by Violet Blue
Tracing a finger around the rim of my cup, I gazed out the window. People moved to and fro—doing errands, picking up pizza or just strolling. It didn’t take much to gauge a couples’ familiarity with one another. The middle-aged maintained a very slight distance between their shoulders, where younger pairs seemed inseparable—clutching one another around the waist as if letting go would be the death of them. An elderly man and his wife shuffled by. They were holding hands. It was hard for me to imagine spending that much time with one person—to need and be needed so much.
Perhaps my mother was right….
“You know, Glenda,” she had said, “Maybe you should consider stepping away for a while.”
“From my career? Why would I want to do that?”
“Take a little time for yourself. Enjoy the tapestry of life.”
“Mom, you’re aware that my so called ‘tapestry’ doesn’t have a man woven into it, right?”
“Oh I know, sweetie, and that’s fine. Doesn’t matter either way, when you think about it. I just worry that you work too much. Might be time to let someone in. Be in a relationship, as it were.”
“Not sure that the words relationship and I go together. Sounds a little like trying to mix vinegar and oil.”
“Mmm,” she had said. “Italian dressing is that way, but when you shake the bottle, it’s delicious.”
I blinked and pushed the memory aside. Still, as I watched the gray-haired couple moving farther from view, I couldn’t help but smile.
A tall blonde caught my attention, hips rolling gently as she crossed the street. She wore a pink blouse and black low-rise jeans. Her legs seemed to go on forever. There was an air of self-confidence about her—the look of someone who is used to being looked at. And look they did. A few women, trying their best to be inconspicuous, turned their heads. A little wave drew her closer, and I introduced myself.
“Hello, Glenda,” she said, Russian accent as warming as Svedka. Everything about her was very ladylike—the way she walked and sat, even the tossing back of her hair. My eyes wandered to take in a slight view of cleavage, and I reminded myself that this woman—tall, soft and very feminine—had something different beneath her panties. A heat flickered at the thought of slowly easing them down.
“I’m glad you not back out to meet,” she said.
“You’ve been stood up before?”
“Ah, yes. Some women, perhaps, think they want someone different, then I suppose they get frightened.”
Her marvelous pronunciation delivered the words differently. “Sum vemen, pelhaps, tink dey vant…” I swallowed against a sudden dryness. As we talked, I found myself lingering upon her face, enthralled by her light-gray eyes and the playing of her tongue.
“Truly? You are lawyer?” I nodded. “And so pretty! You fortunate to be smart, and pretty is like bonus, yes?”
I felt myself blushing, a smile pushing across my face. “Would you like some coffee or tea?”
“Tea, ah yes,” she said. As her chair moved, I reached for her hand. When I touched her, miniature shock waves traveled up my arm and ricocheted along my spine. She looked, then brought a caressing thumb to the back of my hand. A slow breath left her slightly parted lips. Long lashes blinked, then opened to me.
“I have some at home,” I whispered.
Tea in hand, we sat on the couch with legs curled beneath us. Norah Jones poured out her soul in the background. My ever-changing pulse was incapable of keeping time with the thump of the bass. I watched her tuck a length of hair behind an ear, reflection of the fireplace dancing in her eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so many butterflies. It took a moment to register that her lips had moved.
“I’m sorry?”
She let out a giggle. “I say you look so much nervous. Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes, I—I’m sorry!”
She reached out and, after setting our cups aside, gently took my hands. A tingling spread through my arms. “I also nervous. A time for me since with a woman last. And you so very—so very beautiful, Glenda.”
I edged closer. “Say my name again. Please.”
She blinked and brought her lips beside me, hair faintly brushing upon my face. “Glenda,” she whispered back—Ghlendah rolled within my ear.
Sliding my cheek along hers, I savored the softness of her lips. Our mouths mingled, pressed and yielded—tongues captured, circled and released. The fluttering within quickly became heat—smolder to flame. White chills moved from my lower back and nestled between my shoulders, leaving me to breathe in quick gasps. I took her hands and, slowly walking backward, kissed her all the way to the bedroom.
Fingers traced faces as we lay side by side. Her lips pressed urgently, softened and then grew hungry again. I welcomed and reached for them, pleading wordlessly. Back arching, I pressed as much of myself against her as I could, my toes curled. Noses moved from side to side as we nibbled and kissed—her gasps mirroring my own. One of her long legs slid atop mine and, as I yielded to the fire pulsing in my core, colors began to rise behind my eyelids. Hues of pink shifted to oranges and reds. I clenched. Oh my god, I’m gonna come! Just kissing her is making me come!
Easing Zhanna onto her back, I slipped atop. I took her wrists and, placing them over her head, watched as she lay there, waiting with lips slightly parted. I ran a solitary fingertip along her face and neck, tracing a slow line to her cleavage. Leaning in, I softly kissed her, undid the first button of her blouse and then moved back to see the newly exposed flesh. Kisses, a button, exposing another few inches—over and over, as if this were a slow, sultry dance. When I finished, her taut belly met my eyes. Her chin quaked as I skimmed my nails from the base of her neck to the top of her jeans.
Urging her upward, I slipped off her shirt and bra. My eyes drank in her small breasts—nipples hard as little pink candies. We fell together and I encircled her tits as we kissed, feeling the vibration of her moans. Her hands slid down my back, rounded my ass, then moved quickly to my shirt. As she undid the buttons, I slowly kissed my way downward.
Her back arched sharply as I took a nipple in my mouth, licking and sucking. She drew a long breath, held it, then let it out with a shudder. I shifted for her as she removed my shirt and bra. After loosening my pants, her fingers slipped beneath the fabric. She drew a slow line over the top edge of my panties, and then moved around and up my spine. I switched to her other breast. She cupped it, feeding it to me with one hand while her other moved along my side. She encircled one of my tits. Electricity surged as she gently kneaded, adding the random flicker of a fingernail.
My mouth left her breast. As I began a journey down her tense stomach, she pressed against my shoulders, urging me away. She slipped off the foot of the bed, and I wondered if I had gone too far—if I were being presumptuous as to what she desired. Zhanna eased the pants off my legs. Gathering up my clothes, she folded them neatly and set them on a side chair. She stood at the foot of the bed, a faint smile upon her lips. I watched as she undid her jeans and slowly stepped out of them, leaving each of us in panties. My eyes took in her long, smooth legs and the slight rounding of her hips. I could see the outline pressing against the underside of her lace.
As she crawled up the bed her long hair caressed my thighs and hips, stomach and breasts. When her blonde mane fell all around my face, seeming to shield us from the rest of the world, she kissed me softly. I cupped her cheeks. She took one of my hands and, laying my earlier fear to rest, brought it to the lump between her legs—moaning as I rubbed and squeezed.
With agonizing slowness, she kissed her way down my neck and set her mouth upon one of my nipples. Shock waves moved straight into my core as she nibbled and licked—one, the other, then back again. My hands, feeling as though they were no longer attached, ran softly over her face and arms, shoulders and breasts. The music of lovers filled my ears—the song of my panting interlacing seamlessly with her soft moans. My wetness pushed forth.
Her lips moved lower. W
ith hair strewn all about, she kissed my navel, then one of my hips. Her tongue drew a slow line across the top of my panties as they began moving downward. As a ballerina might, I drew my legs out and opened myself to her.
Without any predictable rhythm or pattern, she tasted me. She kissed one part of my labia, flicked her tongue over my bud and then nibbled lightly on another spot of my sensitive, swollen lips. Her tongue moved hard up the length of my crease, paused to swirl my juices over my clit, then gently kissed her way all over me again. I was being consumed with deliberate slowness, like a delicacy.
I peered down at the scattering of hair. Taking her head in my hands, I urged her onto my aching clit and held her there. Her tongue assailed it, rubbing on and around me. I began to sear—back arching, hips shaking. Hands took my wrists and held them to my sides. She drew her mouth away.
“Please,” I panted. “Please, don’t stop!” She smiled, mouth wet and shimmering.
“Aah, I not stoppingh, Ghlendah,” she whispered. Easing a pillow behind my head, she tossed her hair to one side, then moved back between my legs. “You cahn vatch me, if you vant. Vatch me as longh as you cahn.”
With agonizing slowness, she began all over again. A lick, a kiss and a nibble—the sweet torment of her incredible mouth. My hands clutched the sheets as I watched her eyes flutter, blink softly, then close. She was not just eating me out, not just trying to get me off. She was making love to me. She tasted and took, gave and shared. Her mouth was my mouth—my flesh was her flesh. The kisses she was giving—those beautiful, eternal kisses—were the sort that brought poets to weep for not finding the words.
Time fell away as the pressure rose within. The sight of her there, the heat of her breath upon me—I was slipping out of myself as though there were no longer skin to contain me.
I grunted, groaned and cried out as my floodgates burst. Wave after wave crested and fell through me, spurned by her delight in tasting my juices. She stayed with me as I came, then came again—moving from one shuddering crescendo to another. Never had I trembled so much or rolled through so many explosions.
Zhanna kissed her way to my mouth and then, rolling onto her back, shared the taste of my nectar with me. I eased down her panties, her cock slipping between my breasts as I ventured down her stomach. Curving slightly, she was hard and wanting. I licked the sweet glistening from the tip, and then took her in.
She let out a long sigh, as my lips and tongue moved around and over her. The sensation of her, wet and hard and fitting so well within my mouth, sent sparks down my spine once again. Her head fell back in ecstasy, framed by the rise of her cute breasts. I bobbed and swirled and worked her hot tool, sighs and moans filling my ears. I went as far as I could, then sucked hard all the way back to the tip.
I tongued the underside of her length, to where her hairless balls awaited. Very gently, I licked and sucked one, then the other. Her knees came up and I could feel her thighs quivering. Lips pulling one ball harder, I was rewarded with a sigh, then gave the other the same hungry attention.
Taking her shaft back in my mouth, I moved one of my hands to my saturated pussy. My finger moved, slowly at first, then with more urgency. A second finger followed. Thoroughly coated, I brought them to rest against her tightly puckered hole. She opened like a butterfly, and I slowly pressed in.
Moans filled my ears. One of her hands lightly cupped my cheek, the other moved beneath to take my wrist. She eased my fingers deeper, hips riding both my hand and mouth. Staggered breaths escaped her, and I felt a white heat flaring up in my core. Her ass tightened, wand dancing within my mouth.
After a collection of moments, her fingers cupped my face, urging me off. Her chin quivered as I let my fingers travel a few more times before slowly easing out.
She laid me on my back and raised my hips until I was nearly resting on my shoulders. Squatting over me, she reached behind and pulled her sack out of view, holding it against her butt. She slipped into me—my pussy clenching her, welcoming her. Watching that beautiful shaft sliding between us, it became difficult to tell who it belonged to.
The glistening rod found my spot. A rainbow flashed behind my eyelids and I began to shudder. With her hair swaying all around, I cupped her breasts, thumbs moving rapidly over nipples. My earthquake intensified, moans echoing back.
I held her tight as she lowered me, keeping her within my clutching walls. Lips and tongues mingled, becoming more urgent as we rocked and ground against each other. Our hands were everywhere—rounding breasts, moving through hair and traveling down necks. Her hard nipples pressed against my own.
Our eruptions rose, burst forth and overtook us—hot waves pulsating and pushing in unison. Gasping, sweating, shaking, I felt my world teeter, then fall away…so very far away.
Soft kisses found lips and cheeks, earlobes and necks. We soon became still and quiet, arms and legs intertwined. My core eased to embers.
Deep within, something shifted and gave way, like a mountain shedding a precarious, snowy overhang. I swallowed against the hardness in my throat, then, unable to fight it any longer, yielded with a sigh. A tear crested and began to journey. She drew it in with a kiss. Moments became minutes uncounted, settling atop one another like feathers from a torn pillow.
Eventually she stirred, the tip of her nose moving lightly upon my cheek. “Pelhaps I should goh,” floated her whisper.
“Will you stay with me, Zhanna?” I traced the edge of her face. “Will you stay until morning?”
CHATTEL
Errica Liekos
Shortly after they got married, Alex had told Sasha, “Do what you want. I love you, and I don’t ever want to stop you from being you. If you want to be with me, be with me. If not, don’t. I won’t stop you. I want you to be happy.”
Her friends thought it was romantic. A man who wasn’t jealous, who didn’t get weird about girls’ night out, or get mad when she wanted to go to book club or knitting circle instead of serving him a beer while he watched the game. She could just do whatever she wanted, when she wanted; total freedom. They acted like it was a dream come true.
Sasha wasn’t so sure.
For her birthday last year, he’d gotten her coupons for a couple’s massage…for her and a friend. She took Lucy. The year before, it had been tickets to the ballet, with a suggestion that she take Regina. He hated the ballet, so she did. He knew she didn’t enjoy softball and didn’t ask her to come with him when he played. Once they even went to a movie theater and split up to watch different movies when they couldn’t agree on documentary (him) or action (her). She did all the things she would have gotten to do if she was still single.
Sasha was miserable and hadn’t a clue what she was supposed to complain about. She tried talking to some of her friends about it and ended up getting lectures on women’s rights and the history of marriage.
“Women used to be chattel,” Lucy scolded, “and you’re telling me you want your husband to be more possessive of you? What next, you’re going to take his last name?”
“Fine, you can trade husbands with me,” Regina said. “I’ll take the man who wants us to see Swan Lake and you can have the man who tells me I put the ‘bitch’ in ‘Stitch-and-Bitch’ every single time I leave the house for knitting circle. You don’t know how good you’ve got it, honey.”
Sasha didn’t want to give up her maiden name, and she didn’t want Alex to turn passive-aggressive on her, but yes, she thought, she did want him to be more possessive. Maybe he should demand that she show up to root for him at his softball games, and maybe he should make her watch the movie he wanted, just because he wanted it, and wanted her company at the same time.
So when she opened her latest birthday present over dinner at a Turkish restaurant to find a pair of opera tickets, she couldn’t keep quiet any longer.
“I don’t want to keep going to these things alone.”
“What do you mean?” Alex said. “There’re two tickets.”
“But you don’t wan
t to go with me.”
“So you should miss out on Don Giovanni because I don’t like it? Come on, who’s that girlfriend of yours who’s into opera, too? Lucy? Jessie?”
“It’s Lucy,” said Sasha. “Jesse is a guy. You want me to take another man to the opera with me?”
“If that’s who you want to take, I’m not going to stop you.”
Sasha slammed her hands down into her lap in frustration, knocking her napkin to the floor. “I want to take you. But I know you don’t like opera, which means my choices for enjoying your birthday present to me are to make you miserable or be without you. Doesn’t that seem a little wrong to you?”
Alex leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. “Okay. Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s just that…marriage is compromise, right?”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Yes, Alex, I think it does. I can’t do all the things I did when I was single and still be the kind of wife I want to be. Or have you be the husband I want you to be.” Sasha trailed off. Alex’s expression was unreadable.
“Go on.”
“You’re so focused on us each doing our own thing.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t really want to be married to me.”
Sasha didn’t order her usual dessert, and Alex skipped his coffee. They drove home in silence. Sasha felt like crying. Regina was right; she had the perfect man, and she didn’t appreciate him. He’d dressed in his best suit, given her a chance to wear a new dress, taken her to a lovely dinner, and bought her a present that showed he thought of what she liked at the expense of his own preferences. And now he was pissed off at her, and she’d ruined everything.
Alex used his key to open the door to their apartment, then stepped aside to let Sasha enter first. She stepped into the dark, intending to turn on the hallway light, but Alex closed the front door before she could reach it. She felt his hand close around the back of her neck, stopping her forward movement. She stumbled, and his other arm wrapped around her waist and caught her. She felt his hot breath as he began to speak, close and low, into her ear.
