by Radclyffe
I remembered her birth, long hours staring at the grimy ceiling, listening to the hum of the freeway traffic above, trying not to flinch as the needle bit into my flesh. No anesthetic in that joint; I was lucky if they sterilized the needles. Not that I cared, back then. The Westwood clinic where Luisa worked was a different world. It had private rooms with spotless white walls and peach upholstery that matched the towels. One session here cost more than my old mates would see in six months—unless they pulled a job.
Richard was paying, of course. I scrunched up my eyes, forcing back the returning tears.
“Too much?” Luisa’s cool hand settled on my brow. Her low, liquid voice flowed over me, soothing the hurt away. “Want a break?”
“No, no, keep on. Thanks.” Luisa was probably no more than a year or two older than I was, but she had the nurturing spirit of someone far more mature. I wondered sometimes if she had kids. She would be a great mother. If it hadn’t been for Luisa, this whole thing would have been even more difficult.
I was the only white girl in the gang. They let me in anyway, when they realized how angry I was and how much I could take without breaking. They saw what we had in common: my dad who hanged himself when his deals went sour, my mom who tried to drink herself to death, my brother who raped me. So what if it was in the front seat of a BMW?
They gave me my first tat when I was sixteen. I’d chosen Lilith myself a year later. She was the woman I wanted to be. Voluptuous and tough and mean as hell. A predator. Not some pale, fashionably skinny blonde with tiny tits, hazel eyes, and a perfect WASP nose.
Now Luisa was erasing her, dot by dot, using bullets of light to dissolve and scatter Lilith’s bitchy beauty. Lilith didn’t have a future. Neither did I, if I had insisted on keeping her.
“There. That should do it.”
Luisa switched off the chrome-circled exam light. I shivered in the suddenly cooler air. She swabbed my shoulder with a soft wipe soaked in antiseptic. My skin still numb from the anesthetic gel, I felt as though she was touching me through a layer of plastic wrap.
The damp cloth slipped down over my breast, an area Luisa had finished more than a week ago. The contrast pulled sensation into sharp focus. Tingling electricity danced across my flesh, raising goose bumps on the tan circle around my nipple. The nipple itself stood at attention, twice its normal size.
Luisa swished her wipe across that peak. Lightning arced from there to my pussy. Wetness bloomed there but did not quench the fire she had kindled. I searched her lovely dark eyes. What was going on?
Tension crackled between us. I saw raw desire flicker across her face, shattering her usual calm. My body tightened, nipples in aching knots and pussy clenched like a fist. My heart slammed against my ribs. Adrenaline coursed through me. I wanted to grab her. I wanted to run.
Then the moment passed. Her mask slipped back into position. Her ripe lips curved into a polite, professional smile. “It’s finished, Ally. Come see.” She snapped off her gloves, grasped my hand, and pulled me to a sitting position.
No. I didn’t want to look. For the last two months Richard and I had made love in the dark, at my insistence. I had dressed in the closet, away from the mirror. I didn’t want to see the changes in my body, my past evaporating week by week, dot by dot.
“That’s okay,” I said, reaching for my blouse. “I’ll wait until the redness fades.”
“Don’t be afraid,” Luisa said, her voice suddenly soft. “It’s perfect. I don’t think there will be any scarring. Please, take a look.”
I heard the pain behind her words, the barely suppressed pleading. How could I be so selfish? Clearly she took pride in her work. What a silly bitch I was being, robbing her of that satisfaction! I swallowed hard and allowed her to lead me to the full-length mirror. My eyes were screwed shut.
Luisa stood behind me. She did not release my hand. “Open your eyes, Ally,” she whispered in my ear. “See how beautiful you are.”
Blinding white, like a field of pure snow, my vacant skin gleamed in the tasteful recessed lighting. The skull that had winked at my navel was gone. My flat belly was a bleak expanse of unmarked flesh. The barbed wire bracelet circling my left bicep—souvenir of the half-year of time I’d done—gone too. Worst of all, there was no sign of Lilith. My blunt-cut blond hair grazed the pale shoulder where her curls had rioted. My paltry breast was no longer hidden behind her sassy butt cheeks. She had been stripped from me, leaving me bare, empty, and utterly alone. And I had let it happen.
“No!” I screamed. Terror shot through me. I wanted to run, but all I could do was stand there, my whole body trembling, gazing at my horrible nakedness.
“Shh,” Luisa murmured. She slipped her arms around my waist and pulled me against her solid warmth. “I know...I know... It’s like this sometimes. You’ll get used to it.”
“No...” I whimpered. I struggled for a moment, but it was futile. She held me tight. Defeated, I relaxed into her embrace. Her lab jacket was as white as my skin, but the cinnamon-brown hands resting on my stomach were a welcome contrast to my paleness. I leaned back into her strength. Her breath tickled my ear.
“You’ve got to let go, chica,” she whispered, while her hands migrated upward to cup my tits. “You’ve got to move on.”
I watched, fascinated, as my little breasts disappeared under her palms. Her thumbs flicked at the tips and it was like she’d thrown a switch. High voltage sizzled up my spine. She ran her tongue along the edge of my earlobe. I quivered under the gentle assault, my knees weak. Fight it, I told myself; hold on to the outrage. You’re irrevocably damaged and it’s her fault. But I wanted to surrender, to let her soothe the pain away, if only for a little while. And I knew in my soul that I couldn’t blame her for anything. There was no one to blame but myself.
She captured my nipples and rolled them back and forth like dough. She was turning up the volume, turning on the tap. Moisture poured into my cunt. Richard wouldn’t like this, came a fleeting thought. Then she pinched them, hard the way I’ve always enjoyed, and sensation smothered my concern.
“Luisa...” I moaned as she palmed my mound through my pink silk panties—yet another gift from Richard. She rested her hand on the soaked fabric, allowing the pressure to build. I squirmed in her grasp, but she held me fast while continuing to play with my nipple. Meanwhile her middle finger stroked back and forth along the line of my cleft, pressing the silk into the soft, wet depression. My inner muscles clenched and my clit throbbed, screaming for direct stimulation.
Again she seemed to read my thoughts. She snaked her hand under the elastic and sank two fingers into my hungry cunt. Her thumb grazed the swollen nub poking through my sparse pubic curls. A pre-orgasmic shudder shook my frame. I slumped in her arms, a quivering mass of nerves, while she worked my pussy, coaxing me ever closer to the edge.
“You’re so wet, chica,” she purred. I was. Her fingers slipped and slithered in my depths like eels in the ocean. “I’m wet too. I’ve dreamed about this, about you...since the first day you shed your clothing and showed me your marks, I’ve wanted to strip you bare and make you writhe...”
“Oh...oh...oh!” I was beyond words, though some distant corner of my mind still observed, commented, analyzed. As though impatient, she pushed the panties down around my thighs, then plunged her whole hand into my sopping pussy. I ground my clit against her knuckles and spread my legs as wide as I could. Elastic cut into my flesh, but I didn’t care. I opened myself to her clever fingers, wanting more, more—more of the fierce heat she coaxed from my snow-pale body, more of the pleasure she woke everywhere she touched.
She nipped at my shoulder, where the anesthetic had started to wear off. Pain sliced through me, a startling contrast to the sweet heaviness pooled between my thighs. I turned my head and she fastened her ripe-plum lips on mine, forcing her tongue into my mouth, still twisting my nipple and stabbing at my clit. She smelled like orange blossoms. She tasted of espresso. She pressed her pelvis against my bare ass.
The starched fabric of her lab coat rasped against my cheeks. I could feel her dampness, even through the layers of cloth. I felt her want, a mirror of my own.
Somehow we ended up on the tiled floor. Under her coat she wore tight jeans and a purple tank top without a bra. Cradling her full breasts in my pale fingers, I sucked first one taut nipple and then the other while she struggled with her pants. I ran my tongue up along the outside of one luscious mound, to the sensitive spot under her arm. She stiffened and moaned. I heard tearing fabric and understood that she was as desperate as I.
I straddled her, pressing my lightly furred bush against her black thicket. Skin on skin, at last! My juices mingled with hers as we rubbed together. Our rich, musky scent hung heavy in the sterile room. I leaned over to capture her mouth, letting my pea-sized nipples graze her more opulent ones.
She relaxed and let me take the lead. I wanted to devour her. I had to hold myself back. I kissed her ferociously, for a long time, until I could tell she was having trouble breathing.
“Want...to...taste you...chica,” she gasped when I finally released her. I could only grunt. I was too deep into my lust to speak. I nipped at her earlobe, then swung around so that my cunt was in her face. She spread me wide with trembling fingers.
The first sweep of her strong, hot tongue gathered me and drew me to the pinnacle. The second stroke pushed me off. My body took flight, arrowing up into clouds of pure pleasure, then tumbling downward to burst against her face. Everything poured out of me, the darkness and the fear and the shame, flooding her eager mouth.
I twitched for a while while she lapped at me gently. Finally, the ocean scent rising from her pussy lured me back to consciousness. I buried my face in her folds, wanting to give her the same glorious release she had drawn from me. Her moisture coated my cheeks. I could feel my own juices dripping down my thighs as I worked my tongue into her and flicked at her clit. She had the salty tang of a margarita. I reached around to grab her buttocks and opened her like a ripe fig, then sucked out the juicy pulp.
I could feel the tension gathering in her, could taste the imminent storm. I sucked harder, probed deeper, forgetting everything but the slick, smooth flesh I was consuming. My whole world contracted to the rosy purse of her sweet cunt.
Suddenly she clutched at me, digging her nails into my thighs. Her clit swelled against my lips. With a wail, she came hard, jerking her hips, slamming her pelvis against my mouth. I drank up the wetness that spilled from her, then planted soft, wet kisses along the insides of her thighs as her lush body gradually relaxed.
I lay quiet for a while, my ear on her plump belly, listening to her heartbeat. Strange pride blossomed in my chest. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so good.
The shriek of my mobile broke the spell. I clambered to my feet and rummaged in my pocket. I knew who it was before I looked at the display.
“Hello, Richard.”
“Hi, hon. How’s it going?”
“We just finished.” Guilt stabbed me in the gut. Richard was not the jealous type, but I’d told him about the women in prison. I knew he wouldn’t approve.
“Great! And this is the last session, right?”
“Right.” My throat tightened. The old darkness closed in on me. I hoped that he wouldn’t hear it in my voice.
“I can’t wait to see you.” My fiancé’s enthusiasm was obvious. “Shall I come pick you up on my way home from work?”
“No, that’s okay. The traffic would be murder.” Panic made my pulse skitter. “I’ll take a cab. I’ll see you at the condo in an hour or so.”
“Wonderful, hon. See you then. I love you.”
I flipped the phone shut and began to get dressed. My body felt stiff as wood.
“You don’t have to marry him, you know.” Luisa sat cross-legged on the floor, looking comfortable and unquestionably gorgeous. My cheeks grew hot. With amazing grace, she rose to her feet.
“Of course I do.”
“Do you love him?”
Luisa stood in front of me, strong hands on her ample hips. Her flawless skin gleamed with sweat. I could still taste her arousal on my lips. Her warm smile made me quiver inside. It struck me that, except for her shorter hair and lighter complexion, Luisa looked quite a bit like Lilith.
“Um...I think so. He saved my life. He’s done so much for me...” Life without Richard? I couldn’t conceive of it. He’d been my rock, my anchor, for more than a year, ever since the trial.
“Gratitude is not the same thing as love, Ally.”
“But I owe him so much. Just think about how much he spent for this, for you...” I was blushing again, stammering, confused by Luisa’s closeness, terrified by the gulf of possibility she had opened before me.
“You could pay him back. I’d help.” She brushed a blond lock out of my eyes. I thought she was going to kiss me, but she held back. “It’s up to you. You’re free to choose. You can leave the past behind—your life is a clean slate now. You can be whoever you want. Have whomever you want—Richard, or me, or maybe someone else entirely. But don’t make your decisions out of guilt or shame or a sense of obligation.”
“I don’t know...” I couldn’t get my mind around what she was saying.
“Trust yourself. You’re tough and smart. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have survived. Ask yourself what you really want.” Luisa had donned her lab coat over her nakedness. She handed me my clothes. “Don’t you think you deserve some happiness?”
Did I? The notion was bewildering and exciting.
“I’ll walk you out. Think about it, chica. What do you really want?”
She kissed me, long and hard, before she opened the door, and I thought that I knew. But she put a finger to my lips before I could speak.
“Spend some time considering your options. There’s no hurry. If you want me, you know where to find me.”
She seemed so confident, it was difficult not to believe her.
I slipped on the leather jacket Richard had bought for me and went out to hail a cab.
THE QUICKENING
Siobhan Colman
My mistress calls to me. On moonless nights when the wind howls at my casement and the candles on the mantel dance like devils, she calls.
It was not always so.
Three winters ago she was a living thing. Warm skin, pink in the firelight, lips red and wet from biting them. She would sit and read to me, there, by the hearth and I would catch the swell of her breast through the clean white cotton of her shift.
“What story will it be, Mary?” She would run her fingers along the books on her shelf. Such books! Covered in the finest leather. Full of places I could only dream of. For I had no learning, though I could write my own name. My mistress had taught me that much already. But I could not read, though she promised I would master my letters.
“’Twill take time, my Mary, but you are quick-witted and observant. Study your letters and you will read soon enough.”
I wanted to study hard and please her. “Yes, miss.” But I wanted to study her more than I wished to look upon my letters.
“Shall it be Romance?” she asked. “Or Mystery?”
I did not care, though I liked to hear her read. “Something long, miss. I do not mind which.” I was laying out her clothes for the morrow.
“Romance, I think. Will you brush my hair as I tell it? I do so love how softly you brush.”
“Of course, miss.”
She was the first mistress I’d ever known to ask me to do things for her. All others bellowed orders without a kind word. My mistress was different from my first day of service. Perhaps it was because she was not much older than me, but I think it was because she was never harsh. Born as sweet as any lamb. She has brought out the sweetness in me. I always thought myself clumsy and awkward, but she said I am gentle and graceful. Perhaps I am mad, for I feel she has made me gentle. She has made me what I am in her company. My own better self.
I took joy from the feel of her hair bet
ween my fingers. Silk it was. Dark silken threads, finer than any I’d ever known and I’d bend my nose low to breathe in the smell of it. It smelled of chamomile and oranges and shone like molasses in the firelight. And she’d read from her book, leaning her head against my hands as I brushed beyond counting. But in truth I wanted to run my own fingers through her hair. Catch the tresses in my hands and bring my lips to them. Warm her sweet throat with the heat of my breath. How I longed to be her brush, and beyond that, I wished myself incarnate in her book, gazed upon and delighted in. For I knew from experience that a lowly maid is no more than a wall or a table to her mistress.
Though she did not make me feel that way.
One night as I brushed her hair she put her book upon her lap and turned to gaze at me.
“Mary,” she said, taking the brush from my hand and catching my fingers in her own.
“Yes, miss.” My face was aflame. I could feel it. I looked down at our fingers entwined, for I swear I felt her tighten her hold. And I felt a charge run through me, catching my breath before settling in my belly.
“Do you have a sweetheart?” she asked, her gaze shifting from our hands to my face.
I stared at her, her face earnest, expectant. I could not tell her that I did, indeed, have a sweetheart, and it was she. For it was not my place to love my mistress, though I did with an ache as sharp as any thorn.
“I do not have time for courting, miss. My duties are here.”
She stared at me intently, her eyebrow raised. Did she notice that I did not answer her question? “Everyone must have someone to love, Mary.” She put the book down upon the mantel and stood. Her hand still held my own. “And to love them.”
I could not speak, for my heart was pounding. I shifted upon my feet to steady myself and quieten my heart. It was then she released her hand from mine and stepped forward. “Mary, you are quite flushed. Are you ill?” Her fingers touched my cheek and I could not help but reach up to catch her fingers and hold them there, cool against my flesh. Oh, the velvet of her skin upon my cheek! I closed my eyes to hold that moment, for I felt I must be dreaming. She gazed at me then, her eyes wide, her own face flushed.
