She knew this and didn’t prolong her ablutions.   Once it was slicked to her satisfaction, she pushed her tits together, nestling my dick between them and began stoking me slowly, watching me with that teasing smile.

from Nefastus Venereæ

Green_My work was fulfilling but the people were dull! dull! dull!  I spent the days in my windowless cubicle, typing and reading.  I was just not into it today.  I couldn’t stop thinking of the woman I’d met the night before.

It was just a few minutes stolen from an otherwise lonely evening.  I don’t usually go to the pub with my co-workers (don’t want the dull to rub off), but my only company lately has been old porn and my trusty left hand, so I accepted.

I was sitting with the group in the crowded noise, trying to pretend I cared about what they were blathering on about, sipping my second beer.  I was really watching the door.

I have this fantasy, you see, that she will come through the door.  Not just any she, but her, the one.  It’s never happened.  I’ve fooled myself with women a few times.  Pretended they were her.  Sometimes my self-delusion lasted months; once it lasted three years.  It ended badly.  It always ended badly.

I kept thinking I shouldn’t have come.  I stopped buying lottery tickets years ago for this same reason.  Hope.  Frustration.  Disappointment.

My second beer was gone.  Should I order another, or just go home?  I needed sexual release, but I wasn’t sure why, anymore.

Then she walked in.

Not again, my cynicism said.  It’s not her, and you know it.  Don’t pretend again.  Go home; masturbate.  A grunt, an ounce of splooge, and you can sleep.  It’s not much anymore, but it’s safe and sure.  She’s in your dreams, man. She was never meant to be real.

Oh, but there she was—tall, erect and proud.  ‘Buxom’ is the word I kept thinking of.  Hair, a mass of uncontrolled auburn waves, tickled her bare shoulders when she turned her head.  The light over the hostess’s station highlighted it in gold.

Her nose was aquiline (a real nose, I thought, not one of those tiny perky things that fit in a bottle cap) and her lips!  Someone unkind might have called them fish lips: they were very full, but pinched at the ends. An angel fish, maybe, I thought.  They glistened red in the light.  I pictured them wrapped around my cock, I couldn’t help myself.  She threw her head back in a laugh and the most startling blue-green eyes locked with mine for just a moment.

Her dress was deep red, shimmery, low cut, and clingy.  Most women wear heels to make tits and ass look larger, fuller.  She wore flats likely because she was over six feet tall.  (I don’t like tall women, said the voice of a fucking idiot in the back of my mind.)

She didn’t need stilettos to accentuate her assets.  The dress concealed while revealing her hips and her thighs.  The mound of a belly, just visible, submitted to the caress of red silk.  The full firm roundness of her bum had that dress’s probing hands all over it, occasionally sliding into the narrow crevice between firm buttock cheeks.  Silk slid and clung to each as she moved.  I wanted to be that silk dress, caressing her with hands, with tongue and lips.

As she waited with the group she came in with, laughing and talking, the dress left much of her creamy white tits exposed.  With every movement, word, or breath, those mounds giggled.  My pants felt a bit too tight in the crotch, for some reason.

She was laughing again at some joke one of her companions had made.  I can’t remember what any of them looked like.  To my eyes, there was only her.  Everything else was faded and dull.

The hostess, clutching a fistful of menus, led her and the semi-visible nothings that trailed after her into the room.  They were going to come right past my table!

She saw my stare.  How could she not?  Too late to pretend it was anything else.  I blew it, I thought.  I’ll get one of those haughty contemptuous looks or, worse, she’ll sneer like she just looked at a pile of dog shit.

She smiled—a real fucking smile.  It lit up her eyes and made her lips much sexier.  It was just for me.

Only a moment, it lasted.  Then she was past me, silk whisper and puff of scent.

I didn’t turn to watch where she went.  Best not to tempt fate.  I got one precious gift from her.  Another glance from me and it might be stolen back and replaced with the contempt I was almost sure I deserved.

I’m not ugly.  Nor am I stupid.  But I am not entertaining.  I’m quiet and thoughtful and I hate to dance.  I have the soul of an accountant.  This goddess had already given me more than a guy like me had a right to expect.  I found myself looking forward to tonight’s wank session.  I had a new fantasy girl.

I sat, back to her, and tried to get into the conversation at the table I shared with the dullards.  I might as well have been alone.  I sipped and nibbled a few wings and some nachos covered with manky cheese.  My eyes were turned to the door, but my attention was on the imaginary place behind me where she sat and talked and laughed and drove every man around her into fits of lust; but not me.  I’d received her charity donation, I was thankful.  I wouldn’t trouble her for more.

I was almost done my beer; time to go.  When the waitress came to collect my money, I was standing, putting on my coat.  I turned to tell her to keep the change when I noticed the card in her hand.  “From the woman over there,” she said when I asked what it was.

I read the name on the card.  On the other side were two words in black pen: ‘Call me.’  Face hot, heart pounding, I turned.

She was staring at me, a smile teasing the corners of those tumescent lips.  She’d taken a seat, two tables back, that faced the place where I sat.  She waved then mouthed those words: ‘Call Me’.

I waved back and hoped the look on my face resembled a smile.  It certainly didn’t feel like one.  I nodded.

I went home and fapped.  The old porn had lost all its appeal.  I imagined her. I felt he orgasm all the way to my goddam toes!  I had to take a shower after: I’d covered my belly and chest with cum.

That was last night.

Sitting in my cube, lackadaisically editing something, my eyes kept turning to the card, propped between the top two rows of keys on my keyboard.

One of the dullards leaned around the partition.  “Wanna go for lunch?”

“I’m too poor,” I told him.  “I’m brown baggin’ it today.”

He went away.

I turned back to the card again.

‘Call me.’

It all seemed like a dream this morning.  She couldn’t really want to spend time with me.  Likely the number would be for a pizza place or a dry cleaners.  Ha ha ha!  Good joke on the loser at the bar last night!

Fuck it, I thought.  I called the number.

After two rings she picked up!  She said her name, the name of the company on the card and asked how she could help me.  I’d never heard her voice, but I knew it was her.  I’d known that voice since adolescence.  It whispered desire in my ear when I first masturbated when I was nine.  It was husky, breathy, a bit deep for a woman.  It was her.

I realized she didn’t know my name.  I stuttered it out, feeling like a complete loser and told her I got her card at the pub last night.  My face was burning and I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to hear her for the pounding of my heart and my sudden trouble getting enough air.

“Oh, hi!  I was sure you’d never call.  I never do that!  Just give a stranger my card, I mean.  I’m so glad you called!  Am I babbling?  I’m babbling aren’t I?  I’m just gonna shut up now.”  She laughed then.  The sound of that laugh jangled straight up my libido.

“Hi!  I…uhm…wondered if you’d like to get a drink or something.”

“Sure!  It’ll have to be tonight, though ‘cause I’m leaving town for the weekend.  Or we could do it next week, but I’d really like to do it tonight.  Is tonight good?  Am I babbling again?” Again the laugh.  I found myself laughing, too.  Suddenly, everything was great.

I told her tonight was great.  Would she like to meet at the same bar?

Sure, she said.  It was close to where she lived.  We agreed to meet at 7.

I couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the day.

We dined and drank good wine.

We’d just finished off a bottle of the house red.  As we sat sipping the last of it, we talked of nothing much and played footsie.  Those beautiful tits vied for my attention from between half undone laces of a black blouse as she leaned forward.  They were milky white. I pictured myself cupping them, stroking their smoothness, feeling nipples harden.  She’d moan, then and beg me to kiss them.

Her oval face with its aqua eyes and crimson bow smile kept most of my attention, though, especially when she noticed my stare.  Her smile then told me she knew exactly what I was thinking—and approved.

My head was a bit fuzzy, my pants a lot tight.  She was funny and flirty and into me.  This had to be a dream.  Her hand in mine across the table, sound of her laugh, the mischief in her eyes argued otherwise.

It was she who suggested we go back to her place.  She didn’t even bother with the ‘coffee’ excuse.  She just leaned down and whispered, “My place.”  She brought my hand up and pressed it against one of her breasts for a moment.  Her nipple was hard.  I let go, quickly, a bit embarrassed.  She pouted prettily.

It was a warm night.  I carried my windbreaker in one hand, she a cardigan over one shoulder.  Her place was an apartment in an old brownstone.  These were a disappearing commodity in the city.  It was a three story walk up to her place.  The trim and fixtures were original, recalling an era a century or more in the past.

The door closed; the deadbolt snicked into place.  We dropped out outer clothes on the hardwood floor of the hallway.

I grabbed her head and pulled her face down.  Satin lips stroked mine, a curious tongue found my lips, teeth and tongue.  She bit my lips, suck and pulled at them, at my tongue.  All this while, my hands were busy on her ass.  I slid the short skirt she wore up and again until at last, I had her bare buttocks in my hands.  Body oil made her skin impossibly smooth.  My hands tingled at the touch of it.

They were a handful, those two; flesh I would have said too ample to stimulate my arousal.  But my erection was so strong, I was having trouble standing straight.  The things this woman did to me!  Pressing those incredible tits against my chest, she stepped between my feet and ground her crotch against my leg.  Her hands managed to reach my ass and pulled me forward.  She had to feel my stiffy against her leg.

She pulled away.  We were both panting.  “Inside,” she said.  She grabbed my hand.  I followed her.  Her living room was dark and had a couch and big armchair in it.  I didn’t notice anything else.

She pushed me into the chair and turned on a tiffany lamp on the side table.  Her hair was a tangled halo of brown and gold.  It turned me on as much as everything else about her.  Her eyes pierced me.  “Stay here.  I’ll be right back.  Lose your clothes.”  She ran down a hall.

I was naked and proudly erect when she returned.

She wore a leather corset; red, trimmed in black—and not a stitch else.  I realized I’d felt that corset under her clothes as we groped in the hall, without realizing what it was.

She stood, just within range of the lamp light, arms akimbo.  She was a Valkyrie.  How could I have ever thought such women unattractive?  Stiff leather supported each magnificent breast, without covering them.   They were presented to me, as if in offering.  Her Mons Veneris was smooth and glistened with the oil she’d anointed it with. Her legs slightly apart, she reached one hand down to her crotch and began stroking herself, with a finger.   Her other hand began playing with a breast, pulling and teasing the nipple, then harder, pinching and twisting.

Gently at first, she rubbed long and slow between her thighs.  I took my cock in my hand and matched her stroke for stoke.  Where she kneaded and tormented her tit, I squeezed and pulled at my scrotum.  We each watched the others’ manual labours. Occasionally, our eyes would meet across the ten feet of distance.  She was breathing deeply, hoarsely.  The skin of her upper chest had a pink flush; it was rising to her face.  Two fingers were now buried in her in her cunt; I could see her knuckles move as she worked her g-spot.

“Come here,” I commanded.

She obeyed, stopping only when she was within touching distance.

“Kneel down.”

She was facing me at eye level, never stopping her frigging.  I took her hand from her tit and replaced it with my mouth.  She immediately went two handed on her pussy.  While I sucked and bit her nipple, seesawing my teeth on it, I worked her other nipple hard with my fingers.  I swapped between tits every few moments. My erection nuzzled my belly button, butting into it with every pulse.

Hoarse gasps were loud in my ear.  They quickly turned to moans; her orgasm was building.  When it came, it was with a low roaring; a guttural howl from her throat that startled me with its intensity.  She shuddered violently and, as it began to pass, fell forward, her head on my thigh, contractions forcing grunts from her: four; five; six of them.

“More,” she said.  She righted herself and brought fingers dripping with her juices to her mouth, licking and sucking them; her eyes smiling at me all the while.

“Later.  My turn.”  And it was.  I couldn’t remember ever being as stiff as I was.  The head of my penis was actually purple.

She skootched closer on her knees until her tits were above my thighs supported by their leather lifts still.  The erectile tissue of her areolas wrinkled them up, giving them the look of bruised cauliflower.  The skin around them was red and abraded from all the rough treatment.  She saw my admiring gaze and lifted them out of their cradles.  “Hold these,” she made as if to hand them to me, giggling.

Laughing, I took them in the same spirit, cradling the heavy mounds.  She twisted her arms behind her and did something, grunting a little as she did so.  In a few seconds, she was done.  Grabbing the corset by the bottom edge, she pulled it down about six inches.  “That’s better!  I’ll take those back.”

She leaned over and spat on my cock, then began smearing her saliva over it with her lips.  Light as the touch of those lips was, I nearly lost control, watching my meat slide between them again and again.

She knew this and didn’t prolong her ablutions.   Once it was slicked to her satisfaction, she pushed her tits together, nestling my dick between them and began stoking me slowly, watching me with that teasing smile.

Oh, God!  I couldn’t take much of this.  I tried to hold out, not wanting the moment to end.

She was good.  She could tell when I was close and eased off; always keeping me primed, never letting me go.  She wanted this as much as I.

She stopped and began to love my cock with her lips and tongue, never engulfing it.  I held both tits, massaging them, letting the feel them add to the weight of my pleasure. One of her hands held the base of my penis, the other worked her cunt; bring her quickly to the edge of another orgasm. She slid her lips along the underside of my shaft, tongue flicking just behind the glans (AKA the sweet spot).  She licked the head slowly, savouring my expression.

Finally, we both knew that it was time.  Once again, she slid my cock between her lips, all the way down, pushing past he constriction of her throat.  Once.  Twice.  I grabbed her hair an pulled her off, “No.  Not that way.”

Her mouth was open, spit glimmering on her open lips.  She grinned then and moved instead to my balls.  She licked and stroked them with those lips, sucking ever so gently.  I began to stroke my member, feeling the pleasure, prolonging the moment as much as I could.

I didn’t lose it until she moved to that spot right where my scrotum met my thigh.  Two licks of that crease and the sliding kiss of those lips and my stroke caused a surge of ecstasy—I knew I was past the point of no return.

“I’m cumming!”

She pulled back and cradled her tits under her arm, holding them out for me.  The other was still busy with her clit.

I pumped hard and fast; short strokes right near the head.  God, it was strong.  Waves of pleasure spread to every point in my body.  Pressure built right at the tip of my dick.

A dribble of semen exited the meatus and fell onto her tits.  It wasn’t much; just an advanced scout.

The dam burst.  A generous blast of cum spurted and struck her neck so hard is ricocheted.  Another came and another. I howled in time to each spasm as six, seven, eight ropey strings of cum coated her tits, her neck and her chin.  The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful.  It continued for a moment even after I was dry.

I lay back, panting, on the seat, my whole body tingling.  Her face was contorted as another orgasm rushed through her system. Her eyes never left mine as it washed through her.

My sperm was glistening on her tits and neck, dripping from her chin.  She smiled at me and began licking her fingers, swiping up my cum and licking them again.

I leaned over and kissed her, tasting my own salty semen.

“My Valkyrie,” I said.

—Gideon Jagged.
January 2013 e.v.
Copyright © 2013 C.E., Gideon Jagged & Alchemy of the Word

Posted in Erotic, Fiction, Nefastus Venereæ and tagged , , , , , , , , , , .

Author of Speculative & Erotic Fiction, Contrarian Essayist, Freethinker, Feminist, Free Expression Absolutist, Proud Child of the Enlightenment, Elf.