Coming Together With Pride

by Alessia Brio, J Buchanan, Lisabet Sarai

  "Then you'll come?"

  It was Denise's turn to raise an eyebrow, and she gave Jacquí an “A” for Aplomb in the face of it. Such composure should be rewarded, even if grudgingly. “Sure. I'll stop by. Can I bring anything?"

  "Do you have any of that wine left from the vineyard property you sold last month? I heard through the ... um, grapevine,” she chuckled at her little play on words, “that the sellers gave you a case as a bonus. I'd really like to try it."

  Denise agreed and, with that business settled, they finished their lunches over light office gossip.

  * * * *

  As the week progressed, Denise hoped that Jacquí would forget about having invited her to the dinner slash housewarming party. Making small talk just wasn't Denise's idea of a good time, and Jacquí's friends were likely to be a gaggle of Manceaux wannabes. After all, what woman in her right mind didn't want a killer body, successful career, seemingly effortless beauty, style, social grace, wit, and brains?

  She did her best to avoid contact with her objet d'envie throughout the week. Four closings and a slew of showings for a new listing kept her out of the office most of each day. While at her desk, Denise kept the door closed—the agency's standard Do Not Disturb protocol.

  Late Friday afternoon, Jacquí dropped by her office to remind her about both the party and the wine. Over a few minutes of idle chatter about the party menu, it dawned on her that Jacquí didn't really need the wine. She had simply used it as a hook to ensure her attendance, knowing her ultra-reliable colleague wouldn't renege on a commitment. Smooth, Denise admitted to herself. Very smooth indeed.

  "See you at eight-ish. I've got a million and one things to do before then.” With a twinkle of her French manicured fingertips, Jacquí was gone.

  Impulsively, Denise paged a delivery service and met the courier in the parking garage. Offering one bottle of the dry white as a tip, she instructed him to deliver the rest to the posh apartment on 65th street.

  That commitment satisfied, she could now bail on the party without guilt if she chose. The maneuver bought her some measure of calm, knowing she had an out. She took her time on the evening commute and, once home, unwound with a glass of merlot and a single bong hit. The combination provided the perfect mood adjustment. Both mellow and self-confident, she shed her work attire and dove into her closet.

  "Come as I am, eh? We'll just see about that.” She pulled a short denim skirt from its hanger, followed by a soft, white blouse. She knew better than to expect Jacquí to look anything less than perfect, regardless of what she wore. No use even trying to compete.

  Mellowed by the wine and the weed, Denise deftly wove her waist-length hair into a loose braid and slipped her bare feet into a pair of well-worn penny loafers. The macramé belt was an afterthought, but it blended well.

  Her nerves resurfaced when the taxi pulled to a stop in front of Jacquí's building. She resisted the urge to stop in the lobby's restroom to primp, instead moving directly to the elevators. Seventeenth floor. Not quite penthouse level, but well above the city streets.

  The walk down the hallway to Jacquí's apartment seemed unnaturally long, distorted by anxiety. Denise felt as if she was stepping into a social situation that would make her feel even more awkward and inadequate, hob-knobbing with the upper echelons of beauty and success.

  Strains of classical music seeped through the door of 17-C, which opened just as she lifted her hand to ring the doorbell. Jacquí stood there grinning. Barefoot, in torn jeans and an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, she reminded Denise of a cast member from the movie Flashdance ... only sexier. Her hair, worn up during the work day, rested on her bare shoulders in soft waves.

  "When the wine showed up by courier, I figured you'd be a no show. I'm glad you're here. C'mon in.” She threw open the heavy door and gestured. “You're the first one here. Make yourself comfy. Can I get you something to drink?"

  Denise looked around in awe. Eclectic décor screamed of expense coupled with a non-conformist's taste. That earned a smile from Jacquí, whose toenails sparkled with a fuchsia polish that matched her fingernails and lips.

  "You like? I did it all myself—against the advice of ... well, of damned near everyone. It's not like me to be so rebellious, but I love this space. It's my haven. Know what I mean? Here, let me show you around. Can I get you something to drink?"

  It took Denise a moment to realize that she was referring to her interior decorating rather than the fuchsia cosmetics. The aimless chatter seemed out of character for the typically-composed beauty. She followed her down the hallway, only half listening to her ramble about where each piece of artwork or furniture originated.

  "There's no one else coming tonight, is there?” The clarity leapt at Denise, impulsive but fully formed. She just ... knew.

  Jacquí turned. Her mouth hung open as if stunned by the accuracy of a gypsy's fortune. The expression told Denise all she need to know.

  "I'll be going now,” she murmured, shaking her head as she turned toward the door.

  Silence followed her. As heavy as the mask of tomorrow's humiliation, it curved around her body and molded itself to her frame. Denise took a deep breath and willed her feet to move, to take her away from the embarrassment of being played for a fool.

  "Please,” Jacquí whispered. Her voice echoed in the corridor. “Stay. I'm sorry for..."

  "For what exactly? You're sorry for luring me here under false pretenses?” Denise spun and stepped toward Jacquí, her shoulders squared and mind blazing. “You think you can just jerk people around this way? Make them do your bidding ‘cause you're so fucking perfect? Well, cross me off your list of acolytes, Ms. Manceaux. I don't play that way."

  Jacquí sighed, but she stood her ground with a defiant expression on her face. Denise fought the urge to slap it, to make her feel the sting of anger that threatened to escape. Her hands twitched at her side.

  "I just wanted...” Jacquí reached out, her fingers brushing Denise's forearm. The touch sparked the release of pent-up emotion, and Denise wrenched her arm away, unintentionally catching the underside of Jacquí's chin with the back of her hand. She watched in shock as Jacquí's head snapped back, colliding with the wall.

  Before she could speak, though, Jacquí righted herself and shook it off. She looked sideways at Denise, eyes narrowing. “Go if you're going. I won't try to stop you."

  "Why?"

  "Why?” Jacquí rolled her eyes. “Because even though this is my house, and even though I invited you here, I can still be charged with battery. Because..."

  "No. Why the dinner slash housewarming party story? Why the elaborate ruse?"

  Sighing, Jacquí slumped against the wall. “I didn't lie about the party, y'know. I just ... um ... exaggerated the number of guests."

  "Why?"

  "Would you have come otherwise?"

  Denise shook her head, not as a negative reply, but at Jacquí's misunderstanding. “No, why me? What do you want from me?"

  A small frown line formed at the bridge of Jacquí's aquiline nose. Rather than speak in reply, she opted to act. The feather-light kiss caught Denise completely by surprise.

  "You, of course,” Jacquí whispered when she pulled away. “I want you. I've been trying to get your attention for months."

  Of all the things Jacquí could have said, that had to be the last thing Denise expected to hear. It was so far outside the scope of her thoughts that it took several moments for it to register. Her body responded well before her mind, fueling her anger and adding another dimension to her sense of betrayal. When the shock released her vocal chords, she howled with incredulous laughter.

  It soon had her doubled over, holding her stomach and gasping for breath. Each time she thought she'd gotten it under control, the improbability of the situation would bubble up, and the giggles would again erupt. It wasn't until Denise saw the hurt expression on Jacquí's face that she was able to stem her laughter.

  "I'm sorry.” She dabbed at the corners of
her eyes with the backs of her hands. “It's just that ... well, you wanting me ... when you can have anyone you choose ... male or female ... is just ... too ... rich.” In spite of her resolve, some residual chuckles punctuated her speech.

  Jacquí pushed off the wall and stormed past. “Fuck you,” she called over her shoulder. Reaching the front door, she threw it open. “I think you should leave now."

  Denise crossed the distance in a few long strides and slammed the door closed a bit more forcefully than intended. Its impact rattled the umbrella stand and knocked over the vase of fresh flowers on the small table nearby. “I don't think so,” she growled, pinning Jacquí to the door with her body. “You think you want me, eh? We're gonna get past perfect and find out."

  The intensity of their first real kiss surprised Denise with its bruising ardor. She tasted blood but couldn't tell if it was hers or Jacquí's, and she sucked hard on those fuchsia lips while her fingers wove through her loose blonde locks.

  Parting the taller woman's legs, she pressed her bare thigh against Jacquí's sex, eliciting a moan that vibrated on Denise's tongue. The heat emanating from the worn, threadbare denim caused a reciprocal reaction between her legs, and Denise felt the crotch of her thong grow wet.

  The harder she pushed, the more enthusiastically Jacquí responded.

  "Manipulative bitch,” Denise spoke into her mouth. “You play people to get what you want. In return, they get to bask in your divine presence for a little while. Didn't work with me, did it? That had to bug the fuck out of you.

  "If you want me, you're gonna have learn to be a lot more direct.” She took a step back and reached for the hem of Jacquí's sweatshirt, whipping it over her head in one swift movement.

  Jacquí brought her arms down and crossed them over her breasts, eyes blazing.

  "Hands at your sides. Now."

  Denise didn't miss the tiny smirk that teased the corner of Jacquí's mouth as she complied. Taking her time, she studied Jacquí's breasts. Perfect, of course. Comfortable handfuls of firm flesh topped with oval, tea-stained nipples that puckered invitingly. Denise's hands again twitched, but for an entirely different reason.

  "Yes, they're gorgeous.” Denise confirmed the challenge in Jacquí's eyes. “But you already know that. Touch them."

  Jacquí nodded.

  "No, not me. You. Put your hands on your tits. Show me how you want me to touch them. Show me how you touch them when you think of me."

  Her expression went from one of confident defiance to one of apprehension.

  "You must not want me as much as you claim, then. Get out of my way. I'll be going."

  One fear must've overridden the other, for Jacquí's hands slowly traveled up her body to cup her breasts. She paused there, fingertips poised over her hardened nipples. Denise held her gaze until those fingertips began to pinch, and Jacquí's eyes fluttered closed.

  When she stopped and opened her eyes, Denise prodded. “Keep going. Your hands are mine. Show me ... and don't stop unless I tell you to."

  Jacquí leaned against the door and resumed teasing her nipples. Her eyes again closed and her mouth dropped open as the sensations intensified. Fighting the urge to take over, Denise snuck around the corner and grabbed one of the chairs from the dining room. As quietly as she could, not wanting to interrupt Jacquí's focus, she parked the chair about five feet from the door and straddled it, arms folded atop its back and chin resting on her forearms. She knew when Jacquí opened her eyes, she'd have an unobstructed view of her wet panties.

  "Touch your pussy,” Denise instructed in a firm, but barely audible, whisper.

  Jacquí's eyes shot open, fear flashing briefly until rebellion overtook it. “I never imagined you'd be the dominant type."

  "Don't give me that bullshit. You're getting exactly what you wanted. The sooner you admit that, the sooner we can stop pissing around and get on with it. Now, put your damned hand in your pants."

  Denise had no idea if Jacquí had any sexual experience with women. She attended all company functions with a male escort, but that was hardly surprising. Someone as business savvy as Jacquí would undoubtedly have a beard for such purposes. Since they didn't cross paths in other social venues, and Denise didn't partake of the racier office gossip, she realized knew next to nothing about the sultry beauty's private life. Not that it really mattered in the moment.

  She watched as Jacquí unbuttoned her jeans and slipped one delicate hand into them, her wrist remaining visible above the waistband of a pair of brilliant blue panties. “Push your jeans down. I want to see your fingers working. Better yet, take them off."

  With her head cocked to one side, Jacquí shrugged out of the tattered denim. She kicked the garment aside and, taking a couple steps forward, propped the ball of one foot on the chair between Denise's legs. Perfectly pedicured toes teased the hem of the skirt as it stretched taut across her spread thighs. The spice-tinged scent of Jacquí's arousal filled the space between them, and Denise licked her lips.

  "Continue."

  The exhibitionism tested the boundaries of Jacquí's composure, and Denise enjoyed the expressions that flitted across her fair features. At first, her fingers moved tentatively, but soon embarrassment surrendered to intense desire aided by dogged determination. Denise waited until she believed Jacquí to be fully absorbed in her own pleasure before again speaking.

  "Stop."

  Roughly pushing Jacquí's foot from the seat of the chair, she stood and spun it around. While her hands unknotted her belt, she instructed Jacquí to kneel. Denise repositioned herself on the chair, facing forward, and scooted her bottom to its edge. Trailing the ends of the coarse rope belt across Jacquí's bare back, she said, “You know what to do."

  The eyes looking up at her held both contempt and gratitude as their face moved between Denise's legs. A hot tongue pushed her thong into her crevice, and teeth pulled it out. Again. Denise wove the fingers of her free hand through Jacquí's hair and yanked her head up to find eyes drunk with passion.

  "Take them off."

  Jacquí obeyed and immediately returned her mouth to its task, murmuring her enjoyment as she did so. The first swipe of the rope across her ass caught her by surprise, and she grasped the legs of the chair with both hands as she braced for more.

  "You eat pussy like you've done it before,” Denise growled, delivering yet another stinging blow. The growing welts on the tanned and toned flesh did as much for her arousal as the oral attentions. Perfection marked by pain. It seemed to stir Jacquí as well, for each blow increased the vigor with which her mouth attacked.

  Jacquí used the legs of the chair to pull her face harder against Denise's sex, and the repeated impact of the rope drew forth moans that resonated through her clit. Every time she started to slide into bliss, however, her guard would go up. Still wary of Jacquí's motivations, she couldn't quite relax enough to come. The spanking helped, but she still sensed that she was being used for some unknown purpose—something beyond sex. Jacquí surrendered far too easily, and Denise felt she was missing a critical piece to the erotic puzzle.

  Without that understanding, she refused to give Jacquí the satisfaction of making her come. The physical release would only bring emotional vulnerability. Denise realized, in that moment, there was only one outcome that would bring her any measure of comfort.

  "Stop."

  * * * *

  www.alessiabrio.com

  This story is also available at Clean Sheets

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  About Coming Together

  Coming Together is about giving and about sex—a tantalizing combination in any context. Conceived online in the Literotica[®]com Authors Hangout, a forum for erotica writers, Coming Together is the passionate product of many talented individuals. It's grown way beyond its original borders.

  We were all amateurs when the first erotic cocktail was served. In the three years since the inaugural volume hit the cyber shel
ves of Café Press, many of the original contributors have become successful professionals: authors, poets, editors, and artists. Traditional, small press publishers have picked up most of the self-published titles, and Phaze has continued to pour our philanthropic elixir into its catalog.

  To date, Coming Together has compiled eight collections, with three more in the works. I am thrilled with and humbled by both the quantity and quality of the submissions received. Support from publishers and booksellers has been exemplary, as well. The critical acclaim is the cherry on top.

  In each volume, we strive for an inclusive mix, embracing the diversity of desire. The causes we champion cross all demographic groups, and so does Coming Together. While each individual intoxicant may not suit the tastes of every reader, the savory cocktail is sure to stir every imagination.

  Note, however, that these pages may contain stories in which the characters do not practice safe sex. Everyone involved with the publication of Coming Together encourages its readers to act responsibly and to take appropriate precautions against both unwanted pregnancy and the transmission of disease.

  All proceeds from the sale of this edition of Coming Together will be donated to AVERT (avert.org) to fund research toward the prevention of and cure for HIV/AIDS.

  Bottoms up!

  peace & passion,

  Alessia Brio

  www.eroticanthology.com

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  With Special Thanks

  As I once commented in an interview: Giving is just plain sexy! There are some damned sexy people involved in the publication and promotion of Coming Together.

  I'd like to extend my heartfelt thanks to all our wonderful authors. Please visit their sites and support their work. There are website addresses immediately following each story or poem.

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