by Jade Stone
Then, one night, just when I thought I could take it no more, he returned.
I was sitting back in my usual place—on my balcony, fifty-one stories up, smoking my cigarette, surrounded by candles. Once again, I was wearing my white silk robe, and I was contemplating whether I should once again rise up to the edge and just step off. Suddenly, all of the candles went out.
I looked behind me, and there he was. He was standing in my doorway, his face expressionless, as his eyes bored into my own. My hands shook as I raised my cigarette to my mouth, but I was controlled enough to not choke on the smoke as I exhaled. I blew the smoke in his direction.
“That was really impolite, to appear in my life—save my life—then disappear.”
“Manners aren’t my strength,” he replied. “I don’t see the point. Most people who meet me don’t live long enough to remember.”
He then seemed to glare at me.
“Or to write a song...” he said, almost dangerously.
I took a drag, almost defiantly.
“You don’t like my song?” I asked.
He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes left mine, and he stared into the night. Once again, I was taken in, smitten with his beauty. The hot ache between my legs began to throb, which then turned into a dull pounding.
“It’s the most exquisitely beautiful song I have ever heard,” he said quietly. “Your voice is the most glorious thing I have ever had the honour of listening to. And I have been around for a long, long time.”
My breath caught in my throat. His approval meant more to me than anything else on earth. His eyes returned to mine, and he spoke again.
“I knew when I came across you I couldn’t take you. Not when you have such a gift.”
“What are you?” I asked him, though I almost dreaded the answer. Mostly because I already knew what it was.
“You know that already...” he said, his eyes not leaving mine.
“Don’t you want to know why?” I asked him. “Why I wanted to die?”
“You told me,” he said softly. “In your songs, Elizabeth...”
Tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t look at him. Because I knew then that he knew everything. I am always careful not to give too much away in my songs, but I could tell he would have seen right through them, right into me. The public knew some of my background, but I had never disclosed everything. It was known that my mother was a drug addict; my father was a cold, calculating man who was currently in jail for fraud; and that I could never sustain a relationship with any man. But I’d never told anyone about my constant self loathing, and the constant anxiety I felt at being rejected and abandoned again. I’ve never told anyone about what my step-father did to me when I was twelve years old. And my parents doing nothing about it, even though they knew it was happening. The real reason that I have never let anyone get close to me.
I didn’t want to cry in front of him, but the tears rolled down my face anyway. I had never felt so naked and vulnerable in front of anyone before. I waited for him to leave, to be disgusted by my self-pity. Instead, I felt his hand take mine, and he made me rise to my feet. He took me in his arms, and we seemed to glide back into my room. The candles surrounding my bed were suddenly lit, and the sound of music filled the room. It was a song I had written recently, but hadn’t released yet. I didn’t ask him where he got it, or how he made it play in my room. I just let myself fall into his arms, and fall more deeply in love with him... I don’t know how long we stayed that way—it could have been five minutes, or five hours.
Then I suddenly felt claustrophobic and overwhelmed at what was happening. I tried to push him away, but it was like pushing marble. When I jumped out of his grasp, he didn’t try to stop me.
“Who are you really??” I demanded. “Why are you interested in me?”
Before he could reply, I opened my robe and let it drop to the floor. I stood before him, completely naked.
“You wanna rape me? Then just do it and get it over with,” I said tearfully.
Now he did look disgusted.
“Put your clothes back on right now,” he commanded. “And don’t you ever speak to me like that again.”
Embarrassed, I quickly put my robe back on. He put his hands in the pockets of his trench coat and walked slowly back outside, keeping his back to me. I followed him, feeling sheepish. Now that I knew he didn’t want to rape me, the burning between my legs had returned with a vengeance. Did he find me attractive? What did he want from me?
“Yes, I do find you attractive,” he said, still with his back to me. “Extremely attractive. You are as beautiful to look at as your voice is to listen to.”
I stared at the back of him incredulously.
“No, I cannot read minds,” he continued. “But when one has been around for as long as I have, it becomes very easy to read what another is feeling.”
I did not know what to say, so I continued standing behind him, staring at him.
“Do I scare you, Elizabeth?”
“Yes,” I said, truthfully.
“And yet, you wanted me to return....”
“Yes...” I replied.
“Why?”
I could not give that answer in words, so I showed him. I slowly undid the cord from my robe. As the garment slid down my naked body again, he slowly turned around. I felt a white heat engulf the room as he took in the sight of me, and my breath tightened, as did my nipples and the pounding flesh between my legs. I saw his top lip curl upwards, revealing the fangs now in his mouth. I gasped at the sight, and my arousal rose to a new degree. He was suddenly against me, his arms wrapped around me, and he had me pinned against the wall. His hand was behind me, pulling down on my hair, pulling my neck back, his mouth firmly against the vulnerable flesh, sucking the life out of me. Only I felt a completely different sensation—that life was flooding into me. My mouth fell open into a silent scream. Never had I felt more alive in my life.
His hands caressed my back through my hair, his gentle touch lowering down to my buttocks as his mouth released my neck and found my own. Our lips locked together, and I felt like I was falling, but his arms stayed firmly around me. His lips and his touch were cold, but sent a warmth charging through me that stung me in all the right places. My sex pulsed between my legs in a way I didn’t know could exist.
His lips still on mine, I felt us start to float toward the bed, and, still on top of me, he lay me down on top of the covers. I parted my legs, feeling the inside of his jacket against my knees. I could also feel his rock hard arousal against my stomach, and the blood in my veins burning and flowing between my thighs. I gasped as his mouth left mine, dropping back to my neck. I ran my hand through his beautiful black hair as his hands ran over my breasts. I could feel his fangs against my skin. I arched my back, throwing my head back, exposing my neck, willing him to bite me. But he did not. He would not.
He raised his head and looked down into my eyes. I looked up into him, almost pleading with him to bite me. I wanted him to take me, to own me.
“I will never hurt you,” he whispered.
“It won’t hurt,” I replied.
“It will not happen,” he said, lowering his head and kissing me softly on the mouth.
Then I felt it. His manhood exposed against my stomach. He raised his head and looked into my eyes as I felt him manoeuvre himself down toward my entrance. He held himself there, as though he was waiting for me to perhaps deny him. I couldn’t express my desire for him to do it. I simply stared at him as I felt my lips quiver, my breath exiting my mouth in tight, hot gasps.
I let out a cry as he pierced into me. I gaped up at him as my body accepted the hugeness and hardness of his manhood. Still staring down at me, I felt him slide his cock back, and I cried out again as he slammed back into me.
His thrusting was relentless. He held me tight as he thrashed into me and I thrashed beneath him, still under his leather trench coat, the headboard of my bed slamming against the wall as I was slammed against the b
ed again and again.
Suddenly, I felt a cold breeze. I opened my eyes, and saw nothing but night sky. I screamed out in terror.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, stroking my hair.
He was still with me, still inside me, as my bed floated through the night sky, high above the city below. I stared at him, and he stroked my cheek. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and continued making love to me. I had no idea what was happening, and became certain this was going to be my last night on earth. Convinced of my imminent death, I responded to his love making as though it would be the last thing I ever did. I grasped his shoulders beneath his coat, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him into me harder than ever. His lips met my neck again, and he pounded into me high in the sky, the moonlight washing over us.
The orgasm hit me unexpectedly. I felt myself go rigid. I couldn’t move as the ecstasy washed over me in a wave, then made my sex explode. I felt myself lose complete control between my legs as I convulsed all over his cock. When it was finished, I lay limp beneath him, my eyes closed.
I’m not sure if he finished the same time I did, but when I opened my eyes, he was lying next to me, and we were back in my room.
He held me for a long time, beneath his black trench coat, until I fell asleep.
When I awoke, the sunlight was streaming through the window. I let out cry of devastation, until I saw the note lying on the pillow.
See you next month.
I’ve never known why it can only be once a month, but it is what keeps me alive. This month is extra special, because I just celebrated my twenty-eighth birthday. I did not join the twenty-seven club, or leave earlier, as I had planned.
I take another sip of wine, and drag on my cigarette again, which is now almost finished.
The candles suddenly blow out. I stand completely stationary, feeling his presence behind me through the cold breeze that runs through my negligee. The soft sound of my latest album fills the air—the album that hasn’t been released yet... I still haven’t asked him how he obtains my music.
I feel him behind me. His hand brushes my hair from my shoulders, exposing my neck. I go to place my glass on the table, only to find a long stemmed red rose in my hand instead. I turn my head, and his lips meet mine. His arms wrap around me from behind as I melt into his kiss.
The candles are suddenly on fire again, brightening the room. And I am on fire.
And our heavenly monthly ritual begins once again.
Gloss
There’s something about being a dolled up, dirty housewife that turns me the fuck on. I stop to catch my appearance in the hallway mirror on the way back to the kitchen. There I am, in a red and cream ‘wiggle dress,’ my hair perfect from my visit to the salon this morning, my French manicure just as perfect. I’ve been careful not to damage my nails while cooking up a storm this morning. I want to see them run through my husband’s thick black hair as he eats me out on the kitchen bench. He isn’t home yet, but he knows what I like... And I know he wants to give it to me just as badly as I want it.
The thought of what he is going to do to me when he gets home is getting me wet just thinking about it. I am almost tempted to remove my underwear, but the delicious idea of him peeling them off makes me decide to keep them on. I’m wearing my favourite—our favourite—the black lace panties that leave little to the imagination. I pull out my red lipstick and reapply it to my plump lips, which are already twitching in anticipation, knowing I will be sucking on his nice, big cock very soon.
I check my watch. I have another hour. He’s getting home at four o’clock—just enough time to do what we want to do before our families join us for the evening. My sister-in-law has just announced her engagement, and I offered to put on a dinner. I love cooking, and I love sex. I work my ass off during the week, but on the weekend...that is my time. And I love spending it in the kitchen and in the bedroom. To me, food and sex are the best things in life, and I love doing both together.
I need to decorate my pavlova with the cream, raspberries, and blueberries I have in the refrigerator. I prepared my trifle the night before. I return to the kitchen and admire my work so far: my roast duck is still in the oven, my legendary seafood cocktail is in the fridge ready to go as entree, along with the salmon bites I have prepared for an appetiser, but I feel like I need something else. I decide to make a cheese ball to go with the crackers on arrival. I pull out the cream cheese, my secret sauces, and my main secret ingredient: brandy. As I mix it all together, I can’t help but take a few mouthfuls of the brandy. It pricks my tongue as it slides down my throat, warming me inside. I sip a bit more, and smile at the lemon meringue pie and white chocolate cheesecake resting on the bench top. My husband’s favourites. So far, this is going really well.
I finish making my cheese ball, and get started on decorating the pavlova. I mastered getting the meringue mound to perfection when I was thirteen. I have to admit, desserts are my favourite. I’m pretty sure it was the desserts I served to my husband in our early days of dating that sealed the deal for him.
The phone rings. It is my sister-in-law. By now the brandy has gone to my head a bit, and I simply um and uh at her rantings. She has a wedding to plan, and she is excited about it. It’s her second marriage, but she’s no less enthusiastic. She asks me if blue is an appropriate colour for a wedding dress, and I tell her that sounds quite alright. I’ll admit, I wasn’t too keen on my sister-in-law when we first met; she’s a real estate agent and quite over the top, but she is the only sibling to the love of my life, so I make an effort for my husband’s—her brother’s—sake.
“Is Carlos home?” she asks.
“Nope,” I mumble.
“Where is he?”
“He’s just sold our old car to some guy a few miles away,” I tell her truthfully.
I look at my watch; Carlos should be home any moment. He took a friend with him to drive him back after he handed over our old car. I just hope he doesn’t bring said friend into the house when he returns...
My sister-in-law says something more, but I don’t really hear what she says. I am too distracted by the thought of what her brother is going to do to me very, very soon—which, of course, I could never share with her.
I mumble goodbye as she says she will see us later tonight. I return to my kitchen. The delicious scent of the roast duck wafts into the air, as does the breeze from outside. It is just the end of summer, the sky is blue without a cloud, and the air is crisp. The breeze brings in the beautiful aroma of my fresh herbs growing beneath the kitchen window. I lean against the counter and breathe in all the fragrances swirling all around me. And I realise I am actually starving. I was so focussed on preparing food all morning, and getting my hair and nails done, I have completely forgotten to eat anything. I decide to slice myself a piece of lemon meringue pie. In all modesty, I have never tasted a better lemon meringue than the one I make myself. I take a sliver of the slice of pie with my cake fork and bring it to my lips, careful not to smear my lipstick. The lemon tang hits my taste buds, and the aromas from all my cooking and my garden waft through the air and into my nostrils. I swallow down the lemon meringue pie, the smack of citrus bringing my mouth to life even further. I am almost in heaven. Now I just need to taste my husband’s cock... My mouth moistens at the thought of his long, hard erection sliding in and out of me, as does my underwear... I take another bite of pie to calm my taste buds.
I quickly whip up the cream for my pavlova. I spread it over the meringue mound on the plate in front of me, knowing my favourite fantasy is soon going to come to life.
An hour passes, and Carlos still isn’t back. I am about to text him when he texts me. He says he’s been held up, five minutes away. By now, I am so wet there is no going back. I text his sister and tell her to delay arriving by an hour.
Finally, I hear a car pull up. My heart skips a beat, then thuds against my chest, matching the rhythm that is happening between my legs. I press against the counter, my clit th
robbing in anticipation. To my dismay, I hear two sets of footsteps coming to the front door. My heart sinks as I can hear Carlos talking to someone else. I had really hoped he would enter here alone...
Carlos finally enters the house, followed by his friend, Lance. I lock eyes with my husband. Even after five years of being in his life, he still has the same effect on me that he did when we first met. His sharp Chilean features and beautiful dark eyes, along with his thick mane of black hair, still make me breathless. He smiles at me; he knows exactly what I’ve been thinking about, and waiting for.
“Lance just has to use the bathroom,” he tells me.
I force myself to give Lance a smile, because of course I am grateful. If it weren’t for him, I would probably have had to drive Carlos myself, fifty miles away and back again. I just hope he uses the bathroom then leaves...
I lean back against the kitchen counter and face my husband, spreading my arms against the edge as Carlos comes up to the kitchen, his eyes not leaving mine.
“So, what has been happening in here?” he asks, his voice low and husky. His accent never ceases to drive me crazy.
“A bit of whipped cream, some raspberry drizzle, and a warm piece of meat in the oven,” I answer back, my voice almost raspy. “And you’ve kept me waiting for over an hour...”
“Ah... sorry about that,” he says as he comes closer. “But the best things are worth waiting for, no?”
“Did you invite Lance inside?” I ask him.
Carlos grins naughtily, edging closer to me.
“Maybe...” he replies.
I give him a look of incredulousness, and immediately turn my back on him. I start placing the berries on my pavlova, ignoring him. His teasing by inviting his friend into the house has become cruel. I feel his hands on my hips, his breath on the back of my neck... I allow my fingers to intertwine through his as he pushes my hair over my shoulder with his chin, his lips kissing down the back of my neck, his bulging erection hard against my ass.
