by May Peterson
How did I say these words without melting from the arousal? She seemed to be wondering the same thing, stammering for a second with an expression of abashment. “When you put it that way—” She paused, as if rekindling her boldness, and produced an adorably feisty grin. “Yes. Tibario Gianbellicci. I am going to seduce you and ravish the daylights out of you, right here in your bedroom.”
Not a chance of relieving myself in private now. Quivering, I began opening my trousers, and she stopped me with a touch. “Can I?”
Gulp. Now I was the one acting shy, almost unable to meet her gaze. We had just fucked for the first time the night before, and I still felt exposed. Something told me the exposure was just getting started. I plopped back dramatically on my bed, arms spread wide. “Do with me as you will, o wicked temptress.”
Her hands trembled as she unbuckled me, pulled down my trousers and gently lifted my legs to slide them off. The mechanics of the act were surreally erotic. My foot getting caught for a second, her holding me still to pull it the rest of the way off, the removal one ankle at a time, the grunts we both made as we shifted. It was so. Physical. Ungraceful. A thing actually happening, and not some teenage masturbation fantasy.
“Lift up on your hands and feet, please.” She was all business now, voice taut with intention. I liked her telling me what to do. A lot.
I obeyed, and without warning, she slipped my drawers down and then again, off one ankle at a time, casually tossing them across the room. Like I might have done undressing alone. Then there we were, at the heart of the matter: my totally bare ass, my pulsing dick in plain sight, feeling somehow all the more nude for the fact that I still had my shirt on, and she was fully clothed. Being naked in front of her while she wasn’t was also a surprising thrill. I was fully erect, with no way to hide it. She leaned in, feathered a finger across my sensitive groin, and sighed contentedly while running her eyes along my dick.
Then, like a shot, she became the sensation of cool fingers and hot, wet lips. Sucking me in like I was an hors d’oeurve. My eyes all but popped out of my head.
I had pictured this before. My eager member surrounded by her decidedly pretty mouth. But now I could feel it. She was magically wet, hot, and slick inside. Would her tight asshole feel anything like this?
She wasn’t as timid as I expected. Sex seemed so fraught for her, but her vigor now was practically ravenous. She even pushed my legs apart while taking me in, drawing a surprised gasp from me as she moved my body. Hips up, my inner thighs totally bared. My dick throbbed harder. I felt oddly vulnerable, penetrated. There wasn’t a private part of my body she couldn’t see.
A fact she quickly highlighted. Her mouth popped off my tip, saliva spattering delicately on my thigh and her chin. She panted as if having come up for air. God, that was tasty. Her lips were slightly swollen and red from friction. “You have. Such a pretty little asshole.”
“Oh.” Another gulp. It was dizzyingly embarrassing to hear that, but embarrassing in a way I craved. I had no idea what to say.
Until a very important thought bubbled up. “Do I have permission to move my hands? Or legs?”
She blinked in momentary confusion, which was oddly cute on her features so recently buried in cock. “Do you need my permission?”
“I.” My mouth was dry. “I think I do. Or for you to deny me permission. You decide. Please.”
“Ah.” Understanding brought a devilish gleam to her eye. She spent a moment lazily licking the length of my dick, then propped her chin on her hands. “All right. Then I don’t give you permission to move out of this position. Barring safety reasons, of course. In fact, put your hands behind your head.”
I trembled as I obeyed. My breathing was ragged, desperate, but I was still.
“Good cat boy.” She sat back and licked her lips. “You know, every time I taste dick, I have to get used to how salty it is all over again. Do you have any skin oil?”
I knew exactly where she was headed. Yes. If Violetta wanted to play with my ass, I was on board. “In the lower drawer over there. By the bed.”
The sounds of her searching for it were peculiarly arousing. Everything felt normal, which rendered the sexuality of it scandalous. An act of tender rebellion.
I felt so sensitive lying there like that, like I was on display, that the urge to talk was unbearable.
“Are you all right taking the lead?” I lay back and intentionally did not look at her. “You said men often masculinize you like this. Want you to be a combination of male and female for their pleasure. I think I am uncovering quite a taste for sexual submission, but it wouldn’t be any different with a dualistic woman. I don’t want you to feel masculinized.”
She made a charming noise in her throat. “Thank you for thinking of that. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel. But you aren’t demanding anything of me. I think I wanted to explore how it would feel to try things with you. You are, as they say, a damned good sport. I don’t want a partner who’s going to be adding up how feminine or masculine everything I do is, as if it were an exam of how much a woman I am. I like feeling like I can just be Violetta around you.”
This would have touched my heart under normal circumstances, but as she spoke, her oiled hand snaked back around my cock and she settled alongside my body, mouth next to my ear. My balls twitched, and with a stroke, she pulled an involuntary gasp of pleasure from me. It felt like she was peeling me open, probing fingers of physical excitement and tenderness alike. Tears sprang to the corners of my eyes unexpectedly.
“G-good,” I breathed.
“Mm.” She licked my cheek, wiping away one of the tears. “Is it all right if I play with your tight little backside?”
I nodded vigorously. “I, ah. Would like it if you. Took liberties. Pushed my limits.” This may be the most intoxicating sexual episode I’d ever had, even against the last one with her. I felt constantly pulled between revealing more about myself, my fantasies, needs I was just uncovering, and the desire to pull back from the intensity.
She nibbled my earlobe, reducing me to whimpers for a moment. That sensation went all the way down to my balls. “I hear you.” Her voice had the intimacy of telepathy. “I don’t want to hurt you, all right? That’s not something I enjoy. Tell me if something is painful, yes?”
I nodded again, panting.
Then she began taking me apart.
She wasn’t just fisting my dick, but manipulating my balls and massaging my taint, all in flow so that it felt like she was boring into my body, finding where the pleasure was most deeply rooted and pulling it all the way out of me before diving back in. My cock felt like it was lengthening magically in her hands, a line of energy dancing from its tip to my insides, my hottest and softest places. She peppered kisses and bites around my neck and ear in between strokes, so that the distance between my cock and my head melted together. I was one helpless puddle of stimulation. Then her fingers gently invaded my sensitive asshole, rubbing the quivering ring and pressing within. Oh fuck me, I had played with myself before, but never had I felt so deliciously penetrated, touched, my pleasure laid out like a toy and controlled while I experienced it. And she was barely started.
“You are.” I gulped, had to stop and gasp. “Good at this.”
“I’m glad. Now be a good cat boy and stay still, but don’t hold back your voice. Your reactions are perfect.”
Permission felt good. To know she was in control and choosing to do this. It took pressure away, let me relax, let me trust I was pleasing her. Permission to be natural, to let loose my most instinctive responses. I thrust up into her slick hands, practically squealing, and she pulled away as if taunting me. My whimpers bled into faint cries, no desire left to hide how it felt.
And she worked my anus, exploring its tightness and spreading it on her fingers. It hurt in brief flashes, painful for a split second before her massaging made it good. I almost stopped a
t times, afraid she’d feel betrayed if I endured pain without telling her. But I wasn’t merely accepting this. I craved it. Pain and excitement flowed together, became an electric current of eroticism. Maybe I did want her to hurt me, sometime. Maybe I’d cum my brains out if she forced her way in, ravished me whether I was ready or not. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
Three fingers inside. I yelped, but pushed down onto her hand, as if fucking myself. “Th-that’s good. Please, please don’t stop. Please, Violetta.”
“Shhh.” She paused in spite of my pleading, and in a perverse way I imagined it was to put me in my place, show me she was in charge. God, please let that be it. She kissed me gently for several minutes, back to fingering my cock and taint while we tongued one another. What an amazing, beautiful, exceptional girl. I wanted to get completely fucked by her. I wanted to feel her inside me.
She proved prescient once again. Sounding slightly shy, she said, “Tibario. You said you wanted me to take liberties. So. I am going to fuck you in the ass.”
Yes, yes, yes. My panting was undisguised. I thrusted into her grasp again, only to be frustrated once more. “Please, yes. I can take it. I’d only used my fingers before, but I’ll let you know if it’s too much. I want it so badly. Fuck me, fuck me, Violetta, please.”
She peeled off her gown, revealing silky underthings, exuding mesmeric grace as she moved. In a hot sprawl of instants, she was on top of me, rubbing against my crotch as she had before, licking my neck, drawing inchoate whimpers from me. She was going to murder my brain. Maybe all that was going to let me survive this was my immortality.
One thing was noticeably different this time. She sat up and let me get a good ogle at her. Her dick was exposed, the front of her underclothes lowered to release it. I stared like a starving person salivating at food. Look at that beautiful head. She was smaller than me, her dick delicately graceful, and the tip of it was a pulsating pink. She touched our members together, rubbed them in opposite directions, and I had to resist the urge to break orders and tangle my legs around her waist. She pinched one of my nipples between two fingers, and I bucked involuntarily off the bed. Her weight pressured me back down again, but she didn’t let up, kept pinching, manipulating, once more converting a prick of pain into a wave of pleasure. Each of my instinctive movements ground us against each other again.
“Am I still not allowed to move?” I sounded desperate, ragged.
“That’s right. Not until I tell you.”
To the point. I squirmed a few times, my control slipping, but holding position was easy. I didn’t have to worry about doing the right thing. I was pleasing her by simply reacting.
The next penetration wasn’t her fingers. This was wider, smoother. It took some time, a gradual buildup to my anal muscle opening to her. It also shot by with absurd speed. I was receptive, so ready to be opened further. It could have been minutes or hours, but next I knew, the head of her girl dick was pressing hotly into my flesh. And she was holding me, one arm wrapped gently around the back of my neck, the other fisting my balls. Her violet eyes radiated tenderness and lust at once, locking with mine, making it impossible to look away. I was like the aroused, happy version of a bug pinned to a display board.
I oozed sound without thought—embarrassing, raw, messy. But it was safe to be exposed to her. It was another form of penetration, her touching the under layer of me I’d normally hide. In the next instant, she was inside me fully, my sphincter stretching to take her in. A moment of burning, then the overwhelming sensation of friction against my softest places. It was somehow the inverse of how she’d worked my dick earlier, as if touching the base of my dick within. Her belly rubbed against me from the outside, and her thrusts touched it from the inside. She may as well have been playing under my skin, finding the map of my pleasure nerves and simply pressing on them as hard as possible.
I actually fucking screamed. With excitement, with animal energy, with pain and desire and pre-orgasmic need. I buried the scream in her shoulder, let it become a sobbing gasp. She had the blisteringly hot idea of pulling a corner of blanket up and letting me bite on it.
“I’m afraid I hurt you.” She whispered, shaking, licking me sweetly. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, holding the blanket in my mouth. She removed it and I answered, “Please, please, don’t stop. Don’t stop, I’m begging you.” Tears blurred my vision again. Of emotion, of something unnameable. Was there a positive version of violation? Of being so wrapped around someone you absorbed into them, and them into you, but it was welcome and miraculous and good?
Then she fucked me. Rocking slowly, silky cloth against my hot skin, red curls falling over my naked chest. Her lips gracing my sensitive places, nipples, neck, earlobes, all while speaking soft reassuring nothings. Unbearably gentle as her pretty girl dick split me open. I may as well have been a wet spring fruit, unpeeled and dripping with the bliss of a natural function. To be opened, to be eaten, to be tasted.
“You can move. Touch me.” Her gasps were fervent now. “Tibario. Put your hands on me. Don’t hold back.”
I had to obey. My body made me obey. The release of my will was like an orgasm in itself, muscles suddenly relaxed, and I was all over her. Arms clenching her tight, my thighs around her waist, ankles pushing into her backside as she thrusted into me. I kissed her and sucked her ear in my mouth, moaned and whimpered and cried, feeling everywhere I could feel while she fucked me into my mattress. It was disastrous and disintegrating and mystical, like being transmuted into gold. A wicked witch girl with doom in her mouth, ravishing me within an inch of my immortal life. The sheer instinctual perfection of it was so exquisite it hurt.
Next came a blur of sensation, her voice and mine, and a hot rush of moisture inside me. She gasped, hid her face. My pleasure centers, inside and out, were all on fire with Violetta. Her weight on my dick, the pressure of her in my ass, it all was too much. I came, and came, and came, spurting with abandon and shivering with liquid heat. I called out the first part of her name, but my mind was blank, unable to form words, and her name became a formless cry of release.
Chapter Fourteen
Violetta
I had expected to feel more afraid or ashamed.
But after fucking Tibario, he’d radiated such unvarnished satiation and joy it was impossible not to warm from it. I’d lain in a panting heap on top of him. And we’d kissed with wordless abandon for a long time, both catching our breath, bathed in body heat and comfort.
I got up to remove my sweaty underclothes; Tibario, a sprawl of nude limbs, merely bit out, “The most adorable girl in the world just came in my ass. Whenever I die the next time, at least I know I’ll be dying happy.”
I laughed. Oh, Tibario. Completely bare in front of him for the first time, there seemed no shame left for who I was, for my body, my past, for Violetta. I crawled into bed with him, and he pulled the blanket over us, and we held each other in naked intimacy, skin-to-skin.
I never believed I would have this. Not like this. Not with him.
I also wouldn’t have believed, mere months ago, how much rage I would feel at Father finding me. Not merely fear—fear I would have believed. If anything, I would have imagined all other emotions giving away to fear long ago. Fear was like the decay the rest of me dissolved into, every reaction becoming just another form of terror.
It was the rage that astounded me. A desperate, animal desire to get back in control. Control of what happened to me, of who was near me. Tibario had been the only person who came to mind, not because he was the only safe ally I had—in a way, I had many safe allies, and in another way, none of us were safe. The moment I’d sent out my message to him, I’d understood something: I trusted Tibario to witness my desires and not be at odds with them.
He’d shown me tonight again, in ways I couldn’t have asked, that my desires were safe with him. I could express my hunger to him, make choices, exercise
my will, and he wouldn’t demonize me. It was like being so famished you didn’t feel it until you tasted food.
Tibario and I touched and kissed while we drifted in and out of sleep. I’d catch a snatch of dreams, wake up to him mumbling next to me, and he’d cuddle me close.
As weary as I was of the future and its mazes, its capacity for wonder and grace surprised me still.
There might yet be futures I hadn’t accounted for.
I awoke sometime after dawn, the lurch of a new day stirring my intuition. Tibario slept peacefully, one arm sprawled across the bed. We’d separated at some point in the night, but he was still halfway wrapped around me like I was a security doll. The sight brought up a giggle of contentment.
But it was another surprising thought that kept me from falling back asleep: that Serafina might hold the key to the future I needed.
My impressions told me she was already awake and moving in the house, somewhere upstairs. That was enough. Rising to dress, I tucked Tibario in and left him dozing peacefully. Peace would be precious in the coming days.
The house was a cadaver emptied of its ghost, inert with the weight of its memories. No trace lingered of Gino even living here. No book collection or item of furniture that communicated difference from Serafina’s motifs. Even the colors and decorum—red and gold, baroque finery and austere shadows—spoke of Serafina. Either her husband was simply compliant about who put their mark on their home, or he’d taken his life with him when he left. Had I even seen Gino Gianbellicci in years? Of all their family, he was the most reclusive member. Even Mio I remembered more.
I thought of my own mother and her silent battles with Father, her old closeness with Serafina. Perhaps distance had been growing between Gino and Serafina for years.
I found the witch in a study. She stood by the window, gazing outward as if lost in numbness. A worn dressing gown covered her frame, her hair draped thinly over her shoulders. The life energy seemed to have gone out of her; she stiffly sipped from a glass in her hand, otherwise doing an excellent impression of a dead person.
