Ella's Awakening

by Angell Lynn Salver

  She sucked lovingly on Lucio for a few minutes, switching between hard suction and loud slurpings, but he was not getting an erection. Betty was unsure if she should continue or try something else. She felt a building tension, his uncomfortable stare, but she knew better than to meet his gaze and show the concern in her eyes. Instead, she worked harder, but her enthusiasm was cut short by his words. “Stop. Just stop,” Lucio said in a defeated tone, “maybe this is my last visit, Betty.” His eyes were filled with apprehension, concerned with preventing further humiliation, “maybe perfetta beatitudine is just a memory now.” Betty’s soul went limp, she paused, feeling her heart breaking even as she still had Lucio’s cock in her mouth. An unfamiliar desperation was building inside her. She stopped sucking and began kissing him on his thighs, the crease of his hip, anywhere her lips could reach while her mind tried to process what was happening. She turned her head from side to side, wanting her hair to cover her face. She wanted to hide from those words, from his gaze, to fade from the sorrow that was building like a dull ache in her heart.

  Betty’s mind was racing. She wondered if she was losing him, if she simply wasn’t pretty enough anymore, if she would be unable to prevent all the joys in her heart from slipping away forever, like leashed hounds bolting free toward some unseen future. She felt like she was pushed into a well, as if she might spend the rest of her life falling into darkness, with only weighty memories of Lucio to remind her of the sun. Each new insecurity that flashed into her mind was felt in her heart, an unwelcome aching-absence that was expanding by the moment.

  Betty recalled the last time they had great sex. It was right after a heartfelt talk, as close to discussing love as they had ever come. Lucio had said that a woman’s heart is a vessel of emotions, sometimes running so deep that a woman may not know her true feelings until it’s too late. Then he leaned in, maybe to kiss her, but she turned away from him, more out of instinct than desire, and the message she sent that day never felt right; it lingered like a cancer between them.

  Betty knew the code. It was universal throughout the world—always get the money first, and never kiss on the mouth. Lucio was no longer a customer. He stopped being a customer 30 years ago, even though they still played the game. There was a deep love between them, and the growing desperation in Betty’s heart only made her surer of her feelings.

  She kissed his cock again, then inched up, kissing his stomach. Anywhere she touched him felt right, every smell was the familiar odor of home, and she kept moving up, gaining confidence with every inch, slowly rising from her insecurities until she faced him squarely, gazing deeply into his eyes. She didn’t want mixed messages this time; she did not want Lucio to mistake her intentions; she wanted him to know exactly what she felt, and to know exactly what she wanted.

  Betty kissed him on the mouth for the first time, deeply and deliberately. The moment was like casting aside a crushing burden. Her eyes filled with tears and she moaned uncontrollably. Lucio was completely lost in blissful relief; what was unsaid had finally broken like an ocean on his heart. As they kissed, their emotions ran the gambit of love, passion, longing, regret, thankfulness, and they spurred each other on, taking turns to initiate each kiss, smiling at each other, until the uniformity of their feelings became completely clear, and they were united in pure joy. The passionate kissing had them both giggling and their appetite seemed insatiable.

  The many years they had both longed to drop the charade came into focus. It was bittersweet. There was no mistaking the love they shared and the honesty of this moment. If Betty and Lucio ever had a moment of perfect bliss, this was it—an emotional, heart pounding, deeply profound expression of unabashed love. Lucio’s body reacted immediately—Betty’s kiss brought him to a rock-hard erection. It stirred him, unleashing a dam he had unwillingly held back for years.

  Lucio always had a large cock, but it had been years since Betty saw it like this. It was positively huge, perhaps the biggest she had ever witnessed it, and desire was in his eyes for her to see. His movements became purposeful, almost forceful as he manipulated her in his arms—Betty wanted to be held like this, to feel the arms of Lucio’s youth again, and his arms were like iron. She wanted every piece of him all at once. She wanted to be a rag doll, to be completely dominated by him, but she also wanted to give him everything she had been holding back. Wanting to give without any thought of receiving something in return was a new feeling for Betty. It delighted her, and overwhelmed her selfish desire to be fucked first.

  She thought about riding him, but decided to finish what she started. She knew what he liked, and she wanted him to know she was willing to give him whatever he wanted. Betty knelt in front of Lucio and took his thick rod into her mouth—it may as well have been steel. Despite her ability to swallow just about any sized cock, this was proving to be a problem. Deep throating a massive rod was easy for her, as long as it would bend a little—something Lucio’s was not doing much of. She knew she needed to change angles.

  She swung around with the grace of a dancer, straddling his body in one smooth movement, her legs spread widely over Lucio’s face. She took the entire length of his throbbing cock into her throat. In some strange way, this felt like the most important blowjob of her life, and she was determined to do it well. Betty sucked hard. Her cheeks sunk in deeply as she stroked his full length with her soft mouth and throat, only getting tiny breaths of air to sustain her. Each time she consumed him, she triggered her throat in a swallowing motion that added to his pleasure. She made guttural noises, deep reverberating hummings that vibrated her throat against him. When she drew him out, her tongue pressed hard against the underside of his cock, swirling his most sensitive places, and even the tiny breaths of air she took were obtained by slurping against him. She was like a pleasure machine, working a cock she knew better than any she had known in her life. She was singularly minded, wanting only to give completely, to amplify his pleasure using every means possible.

  Lucio was becoming delirious with ecstasy. With every stroke of Betty’s mouth, he felt waves of bliss flowing through him. He pressed back involuntarily against the sand, arching his hips as much as possible. He pressed himself into Betty’s hungry lips. Lucio grabbed two fistfuls of sand, trying in vain to hold onto something that would keep him on the ground. He looked down just as Betty freed her tightening breasts from her bra. He felt them sliding up and down his legs. The points of her nipples dragged over him, consuming his imagination as he fought to stay lucid against the overwhelming sensations of Betty’s powerful sucking. He felt her cupping his balls, caressing them with saliva covered fingers. She squeezed them upward when she pressed down on him, and pulled them down with every withdrawal. She played him like an instrument, each note rising like a crescendo of sensation.

  Her pussy was hovering above his face, swaying side to side like a sauntering cat as she slurped his cock loudly. He reached up and thrust his fingers into her folds. She was wetter than he ever remembered. Each time she rocked forward to take him in, Lucio slipped his fingers to her clit, wildly stroking the swelling button. When she rocked back, he let her slide hard onto his thick fingers while slapping her clit with his palm, then tickled her g-spot with the tips of his fingers.

  Betty had no expectations for herself, but Lucio’s strong hands against her pussy were almost more than she could hope for. He kept hitting her g-spot, over and over. She unconsciously began working Lucio’s cock faster, wanting his hand to slap against her clit faster and faster, each time ramming his fingers deep into her, each time pressing her g-spot again, again, slap, slap, slap, while pistoning his cock in her throat, the predictable rhythmic slapping drawing her ever-closer, slurping, sucking hard, riding the edge of orgasm for too long while a dull ache drew slowly upward from an unfamiliar well deep within her, until at last Lucio’s hips began to buck up and down, his entire body becoming rigid; the slapping transformed into a hard steady pressure followed by a load of hot salty-cum down her throat. The excitem
ent of his cum pushed Betty over the edge. She came hard on his hand, releasing nectar until it ran down his arm. Lucio went crazy, grabbing both of her hips firmly, pulling her pulsating mound downward onto his mouth. He smelled her, tasted her, and experienced all of her for a long minute, like a watchmaker determined to force every ticking pulse from an uncoiled spring, until he noticed she had stopped moving.

  Betty rolled off Lucio, clutching her chest, unable to catch her breath. She moaned in pain, “I think something’s wrong Lucio.” He knew everything there was to know in those five words. Lucio pulled himself upright, shoving his half-erect penis to the side as he hauled his pants up and ran to the skiff. His frailty was gone. Betty rolled her head to the side. She had some kind of pain in her chest, but it seemed to drift away as she welled up with emotion watching Lucio running on the beach—he was no teetering old man but a dashing hero jumping into the boat, grabbing for the emergency kit.

  Lucio stood solidly on the boat’s bow firing signal flares, one after another with shocking speed. Betty could see him, standing on the bow, the moon framing his statuesque figure. His skin reflected the red glow of the flares in the sky. He was elevated above her, looking larger than life. This was the man she loved, and Betty knew help would come. She knew Lucio could do no wrong, that everything he did seemed to be touched by gold, and her rescue would be no different.

  ~~~OOO~~~

  Ella was still awake, sitting on the edge of the bed playing with her hair. She’d been trying over and over to put her hair up in the elegant way Betty did, but she never managed it. She came close, but each time the mounds of yellow hair would fall apart and cascade down her body. While she gathered her hair for another try, Ella noticed something outside the window, red lights in the sky, like slowly falling embers. There were three of them, and then a fourth shot straight up until it stopped and began to fall like the others. She had no idea where they came from. Her eyes widened and she grew nervous. She wished Betty were there to explain it to her.

  She sat for almost an hour, looking out the window, and then she heard a helicopter. She had seen helicopters in the sky before, but never this close. This one seemed to come in low, dipping below the trees near the cove. After about 10 minutes, it rose again, roaring over the cottage and out of sight. What is happening? Where’s Betty? Ella stayed in bed, gazing out the window, waiting for Betty until the sun peaked over the horizon, but Betty never returned.

  Ella swung her feet over the bed, and held them an inch from the taboo floor. Even though Betty had not returned, it felt strange to get out of bed without permission. Betty and Ella always got up with the sun, and the first thing they did was go halfway down the path to where a small shack served as an outhouse. She planted her feet on the floor, and didn’t bother getting dressed. Whether Betty was there or not, biology wouldn’t wait. Ella opened the door and stepped outside. She called for Betty several times. She even tried yelling, “Help!” which is the one word Betty warned her never to say unless she was in real trouble—still, no Betty.

  She made her way to the foul smelling shack, and as she approached, it was obvious that the door was ajar. Her next few steps were hopeful. She expected to step inside and see Betty, but when she swung the door open, the outhouse was empty. The familiar surroundings seemed to acquire an ominous hue. Ella wasted no time suspending herself over the privy hole, anxious to return to the open air. Her mind raced, trying to imagine why Betty was not there. Maybe she died? Today’s my 18th birthday; maybe she went somewhere far away to get my birthday present and it took her longer than she thought? Maybe Betty fell asleep while watching the lights in the sky? A dozen possible scenarios crossed Ella’s mind. She finished in the shed and continued down the sloping path to wash herself in the ocean.

  When Ella reached the bottom of the path, she was startled to find a small boat rocking back and forth in the surf. She saw markings in the sand, strange footprints she didn’t recognize and long skid marks. She looked inside the boat. There were two bolts of thin silky fabric—one silver and one gold. Ella knew this had something to do with Betty and the supplies. She called for Betty again. She ran up and down the lonely beach screaming for help, but after 20 minutes, she gave up.

  Ella lowered herself into the water and washed her crevices before deciding to sit inside the strange green boat. The wood was weathered, and she found several lengths of brown rope she had not noticed before. She held one in her lap, twisting it in her fingers while she waited. She sat there for about an hour, thinking about Betty and what might have become of her. Then she noticed some birds dipping up and down in the sky. They were feeding on something beyond the granite rocks that preceded the breakwater. A sick feeling began to sink into Ella’s gut. She got out of the boat and walked reluctantly toward the rocks. She feared the worst, but when she reached the rocks, there was nothing there, no sign of Betty. She stood there, looking carefully at the lagoon, her eyes searching for Betty’s form in the water, and eventually she returned to the hollowness of the boat, determined to wait for Betty to return.

  The sun dried Ella’s naked body. Her breasts swayed back and forth as the boat rocked. She continued waiting for some sign of Betty, hoping to get some answers. Her mind eventually shifted to the supplies. She admired the gold fabric, holding it to her face, feeling the way the silk slid across her skin. She unrolled a few feet of it and let it fly in the breeze, imagining she could sail away from there with a golden sail that would carry her to where the sun came from. The sound of the surf broke her fantasies, leaving her fidgety and unsure what to do next. She unraveled more of the fabric and began carefully wrapping her body from head to toe. She spread her legs and wrapped the silk around her vagina, behind her, and around again until she was completely covered like a mummy. Ella sat there, feeling like a golden doll someone lost, or cast aside.

  She looked down at her insistent breasts, amused at how they pressed against the semi-transparent silk, and how they seemed to move by themselves as the rocking boat shifted her from side to side. She began to rub her hands up and down her abs, feeling the smooth fabric against her stomach. She was surprised at how it seemed to make her skin even more sensitive. She lifted the silk between her hands, gliding it over her breasts in short strokes. She liked being touched like that, even if she were responsible for the touching. It was unfamiliar, but it was good. She loved the way her breasts felt, especially the way they reacted to the silk sliding across her hardening nipples.

  She experimented more, pressing her fingertips harder and softer across her bosom, first over the fabric, then under the silk. She pinched her stiffening nipples, and then she rolled them between her fingers while holding onto the silk. These new sensations seemed to draw her deeper, calling her to do more to heighten the sensations. It eased her stress. She was less concerned with her loneliness, if only for a few minutes, and eventually she noticed a growing heat between her legs. This was something Ella felt before, but was never allowed to act upon. She never had the privacy to explore her body in the moments she felt those tingling sensations.

  Ella laid on her back, gently brushing the backs of her fingers up and down across her hard nubs while her shimmering mummy-legs dangled visibly over the aft of the skiff. She liked the tingly waves of sensation that traveled through her core when the spaces between her fingers caught her nipples and then released them in quick succession—and how the silk let her imagine the backs of her fingers might be someone else's hands gently touching her. She noticed the jostling rudder-handle poised above her legs. It was well used. She had never met a man, but she knew the wooden handle had been sanded smooth by the rough hands of unknown men. The beckoning handle was locked loosely in place, shifting only slightly as the boat rocked. It was calling to her with a tiny click each time the boat shifted in the surf. It seemed like instinct, a feeling that she couldn’t understand, but one which overtook her anyway—she had a growing desire to have the wooden handle inside her.

  Ella unwrapped the
golden shroud from her dampening pussy and pressed the tip of the rudder-handle inside her, against her hymen. The pressure hurt, and she wanted to press it deeper into her body, but her hips bucked slightly, involuntarily, and the pain was too much. She backed down, despite the strange hot urge to have it deep within her. This was becoming maddening. She wanted something, some type of satisfaction, and she let out several low whimpers. She brushed her hands over her golden body with no real destination in mind. She had a need, a deep wanting she couldn’t understand that was devastatingly unfulfilled and deeply frustrating.