Corazon trembled as Blaise’s nimble fingers pushed the drenched silk aside, exposing slick, slippery folds.
“Oh God.”
The curious fingertips avoided the rock-hard, protruding clitoris, and still it jerked, over and over, as if begging for attention. Corazon couldn’t believe this could be happening, how this beautiful stranger now had access to the most intimate part of her body. I haven’t had sex in months and look what happens.
“How does this feel?” Blaise whispered.
“So—damn—good,” Corazon muttered in a staccato voice and shifted in the seat, managing to spread her legs farther and still be covered by the blanket. “You burn me.”
Blaise’s fingers played in the wetness, still avoiding the aching ridge, instead circling Corazon’s entrance. “Damn good, huh?” Her lips touched Corazon’s earlobe as she whispered. “You’re incredible. I haven’t felt anything like this…ever. So sensitive, so…responsive.”
“It’s fire. More…” It was agony not to be able to buck against Blaise’s hand. She would have given anything to have those inquisitive fingers plunge into her. “I’m soaked.” Husky and dark, she hardly recognized her own voice. “You make me too wet.”
“There ain’t no such thing,” Blaise drawled and proved her statement by dabbing two fingers in Corazon’s juices. She painted wet traces on the inside of Corazon’s thighs before returning to her engorged sex. Cupping it, she took a handful. Corazon pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, forcing herself to remain quiet. She needed to be vocal, to moan out loud and acknowledge the roaring fire inside, but willed herself to breathe evenly.
“So, you shave. Nice. Smooth,” Blaise purred. Another tug. “I don’t, but I trim.”
A movement under the blanket to her right caught Corazon’s attention. It seemed that Blaise’s right arm was occupied, doing something else, something that made her eyes sparkle, casting enticing highlights in the darkness.
“Yes,” Blaise whispered. “I’m touching myself, like I touch you. Everything I do to you, I do to myself. You’ve made me so hot.”
Trembling hard, Corazon would have given away her best Hasselblad camera for the chance to pull the blankets off Blaise. She wanted to see what Blaise was doing, to get down between those slender legs and watch those fingers work. And then help her. Oh yeah, I’d help her. The image of herself between Blaise’s thighs, licking in between busy fingers, was almost enough to send Corazon over the edge. No, not yet. No, no, no.
“You make me wet too. I’m positively drenched.” Blaise’s eyes grew wide and she pushed her fingers between Corazon’s legs, harder, pressing just below the clitoris. At the same time, her other hand moved and she shivered and bit her lower lip.
She’s as turned on as I am. Corazon turned her head, pressing her lips against Blaise’s ear. “You want to touch that clit of yours so bad, don’t you?” Corazon mouthed almost inaudibly, her eyes fastened on the jagged movements under the blanket. “Go ahead. I want to come…I need to, so badly.”
“Not yet. Not just yet.” Blaise leaned against her, her hand never resting. Almost entering her, she pressed hard against Corazon. “You’re going to do something for me now. It might drive us over the edge too soon, but I want you to do as I say.”
Corazon only nodded, knowing for certain that if she spoke, it would come out as a cry of lust.
“Unbutton your blouse.”
Her eyes closing at the suggestive, throaty voice, Corazon reached up, fumbling with the tiny buttons.
“Push your bra up.”
Corazon reached inside her shirt, not needing any more encouragement. She pushed her lace bra up and found her nipples rock hard and aching. Applying just the right pressure, she tweaked them mercilessly, opening her mouth in a soundless cry as equal parts of pleasure and pain stabbed through her breasts.
Blaise caught her silent cry with her lips, freeing her right arm for a moment to raise the blanket enough to hide them from anyone who might pass in the aisle. As they kissed, tongues tasting and teasing, Corazon felt inquisitive fingertips slip into her wet center and Blaise’s thumb briefly flick over her clitoris. Her hips jerked involuntarily as she sought more of the agonizing pleasure. Glancing down at Blaise, she saw her chew her lower lip and the other hand work furiously under the blanket.
“God. So hungry. So hot,” Blaise murmured and leaned closer, her mouth against Corazon’s lips. “So…ready.”
“Yes.” It was a low growl, hushed but urgent. Corazon tugged at her own nipples and rolled them relentlessly into firmly pebbled peaks. Flicking them madly with her nails, she was squirming in her seat. I need more. Much more. Rasping the now-aching nipples with her nails, she came closer to what she needed, but not close enough. Oh God, Blaise, I’m dying here. Take me.
Blaise firmly clasped the hood over Corazon’s swollen clit, forcing the head out with gentle pressure, and ran her index finger repeatedly across the engorged ridge.
“Are you doing this…to yourself?” Corazon managed, the pure bliss striking hard, urging her on. “Are you inside?”
“Deep inside.” Blaise’s voice was low, but the emphasis on deep was enough for Corazon to shudder repeatedly. The small hairs on her arms rose and she shivered as Blaise added a third finger and went impossibly deeper.
Corazon’s hot oil drenched Blaise’s hand. So close. It’s fire. Damn it, it’s pain! Her hips began the inevitable undulation, and she turned her head into Blaise’s neck, pressing hard against fragrant, moist skin. It won’t take much now. I won’t hold. “Blaise…”
“Yes, baby. I know. I know.” The repetitive words accompanied the steady movement of Blaise’s hands. “You want more, don’t you?”
Oh God, yes. “Do you? Can you take more?” Corazon tossed out the challenge in a throaty whisper.
“I’m glad you asked.” The fingers pulled out, then returned after an agonizing delay, four of them filling her to the brim. Corazon’s sex stretched to accommodate the insistent hand, and she leaned back farther into the seat, needing to see Blaise’s face. “You’re taking me.” Corazon heard the wonder in her own voice.
“Hell, yes.” A sublime look of lust and joy spread over Blaise’s features as she surreptitiously rocked against her own hand. “It’s…too much. I’m going to come.”
“Me too.” Corazon’s head was spinning. Suddenly she was teetering at the edge of the precipice, not sure how she’d ended up there. It was damn near impossible to speak through the red haze that surrounded her. “I’m so close. I can’t take it any longer.” She wasn’t sure the other woman had heard her. Blaise kept up the maddening caress until Corazon was ready to scream. Suddenly the hand almost withdrew, only to alter direction immediately, plunging four fingers deep inside. Blaise pressed the base of her palm against Corazon’s clit again, rubbing it mercilessly as the fingers curled up within her, connecting with those special nerve endings she rarely could find herself. It can’t be happening. She can’t be pushing me over the edge so fast. I normally have to wait so long, forever, almost. What’s going on? What…
“You feel so good. So hot…so ready.” Blaise went rigid against her own hand. “It’s as if you’re the one taking me. You’re…fucking me, aren’t you? In your mind?”
“Oh, yes.” And she was. In her mind, Corazon spread Blaise’s legs with her shoulders, thrust eager fingers inside, and latched onto her inflamed clit with her tongue. “You have no idea how much I want you.”
“I think I do.” Blaise tipped her head to the left and bit down on Corazon’s neck. Feeling the teeth dig into her skin, Corazon lost what little shred of self-control she had left. The orgasm hit with shattering force, turbulence in her pelvis that struck arrows of tormented bliss up her abdomen and down her thighs. She closed her eyes and rode the orgasm toward oblivion, vaguely aware of Blaise’s jerking hips next to her. The sharp teeth turned into soft lips and a tongue, soothing the bite. “I’m going to come, Corazon…”
“Yes,
that’s it. Give it to me.” Corazon moved one hand from her breasts and pushed it stealthily toward Blaise, under the blanket. She found a bunched-up skirt; naked, damp thighs; and a furiously working hand.
When Corazon’s fingers reached Blaise’s hand, Blaise pulled her own fingers out, whispering hotly, “Do it! Go inside!”
Corazon slid home without effort, the copious wetness making it easy. Curling her fingers, she pushed in and out at a steady pace.
“You’re going to kill me. Faster.” Her voice a mere whimper, Blaise still tried to dictate Corazon’s actions.
“Not quite so fast.” Her thumb found Blaise’s clitoris, impossibly large and wet. When she began to circle it, occasionally flattening it in the midst of all the wetness, Corazon knew Blaise wouldn’t last much longer. She placed a series of tiny kisses on her damp forehead. “I’ve got you. Come!”
The feel of Blaise’s fingers still immersed inside her sent new shivers through Corazon. “You’re going to make me come again,” she whispered against Blaise’s delicate ear.
“Oh, Corazon.” Blaise pressed her legs together, trapping Corazon’s hand. “Now!”
Contractions, bordering on convulsions, clasped Corazon’s fingers. Small flutters grew to wing-beats, escalated to a single, hard wave of pleasure. Strange, distant drums, vaguely recognizable as her own heartbeat, echoed inside her head as her body tossed in orgasm. After the storm, they slowly separated. Corazon made sure the three blankets covered them neatly and hugged the somnolent woman in her arms. “You’re beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.”
Resting on Corazon’s shoulder, Blaise looked up, her eyes not quite focused. “Did it help?”
“What?” Overwhelming fatigue settled on Corazon like yet another blanket. “Did what help?”
“This.” There was a brief pause before Blaise gave a husky laugh. “Did it take your mind off your fear of flying?”
“Funny. But yes, it did, come to think of it. It took my mind off that and pretty much everything else.”
“Everything?”
“Well, almost everything.” Corazon kissed her lightly.
“Mmm, I know.” Blaise gave a warm smile, tenderness replacing lust. “Everything but you.”
Punch-Drunk
RM Pryor
She was stalking me in the bar where I worked. She was stalking me for a week before she met some friends in there and I became a bet. I was a bet for a week before I knew about it. She sat in my bar long after her friends were gone. She sat in my bar until closing time and the big Samoan security guard took her beer away and threw it down the sink. She was drunk and concerned about the wasted beer. I was sober and worried about trying to get this chick out of my bar without arousing security’s aggression, handing her the note with my number written on it without the bar staff seeing, and hoping to hell no one knew what was going on.
She rang me in the morning. She apologized for whatever it was she might or might not have done in her drunken state; she sounded foggy and hopeful and my stomach had tied itself into knots a sailor wouldn’t understand. We arranged to meet for a beer the next day and I think my stomach was trying to strangle me. I put down the phone and ripped my wardrobe apart trying to find that perfect something with just the right amount of casual cool to wow her. An hour later I discovered I didn’t possess any amount of cool, casual or not, and I started hoping to hell she would ring and cancel so I could go shopping. I spent the next half hour cursing myself for tempting karma and praying to every god I knew the name of that she didn’t ring to cancel. I went to bed exhausted but I still couldn’t sleep.
I woke up bouncing. The hours dragged by until I couldn’t take it any longer and went to the pub an hour and a half early. I bought a beer and read Catch-22 until she got there. We drank beer and I talked. I talked this nervous talk that is mostly just dribbling shit and trying a little too hard to be funny and interesting and cool and like someone you’d really want to hang out with if you just got to know…
I must have sounded like a raving lunatic. I think I condensed my life story into comic book form and told it to her complete with actions. To this day I wonder why she answered any of my calls after that.
I felt naughty. I felt like a confused, horny teenaged boy trying his mom??s panties on. I’d been in a heterosexual relationship and we’d broken up—well, I’d broken up and he was still in the house. I snuck around for a few weeks, trying in some twisted way to save him the pain of knowledge, but then I got mad. Four years I’d tried the right way. Four years I hated myself, and now I was free and I still had this dead thing from a past life haunting my house. I was over it. I was over being nice and considerate and trying to save tears. I wanted to be evil, mean, and dirty. I shaved my head. I hurt him for my wasted years and I didn’t feel bad one bit. I got another tattoo. The truth is a valid excuse… I just told him I met a girl that got me all wet to think about her. Found me a girl who’s soft and beautiful. Found me a girl… What boy can argue with that? He knew when he met me what my tendencies were. Freedom is a beautiful thing. I hadn’t even kissed her yet.
We didn’t kiss for weeks. I wanted to kiss her so bad… I’d see her and it was all I could do not to pull her into the closest room and kiss those lips. Fascinated with her lips. She’d talk and all I could do was focus on how her mouth moved to form the words, how her tongue darted out quickly to wet her lips, how her lips pushed the breath out, twitched, smiled. How her teeth pulled at her bottom lip when she was deep in thought, searching for a loose bit of skin to fasten on and worry, pull at until a small drop of blood would well and her soft pink tongue would dart out again to taste the salty red. Exquisite torture. Fuck, I wanted to kiss her, make her mine.
We went to the pub to watch the boxing. She was the first girl I ever met who liked it too. I was falling for this girl and I started to look for a flaw, a blemish, a trait that would drive me mad, but I found none.
I’d been king-hit. This love had blindsided me, left me with no balance, no direction. No legs to stand on or tongue to talk with. This love had hit me square on the chin. My brains crawled down my spine and out my ass. I’m…punch-drunk…cunt-struck. I’m in the red corner (red for passion, red for the color of my swollen clit, red for my heart and the blood that beats through it). I’m in the red corner and they’re telling me to throw in the towel. I know she knocks me out and I want it. I’m in the red corner and I’m losing the fight. I’m in the red corner and I’m fighting to lose.
I invited her to a picnic in the park with the ulterior motive of letting my few friends check her out, a last unconscious attempt at finding someone to spot a major fault in this girl before the last traces of reason had left my brain and I fell madly for someone I’ve never even kissed. No luck, everyone thinks she’s great and my heart is a lead balloon.
I sat in the park alone. Everyone had packed up and gone home. I sat alone untangling silence, trying to figure out the thoughts I didn’t have. The universe was crammed into my skull. She made the blood pound drum solos in my bones. We watched movies that night at her place and she kissed me and I melted. She kissed me and her mouth was cold from the ice cream we were eating; she tasted like chocolate and felt like velvet. I was nervous and excited and hot. She made me smolder; I wanted to start that same fire deep in her belly. She said I gave her tingles. I left when the credits rolled, we kissed at the front door and my feet didn’t hit the ground the whole walk home. I giggled like a fool and fell asleep with a smile on my face.
I was horny. I couldn’t concentrate. I was supposed to be working, studying, cleaning, exercising, eating, anything but sitting in my room thinking about her. It was different this time. I won’t say that I wasn’t thinking of fucking her—I was. I was a twenty-five-year-old chronic masturbator. It’s the way I was thinking that was different. I was thinking of her smile close up, just before we kiss. I thought about the kiss, not how it made me feel but how she felt to me. I thought of her body, but not her tits and ass. I thought of h
er back just above her ass where her hips curved in and that smooth indent that traces the line of her spine. I was thinking poetry not porn.
I didn’t close my eyes when we kissed; I didn’t need to. Her skin failed to take on the aspects of an alien landscape this close… She was still beautiful to look at. It was so different to the boys I’d kissed, faces growing grotesque and monstrous as they got closer. If I didn’t close my eyes by the time they got to my lips I didn’t want their kisses. I was happy for the first time in ages. I couldn’t stop smiling. I was crazy like a monkey, like a fox in love.
She’d had a fight with her flatmates. She rang me and asked me to meet her after work. I felt like I was going into battle. My hair spray was my helmet; I armed myself with heels and camouflaged with powders and perfumes. I went into battle with my pink jeans on. We walked to a bar and I met one of her friends. I got drunk and ended up playing barroom footy with two boys I know. We all ended up in a heap on the floor. We were out on the street after that—barroom footy wasn’t endorsed by the management. The night was over, we were in the kitchen talking soft so I didn’t wake the girls I lived with. It was past my bedtime and I offered her the lounge or my bed, casually as I could manage with my heart beating purple and swollen on my sleeve. She took the bed and took my hand. I led her up the hall and into my bedroom. The battle was won. It was so natural, so real. There was nothing uncomfortable in the way she undressed. I didn’t feel self-conscious when I couldn’t get my foot out of my jeans and my hair caught in her necklace. I didn’t feel the need to turn off the light, I wanted to see her. We fell into bed and she covered my face with kisses. I looked at her and I wanted to eat her up. It was sexual but so much more than that. If it were a purely physical attraction it’d almost be perverted. It was so strong, obsessive even. Her smell was in my cells. She electroshocked my DNA. My hair follicles wanted to feel her.
My hands were everywhere and nowhere resisted, we fit together perfectly. She is slick and it’s easy for us to fall into a tidal rhythm, a lunar sway. We’re made of water and taste like the sea. My tongue found the hard pearl of her clit. She’s a thing of sea foam and dreams. She is an orchid that blooms once in a lifetime.
Stolen Moments Page 6
