and fast. Her bobbing breasts mesmerized me. I squeezed one of those breasts, rubbing and pinching her nipple.
“I love watching you,” I said.
Her hair was loose and wild across her face. She looked at me through slit cat eyes. Then she bent forward to kiss me, the whole of her naked torso against me.
We grappled and rolled until I was once again on top of her.
“Mora . . . Mora, mi amor,” she purred.
Through the glaze of my desire, I looked up at her. “¿Tu hablas español?”
She shook her head, for the first time almost shy. “But you can speak it to me.”
So I did. My words were muffled with mouthfuls of her, but I crooned to her in my milk tongue. It was freeing for her not to understand my words. I swung between pillow talk that I’d be ashamed to say in a language she knew and my deepest, unspoken truths.
I couldn’t resist any longer. I slid down her long body and nuzzled between her legs. I savored the velvety feel of her and the sharp, honeyed taste of her. My tongue ran her length, discover
ing her soft, secret places. Amira was languorous and accepting of my exploring licks and caresses.
I pressed the flat of my pulsing tongue against her. Again, she gasped, but this time the gasp trailed off into a moan as she ground herself against my face. Greedy for more, she cupped the back of my neck and drew me even closer. As I upped the intensity, her hands left my neck and clutched the headboard above her. I reached up and stroked one of her breasts. With the other hand, I buried my vibrating fingers deep inside her. Like I was the holy woman and she the possessed, Amira’s body flew up off the bed. My tongue and fingers trembled. I sucked and licked until she screamed. I drew the orgasm out of her like a living thing.
She glowed with sweat, and her chest heaved. I crawled back up her, dropping gentle kisses as I went.
“Wow,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. “How many girls did you have to practice on to perfect your technique?”
I whispered in her ear, “Just you.”
Her glazed eyes cleared a bit. “I’m the only one you’ve ever been with?”
“Wouldn’t that make you feel high and mighty?” I brushed her ear with my nose. “I’ve never used my super-powers, like you call them, on anyone else before.”
Her head shot up. “Seriously?”
I gave a little laugh. “Seriously.”
“Fuck. You have no idea how much that turns me on.”
Then she was attacking me with her mouth, her hands, her knee between my legs. Her nipples traced patterns against my chest and face. Amira thrust my arms and legs out wide until I was spread-eagled on her bed. I was naked and exposed, brimming with want. I watched her glide like a serpent down me. She watched me back. Amira flashed that crooked grin before pressing her lips to my lips.
Her tongue traced complicated shapes on my maze of folds, slowly searching deeper and deeper. With her deft tongue, she pulled back my hood. Pushing past all my secrets, she found the heart of me. The fire of her mouth spread to me. Flames licked at my clit.