The Devil’s Sperm is Cold

by Marco Vassi

  Manuel threw down the belt and sat on the bed next to her. He was beginning to feel bad about the whole thing. And for a long time he did not move, but stared down at her, as her chest heaved with weeping, and her legs rolled about in sympathetic movement. He watched her ass roll around unselfconsciously, and her cunt shift as she writhed. There were no thoughts in his mind. Only the sight of her body was impressed on his brain.

  Then, almost idly, he brought one hand up and laid it on her ass. She flinched, thinking he was about to hit her again, and then relaxed. He moved his hand slowly over the red welts where the belt had struck, and then ran it between the cheeks, down the musty crack, jamming it at last between her thighs, covering her asshole and her cunt with the curve that extended from the tip of his forefinger to the tip of his thumb. Her crotch was like an egg being held by a parabolic egg holder, and it was as gently as that that he embraced her.

  Again, without any intent or conscious thought, he leaned forward and began to lick the angry belt marks with his tongue, soothing them, wetting them, removing the real and symbolic pain with the gesture of solace. He turned around so that he was facing in the same direction she was, and brought his other hand to meet his first, so that they were palm to palm between her thighs. With his hands in an attitude of prayer holding her cunt and ass, he came completely forward and gave himself totally to licking the stinging cheeks, going over the round white flesh again and again until Joan began to feel the first flush of pleasure creeping in past the tingling of pain. She let loose her fear he would strike her again, and turned her head from lying on her right cheek to her left, relieving the tension that had accumulated in her neck and jaw.

  Manuel pulled his hands apart, gently forcing her thighs open as he did so. And with that, his mouth dipped down into the dark curve between her buttocks. His tongue found its groove and he started to lick it with total concentration. For Joan, it was more than she could keep from responding to. Tied up, gagged, beaten, she wanted to yield nothing to Manuel, but there was no way to hold back her tiny movements of pleasure as his tongue swept up and down the crack of her ass, curling from time to time to insert the tip into the puckered opening. She found herself spreading her legs wider without any urging from him.

  As he felt her response, Manuel relaxed. For if she enjoyed it and cooperated, there would be no talk of rape. He shuffled his body forward until he was on his knees between her legs, and with his fingers he pressed back, indicating that he wanted her to raise her hips. She slid her knees forward until her ass was off the bed, rounded, thrust backward, spread apart. Manuel dipped his head lower and then let himself go totally.

  This was his hello and good-bye to Joan, to the girl of his dreams, to the prim white representative from a world he briefly aspired to. As he burrowed into the wet pungent crack, sucking at her ass, licking her cunt, lapping her juices and setting her wriggling with caresses on her clitoris, he relived the eleven months he had known her, remembering all the times he had watched her sit down, and had envied the chair she lowered herself onto. It was extraordinary to consider there was a time when he was paralyzed with lust at the mere thought of smelling her panties, and here he was with his tongue deep inside her crevices, with her beginning to rotate her hips, to push her cunt into his mouth to allow him the fullest penetration.

  For Joan, the major experience was that of safety. For the first time in almost a half hour, she was not in fear for her life. She had wondered whether in his enraged condition Manuel might not go over the edge and beat her past the point of no return. And everything else, including her pride, melted in the face of her imminent loss of life. But now, with the familiar vibrations of sex flooding through her, knowing that he was feeling the same thing, she knew that all physical danger was past. And with that, she could start to enjoy the situation for its sensual content.

  Manuel removed his mouth and sat back to look for a moment. He would never see this again, and he wanted to impress it in his memory. Joan was a single double-edged curve of flesh; underneath she was cunt and belly and tits rising from the bed, and above she was ass and spine and hair falling to her arms, which were still tied to the post. She was in a classic posture of bondage, and the picture was powerfully erotic. Manuel viewed it as he might a photograph in a pornographic magazine. Working where he did, he had accumulated, by judicious thievery, a vast collection of erotic literature and photography, and superimposed on Joan’s actual body before him was a collage of bodies that he had spent many, many hours looking at in his books. The one difference was that this was Joan, the editor he used to watch going into the bathroom and imagine what it was like to taste the piss that ran over her cunt hair. And she was not a picture, but a real entity.

  He brought his right hand up and slipped four fingers into her cunt. She flexed her pelvis and gasped. He twirled the fingers around inside her and then turned his hand sideways so that her cunt had to stretch over their width. It was momentarily painful, but the hole adjusted and in a few seconds he was sliding his hand in and out of her pussy, watching it grow slicker and slicker as her cunt juices became more copious.

  His cock, still poking out of his pants, grew rock hard. Abruptly, tired of the foreplay, he moved up close to her, walking on his knees. He grabbed her cheeks with both hands, and pulled them apart, splitting them like an orange. Her asshole spread wide, her cunt gaping, she raised her backside higher, rotating her hips to tilt it up. Manuel watched as she clenched the sphincter and vaginal muscles, making her holes contract and open, open and contract. He positioned his cock at the opening of her cunt, and leaned forward.

  They both froze. For what happened then was outside of anything they could expect to happen from the seemingly bizarre trappings of their situation. What happened then was that the entirety of the social and personal drama fell away, and they entered a space of utter privacy and silence, the true space of sex. If there is such a thing as a man and a woman being made for one another, then we must consider that there is such a thing as a cock and cunt being made for one another. And such was the case with Manuel’s cock and Joan’s cunt. For after all the waiting, and the rubbing, and the struggling to keep them from meeting, at the moment they touched a kind of perfection was attained.

  At once they felt the sensation, which had nothing to do with friction. It was a deep, deep warmth, so sweet, so full, so penetrating, that they both collapsed under its impact. Joan slid onto the bed, lying full length on her stomach, and Manuel fell on top of her, his body covering hers, his cock having slipped out from its preliminary entrance.

  After a few moments, as though he couldn’t believe what had happened, Manuel came up on his elbows, adjusted the angle of his pelvis, and slid his cock up between her thighs and once more into her waiting cunt. He got no farther than the penetration by the head of his cock before it began again, an indescribable sweetness that filled his loins and seeped into his belly, and began to ooze through his entire body.

  Joan, at one with him in the feeling, moaned. Her legs parted slightly, and her cunt became, almost at once, a hot dripping hole. Manuel’s cock not so much entered her as was taken into her. It slid slowly forward and up, filling the tiny opening with its bulging presence, its soft bulk, until he was lodged as far as he could be in their present position. Her ass was nestled in his groin, her cunt was the undisputed home for his cock, and her heart was bursting with the feeling that she had been dimly aware was at the root of all desire for sex, but had never felt before.

  Manuel cursed inwardly, for he was unarguably caught in the result of his own machinations.

  She attempted to speak. He pulled the gag from her lips, and then slid his hands down her body to cup her breasts. They nestled on his palms and in his curved fingers perfectly, the nipples wrinkled, the skin smooth and intimate against his.

  “Do you feel it?” she asked.

  His cock throbbed in response, for he would not trust himself to words at such a moment. Her cunt tightened around the pole tha
t split it apart, and while the bodies were still outwardly, inwardly there was a continual pulsation, as his cock vibrated with a steady beat and her cunt clasped it again and again, growing hotter and wetter with each moment. He pressed her breasts hard to her body with his hands, and then wrapped his arms tightly around her, crushing her to his chest. She stretched out full, her arms extended, her legs in full point down to her toes and revelled in the luxury of the sensations and feelings that washed over and through her. Manuel’s body was a delicious weight, bearing her down, and his cock a thick rod thrust hotly into her center. She experienced a form of true bliss.

  She began to move, rolling her ass around. There was not a thing she could do which didn’t seem perfect. There was no posing, as there had been with Lou; there was no frenzy, as there had been with Margaret; there was no rush to climax, as there had been with almost everyone she had ever slept with. There was nothing but the moment, and the moment went on endlessly. She was in the spirit of fucking itself, and as such, she was immortal. There could be no room for the past or the future. She had, temporarily and accidently, stumbled into eternity by the most venerable of all the spiritual vehicles, the pleasure of the body.

  Manuel held himself against her and then lifted his body away from hers. She curved her spine, rolled her hips, and lifted her ass to follow the movement of his cock. She chased his cock with her cunt, grappling it tightly, and when he had come to rest, hovering a foot over the bed, on his knees and elbows, her cunt fluttered all over the sturdy cock, kissing it with butterfly kisses, sucking it with wet slurping sounds, engulfing it with sudden thrusts, and soaking it with heat as it was taken deep into the deepest part of the ecstatic hole.

  Manuel tried to resist, for he felt himself being swamped by a force that threatened to drown his entire rational mind. He saw a rich life with Alma, the land and house by the beach on his native island, all dissolving in the smoke of the sexual flames that would engulf him if he gave himself totally to the woman who was driving him mad with her dancing cunt, the cunt that caressed his cock with all the sureness and intimacy and playfulness of a friend from a past life.

  “Oh baby,” she whispered. “Don’t hold back, baby. Let it go. Give me the whole thing.” She begged him with her words and with her movements to bury himself inside her and let himself go wild, to hold nothing back, to lose himself with her in the realm of fucking, into a wordless realization of the resplendent voidness of all existence.

  He pulled back even farther. “No,” he hissed. “You must be crazy. I’m just the spic mail boy, remember? You ain’t going to have anything to do with me. After I give you what you want, you going to spit on me again. And I’m not going to get anything, except to get all torn up inside.” He pulled his cock out violently. “You’re a witch, and you’re trying to steal my soul. And I ain’t going to give it to you.”

  Joan turned over quickly so that she lay facing him, her arms still tied over her head, the gag now under her chin. She looked at him with an expression that could not be catalogued. Her body moved with its own volition, thrusting blindly up at him, calling him back to itself. And her mind reeled from the impact of his words. For he spoke from a context of time and place, and that jarred heavily with her state of timelessness and infinite dimension. She could not find a handle to grab onto to answer him at his level.

  Her legs rose into the air and circled his waist. They pulled him down. His cock screamed to enter her, drowning all his other voices. His tension slipped from him and he sank into her again. Only this time it was not as impersonal, for he was looking deeply into Joan’s eyes, and her breasts were warm and soft against his chest, and her cunt was receiving him from in front. He thrust into her forcefully and slid the head of his cock up, up against her cervix, hitting the entrance to her womb. Her legs opened wider and wider until her tendons were stretched to their capacity. Her cunt and ass were a single hot gash, and she lost all distinction between them. He was inside her, probing between her legs, and once again nothing else in the universe needed to be considered.

  Manuel buried his face in her throat and pumped his cock slowly into her, drawing out to the lips of her cunt and then gliding down into the hole of her hole, the pit of her pussy. Each time he slid out, she let out a long sustaining sigh, and when he slid back in, she uttered a deep crackling groan.

  “Oh my God,” she moaned at last. And turned her face to rub her cheek against his forehead, urging his face up, until he was even with her, and looking into her eyes. There, in the mirrors of his soul, she saw the heart of the man who gave her all she had ever dreamed of sexually. She saw that he was a strong beautiful spirit, and that she could love him. She raised her head up and brought her mouth to his. His lips hesitated, then pressed down, and in an instant their communion was complete, his cock and her cunt in total embrace, their mouths sealed in a fiery kiss of yearning.

  Manuel’s hands moved down and cupped her buttocks. He drew her even closer to him. Joan strained to push herself yet closer, to get his cock so far inside her that it would never come out. She taxed every muscle in her body to give him as much cunt as she could, to swallow his cock as fully as possible. She was at a point where there was no thought of orgasm, for what was happening involved her at a level too complex for the relatively simple phenomenon of having a climax.

  And while all of Manuel’s being tumbled faster and faster down the slide of surrender, he kept one thought in his mind. “Alma, Alma,” he said over and over, remembering that no matter what passion he experienced with the woman now in his arms, they could never accept one another as equals, and thus would eventually come to despise each other.

  And like any man who is forced to give himself to a woman he cannot let himself feel love for, he took refuge in reducing her to an image of herself. And he did not fuck the real Joan, the woman who for the first time in her life knew what it was to let herself be naked in a man’s arms, that is, to admit to herself what she was doing and feeling, the woman who had at last broken through the unconscious attitude that sex was something nasty, and that its thrills came from violating taboos; he ignored the real flesh-and-blood female who called out his name and threw away, with each thrust of her cunt into his cock, another layer of shame and repression; he would have nothing to do with the actual hair and fingers and eyes and feelings of the creature who at last had the first intimation of what it was to give pleasure to another, and not be the receptacle for someone else, taking her pleasure selfishly, and giving it routinely. No, Manuel retreated to the realm of fantasies he had stocked for over a year, and watched the Joan of a month earlier, of eight months earlier, watched her bend over a filing cabinet, watched her scratch her cunt when she thought no one was looking, watched her lick her lips when drinking coffee and imagined a cock in her mouth.

  The images and the reality raced toward a collision, and when he could no longer stand the tension, he forced himself to pull completely out of her, leaving her gasping like a fish just landed. And with a swift sudden movement, he pulled himself over her chest and then knelt by her head. She looked up at him, her eyes dazed and filled with loving desire. She had forgotten everything about him except that he was the man who had brought her to herself. And as women are wont to do, she had unconsciously relegated him to a position of being her possession, a thing that would always make her feel as she was feeling now. There was no way for her to dimly suspect what was going on in his mind. All she was aware of was the roughness between her thighs where his jeans had chafed her skin, and the fullness of his muscular buttocks, and the darkness of his face, and the joyous singing throbbing of her cunt, and the tingling of her ass where his belt had hit her. And oh, how she would be glad to let him whip her again.

  She swooned as his cock plunged into her mouth. He thrust it into her throat, and she gagged and tried to pull away. But her arms were still tied, and he held her head. He pulled his cock out, letting her breathe, and then thrust in again. She gagged once more.

  “Oh
, just let me suck it, Manuel,” she said.

  And he knelt there while she wrapped her lips around his cock, massaged it with her tongue, and sucked it gently until the juices boiled deep inside him, and with a sense that he was finally coming to the end of the spell she had cast on him, he let himself go, and shot the thick sperm onto her tongue, letting the spasms take him, letting the pleasure throb up his spine as his jism filled her mouth.

  She let out a deep humming moan as she felt the underbelly of his cock contract, and then begin to pulsate as his sperm shot out of his cock and into her mouth. It was like nectar, and although she had experienced it many times, never had she wanted to taste and swallow it so badly. She let it slide down her tongue, waiting until he had finished coming, and then she sucked the tube, drawing out the last drops from his highly sensitized cock. And when she knew there was no more to be had, she rolled the mouthful of sperm about on her tongue, and opened her mouth to let him look down on her, her face ecstatic with joy, her hair tangled all about her, her wrists tied to the bed, her body naked and open. She let him watch as she let his sperm run into her cheeks and over her lips, and then, gazing into his eyes, she swallowed once, and took the entire load down her throat.

  She closed her eyes and lay there for a long while. Manuel rocked back and forth, his mind laid waste by the entire experience, not only the sensations and feelings, but the fierce conflicting thoughts in his head.

  He wanted to put his cock in his pants, put on his belt, and leave, to return to Alma, who was ready to offer him a full and satisfying life. And yet, he could not move. For what had happened had rocked him to his very foundations. And he knew that the sight of the last few minutes, of Joan’s sucking his cum into her, of the indescribable contrast between the implied degradation of the act and the beauty of her face and body, had imprinted an indelible image in his brain. She had done what she had done out of surrender to her finest instincts, and had, with that, presented him with the gift of seeing a deep-rooted fantasy come to life before his eyes.