Saturday, September 6, 2014
Every story has a beginning. Sometimes the chapters get saved to the wrong file or are corrupted by a data recovery error--Heaven forbid they were written in an actual book. That's the highest state of permanence-- physical media, but even books get coffee spilled on them, or left out in the rain until the ink blurs...or burned out of spite. This is one of those stories-- one that started long before I came along. I'm not up on all the details of what happened before me, and personally, the past isn't all that important anyway. It mattered to Jarell, though.
Jarell died from some kind of heart embolism--a bit of a shock to everyone, especially him. There were headlines and banner ads plastered on the breadth of buildings, buses, even park benches for fuck's sake. The hodge-podge of memorials was just as outrageous, but so was Jarell's life. Charitable foundations were erected before the news reports got bored and started courting the conspiracy theory crowds, and the whole media pot of gumbo erupted like a kid hopped up on Mountain Dew and Mentos.
I don't really think it was Jarell's death that caused so much chaos as his life leading up to it. He was born a nobody in a suburb outside of Morrison long before he ended up a star of a sitcom. The locals cared more about alligators and okra than television and star charts. In the end, though, Jarell had more money than God, and a healthy appetite for decadence.
On his twenty-first birthday, a media frenzy broke out on Sirrus; there were courtesans, Congiac, and enough candy to fill a rehab clinic for a year. He single-handedly started an off-world Mardi Gras tradition, planting himself at the front of the parade, and crowning himself Saint Expidite before a rougarou made of a dozen costumed dancers burst into the square and pretended to devour him. The whole scene made Chinese dragons dancing in the streets at Bok Kai look dull by comparison.
Rumors of his hedonistic lifestyle were legendary. His grace during interviews was equally impressive. Cameras loved him, and Jarell had an instinct for where and when to move for the lens. His skin was always a perfect shade of midnight, and his eyes glowed like sapphires in moonlight. No one in three star-systems didn't recognize his face. He was a heady mix for anyone.
So, where do I come into this? Two-thirty seven in the damn morning, that's where, and on a night I actually managed to sleep like a normal human being for once. I tuned out the world and succeeded in crawling into bed before midnight. It took me less than a minute for my thighs to clench around my vibrating wand and cum like a freight train. I choked out a month's worth of celibacy through a long growl while my clit buzzed. It was fucking awesome.
Let me be really clear on this: I didn't know Jarrel before he died. He was just a face that existed in my periphery, like ads for car insurance. Even so, I felt shockwaves rip through the ether the moment Jarell's mistress found him sprawled out on his bathroom floor. I was nipple-deep in a wet dream at the time, so I just assumed the jolts were aftershocks of a welcome, sleep-induced orgasm. In the farthest edge of my being, I began to hear whispers... and within heartbeats, my phone rang.
Now, before you go getting any ideas: no, I didn't just jump up and go running like some star-obsessed fan. In fact, the last thing I wanted to do was play afterlife crossing guard and sit over his body. The idea of carting my sleep-deprived Chi up to the Crescent just to mark out a cleansing ritual made my aura hurt. It was almost Fat Tuesday again, and the press and frenzied fans were going to be completely out of control. On the other hand, missing a rent payment, and the resulting apartment hunt didn't sound like a lot of fun either...so yeah, in the end, I answered my phone.
It took a few tries to turn on the bedside lamp, and I'm sure I mumbled incoherently while my hand flopped around looking for a pen. I scribbled down the address on a Starbucks napkin-- I didn't even use the back, if that tells you where my head was. When I hung up, I stared at it for a full minute. The word 'fucked' came to mind. Loudly.
785 Hartman Drive was up near the heart of the Crescent. Now, I avoided the gossip rags like a plague of rats, but I'm not oblivious to them. After all, they're right there in the check-out aisles at the supermarket. Every rag-tag celebrity headline over the last year was birthed on Hartman Drive. I sighed at the thought of dipping my toes in that puddle of quicksilver. Then I thought about getting out of bed and sighed again. A migraine started coiling in the back of my eyelids, and it throbbed in time to my heartbeat.
The Crescent floated above Prax like a Cheshire cat's grin: a big, white, tooth-laden smile that always looked poised to swallow us whole. Cars floated up and down like shooting stars in the distance, defying space-time by crossing the threshold in three blinks of an eye. I took the bus and tried not to look anyone in the eye.
The bus was an automated job-- one of the city's late-night fiscal cures to any overly caring drivers who were too sympathetic on riders down on their luck, broke, or both. I swiped my rider card and once the doors scissored open, I took a seat halfway up the empty aisle and watched the streetlights gather speed before turning into streaks of light. I rubbed my eyes and tried to ignore the two translucent orbs hovering over my shoulder.
That's the real problem with having a gift: even when you're alone, you're never really alone. There's always something hovering-- a lost soul, a loop, a desperate plea for attention. The more dense the population, the more crowded the graveyards, the longer the history, the harder it was to find a moment of peace. There were times I wished I could just turn it off, such as when I was horny and couldn't get a room full of spirits to leave me the hell alone...
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't all bad. There were rare times I felt like I made a difference. My own little splash on the canvas of the universe. Twice, I was able to pass messages-- a sense of peace-- to families ripped apart at the seams when someone turned down the wrong street one night. That was the best feeling in the world. There were other times too-- just enough, in fact, to keep me from joining them.
I walked from the bus stop on Sycamore near the Cresent depot and kept my distance from the crowds migrating in flocks between the ridiculously overpriced bars. I walked the fifteen blocks to Jarrel's estate, and it amazed me how fast the street crowds thinned. By the time I closed in on Hartman Drive, it was like walking through an echo chamber of gleaming white walls stretching thirty feet high. The architecture shifted from segmented stucco to glossy marble, off-white pillars dotted with clear panels, to picture windows. Each estate was a glimpse into worlds forever out of reach. It should have been impressive, but every time I looked up, I saw the real world, ready to be eaten. I was walking along the gum line of a row of teeth-- not the canines, but the molars tucked in the back where no one looked.
The house was up on a rise with a sweeping lawn. Looking back, I don't know what I expected, but I know for a fact that empty sidewalks weren't anywhere on my list. I looked between the gaps in the wrought iron and thought it wasn't too late to turn around and go back to bed. It was barely four in the morning, and I was the only living soul in sight-- then the gate swung open. The motor hummed louder at me than I thought it should have, and it ended up drowning out whatever a woman said over the intercom next to the latch.
"Sorry, I couldn't hear you over the gate-- what?" Nothing. I sighed and started up the driveway while fully expecting a pack of hounds to come rushing around the front porch. It wouldn't have been the first time. The gate closed behind me as I climbed the grand staircase leading to the front door. I usually waited for a few breaths to try and clear my senses before going into a new place. Jarell's estate needed more, a lot more. Something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
Out of the silence, I heard a flurry of hushed voices talking over each other, but I couldn't tell if they were alive or dead. It turned out to be a little of both. When the door opened, I swear my jaw dropped at the woman who met me. She was stunning-- as tall as I was, dark-skinned, twice my age, and had long thin braids tied back in a ponytail. I was instantly infatuated. She told her name was Ezra and smelled like lilacs. Lilacs aren't even a flower I can recognize, but the scent hit my senses like a truck, and it wouldn't stop dragging me along after it. Ezra's aura oozed enough Missisippi voodoo to make my head spin. Suddenly, Jarell's life seemed to make sense to me.
Ezra smiled and said good morning. That's all it took for warning bells to start pounding in my head. It wasn't her words, but the way her voice dripped like bayou honey that dragged itself slowly down my body. It pooled between my lips, and I felt my thighs clenching to hold onto it.
She looked me over from head to toe, and I wondered what she saw. Did I contrast? I hadn't seen a full day of sun in months, so I was paler than usual, but I made up for it with plunging necklines and icy-blue stares. My dirty blonde ponytail didn't exactly scream 'vixen', but I absolutely killed at cyber cafe chic. Ezra smiled again as she turned to lead me deeper into the house. I felt my back arch a tiny bit, and it pushed my chest out a little further. When I caught myself, I rolled my eyes and cursed my raging hormones. Fuck, I was easy sometimes.
We passed rooms filled with delicate artifacts from all across the galaxy. It felt lifeless, though, as if the rooms were nothing more than cold storage. I could tell by the way Ezra moved that physical wealth was meaningless to her. There were trinkets and toys from every corner of the system-- priceless heirlooms, antiques, artwork, sculptures... --, but I didn't see any signs of life. The rooms were well-lit, but dark, with a museum-like feeling of immortality. No one invested any time in any them, not even Jarell. Auras always leave traces, like fingerprints, but the place was wiped clean. I saw traces of his energy when we passed the kitchen, but even those were fleeting.
I heard whispers echo up the halls toward us, and Ezra tilted her head. My God, I wanted her so bad at that moment. The way the dim light glinted off her skin was mesmerizing. I was like a zombie following a queen. We wound our way up the main staircase, and my eyes drifted down Ezra's back only to become fixed to the rocking of her hips. I saw the faint line of her lace-trimmed panties. The pattern hugged her skin, and I strained to follow the line until it disappeared into the arch of her ass. I blinked, cursed at myself again, and tried to regain my focus as we reached the second floor. I heard voices again coming from the master bedroom at the far end of the hall, but they faded in and out like a badly tuned radio. Ezra didn't knock before leading me inside.
I wish my first impression of Jarell laying in state was something dramatic or life-altering. I would have settled for memorable, but it wasn't. A simple white shroud lay over his body that looked like a fine-sieve silk cheesecloth. The bed itself looked like it cost more than my apartment building. A bedside lamp glowed softly while we waited for dawn to break. The scene was way too dramatic for my taste and I reached for the lightswitch on the wall, and I saw Ezra stiffen. "You may not want to do that..."
I tilted my head to the side and flicked the switch. Yeah, I really did. I felt my astral fur bristle-- how the Hell would she know what I wanted-- and suddenly the overhead lamps flushed with light, joined by a few wall lamps around the room. The bedchamber was palacial. The bed took up a fraction of the space, and Jarell's extended family filled in the rest. My breath caught in my throat. There were more than a hundred faces staring back at me. I could literally see through five generations of his ancestors between me and the paintings on the far wall. I switched the light off again.
I swallowed the lump in my throat before I trusted myself to speak. "Is that... I mean, are they...?"
"They're why I called you, Child. Jarell is lost and needs a voice to guide him."
I shifted on my feet and tried to shake the chill threatening to creep into my shoulders. "Can't you? I mean, obviously you're-- " I started, and Ezra laughed a little.
"Once he crosses over, I can show him the way. For all my power, Child, I can't reach through."
"Reach through... wait a minute, are you telling me he's not dead?" I glanced at the bed and watched the shroud closely. Nothing moved.
"Oh, he's dead, Child. But he's between worlds," Ezra said. Her voice was lace with a Cajun drawl, and my ears starved for more. "He needs a voice to guide him to a place I can reach him. Can you do it?"
I glanced around the room, at the darkness, and felt the empty stares looking back at me. I didn't see how I really had a choice. "Of course. I mean, I can try..."
Ezra closed the distance between us, and I felt my thighs clench again. She lazily reached out a hand and stroked my cheek with the back of her fingers. "If you can bring Jarell home to me, Child..."
She didn't say anything else, but I felt the promise in her touch. It was the hottest and most electric feeling I'd had touch my skin in a long time. It was so damn intense that I felt my knees buckle a little. I should have felt embarrassed, but the sensation got lost somewhere on the way to my brain. Looking back, I still can't believe how completely trapped my body felt in that instant. I didn't even care that the darkness stared back at me from a hundred different points in time. All that mattered was Ezra's touch. God, if I could only bottle that feeling...
I shivered and blinked back to my senses as Ezra backed away. She had this demure look on her face, like she felt the same way before the shadows overtook her. I wiped the lingering scent of lilac off my face while I glanced around for a chair. I found one by the desk in the corner, and I tried not to think about how many people I dragged it through toward the side of the bed. When I sat down, I felt the energy in the darkness press in a little closer. Lights or not, I could tell everyone was leaning in closer to watch me. It felt oppressive. I tried to ignore them and concentrate, but every time I started to trance, it was shattered by someone encroaching. I felt my teeth clench. "Look," I snapped, "Back up. Now."
I glared at the darkness until I had enough room to breathe, then closed my eyes again and stared straight ahead. I concentrated and took a few deep, slow breaths. I blanked my mind, creating static between my ears, and opened myself up like a flower at dawn.
I felt something stir at the edge of my senses, like a soft breath in my ear. In a rush of color and sound, I plunged through a rabbit hole into sensory overload. Thoughts and feelings twisted and wound through a corkscrew that almost knocked me out of the chair. I heard husky voices, panting, and soft moans that collided with images of Jarell in a frenzy of lust. The visions swam in bits and pieces, and I strained to latch onto one of them. When I felt it solidify, I held tight and let it drag me through the vortex. The connection was hot, nearly searing my palms, but I refused to let go. In the process, I got a full tour of Jarell's complete sexual history.
His first kiss was in a locker room in high school with a friend who told him he was gay. Jarell's first blowjob was in the back of a car outside a restaurant a week later. Jarell even swallowed. His first girlfriend would only let him have anal sex because she was terrified of pregnancy. He masturbated constantly, had a thousand girlfriends since his first, and the rest of his sexual life was a blur of first-person homemade porn movies. I took in as much as I could, but even I had limits...
I tightened my grip and imagined my feet started weighing heavier and heavier. The strain on my grip threatened to break loose, but I refused to let go. I anchored him, and finally the kaleidoscope of naked men and women slowed to a crawl, and I saw his bedroom reappear. It was sunny in his memory, and Jarell was lying in the same bed he was in now. His head was between a woman's spread thighs while his body stretched out along the bed behind him. Another man knelt at the edge of the bed so he could work Jarell's shaft in and out of his mouth. The man's fist pumped Jarell's thick cock, trying to milk him. I took in the sight, the sounds, and the raw feeling of the three of them groaning together. I couldn't tell if it was a memory of Jarell's, or just a fantasy. I didn't recognize the man and woman, but their wedding rings looked like an expensive set.
I waited for him to notice me, and considering the scene, I probably shouldn't have. When he looked up, I felt my clothes instantly vaporize. What shocked me wasn't so much that he wanted to see me naked, but that he stripped me so effortlessly. Thinking back, I guess I was more than a touch flattered. I glared at him, though. I'd seen enough of him to know I wasn't anything special in the grand scheme. I focused on a bathrobe to wrap myself in. A granny version with ugly stripes that buttoned from my ankles to my neck. I folded my arms across my chest to hide my stiffening nipples as much as look severe. "Jarell, we need to talk."
The woman moaned as his fingers entered her. His hips lifted toward the man's greedy mouth. Jarell's eyes glazed over, and he looked at me like I was some kind of shimmering mirage. I sighed. At least, I think I did. He looked amazing, but I didn't have time to fawn over him like some groupie. I might have muttered something completely unladylike when I stood up and crossed the gap between us. In fact, I'm relatively sure of it. I kicked at the man fellating Jarrel and slapped the woman. Both of them turned into a silver cloud of dust that vanished in seconds. Jarell's mouth fell open, and he started to protest, but I slapped him across the face before he found his voice.
"I said we need to talk."
"Okay, how about we start with what the fuck is going on," he said as he rubbed the sting out of his cheek. His cock still throbbed in time to his heartbeat, and I did my best to ignore it.
"Ezra asked me to come talk to you. To guide you across..." His eyes lit up at the sound of her name. "Shit, you don't even know, do you?"
"She asked you to come?" His eyes darted back and forth, and his breathing quickened. "How is she?"
"Beautiful--" I caught myself; this wasn't going the way I wanted it to. I felt like I was standing on a beach of shifting sand. "Look, I know this may come as a bit of a shock to you--"
"Is she here? With you, I mean?" He tried to look past me toward the hallway.
"What? No, I mean, yes-- "
"Where?" he asked, looking around, even over his shoulder.
"Jarrel, look-- "
He bolted for the door to his bedroom, and I barely had time to mirror the doorway so that it looped back into the room. "Jarrel, you're dead!"
He froze with his hand on the door handle. Shock played out across his face, and he instantly stopped breathing. His body slowly relaxed, and he straightened up like until he looked like a department store mannequin. He swallowed and blinked, because some things you just can't control no matter how hard you try.
"I don't know. It happened a few hours ago." The room got colder, and I was grateful for the mental clothing.
"Did it hurt?"
"I don't think so, no."
He walked around me and sat on the bed. He was still naked, but thankfully his arousal, while still distracting, wasn't as obvious. I pulled the chair back up and sat across from him, close enough to take his hands in mine. "Look, I know you probably have a lot of questions I can't answer, and I wish I could, but this place isn't for you. It isn't for anyone..."
His eyes teared up for a second, but he blinked them back. "So she asked you to come?" I smiled, but it faded when his eyes turned cold. "Ten years, and she chooses now?"
He tightened his grip on my hands, and I pulled them back before they locked on my wrists. He tried to grab at me again, but I shot to my feet and jumped back. I willed the bathrobe to shift back into my regular clothes. It wasn't exactly a suit of armor, but it was comfortable. I needed that. Jarell's eyes blazed for an instant, an amber glow that took its time fading. "Okay, obviously there's some history between you two..."
"Trust me, you have no idea. She's all 'dead moon's and don' cha' feel, Chil'," Jarrel said, but in such a thick bayou accent no amount of method acting could duplicate. A dawining realization washed over me. Jarrel had his mother's eyes-- the same intoxicating line of her jaw, and the same intensity of her stare. "To me, tho', Chil'," he said, sneering out the word, "it's all c'est le congo, and it don' mean a damn thing..."
He sprang toward me, but I held my ground. His spirit slammed into me like a gust of wind, and I clenched my teeth. He screamed as his soul was deflected. His spirit felt hot and fierce, but primal, moving purely on instinct. He coiled like smoke around me, and I felt him trying to permeate my own. I couldn't shut him down completely without losing him to the void, maybe forever. I let him think he was winning, let him sink deeper, but once he was more in than out, I pulled the darkness of the room in around me like a blanket. Every shadow was drawn into us, from the corners of the room first, then from under the bed. I pulled so hard I started to draw in the light, too. I felt him squirm against my skin when he realized something was wrong. I pulled even harder until the whole room-- everything that existed in his mind, was drawn into me, too. It was wrapped in layers, insulating him, and protecting me by giving him no room to move. His whole existence became a second skin on me.
I pulled back and shook off the world between. When I opened my eyes, I saw the shroud covering Jarell starting to glow in the dawning light. Grey light filtered between the blinds from the veranda, and it cast a faint shadow across Ezra'a face. The spirits filling the air between us felt tense with anticipation. She stepped gingerly toward me, and I couldn't tell if she looked hopeful, or afraid. I smiled. It didn't sway the balance.
"Were you able to find him?" She edged around the room until she was at the foot of the bed, but she never broke eye contact with me. "Did you see Jarrel, Child?"
I nodded and felt his spirit swim across my skin. His voice crept up through my neck, and I felt his words spill from my lips before I could stop them. "I'm here, Tante."
Ezra's eyes filled with tears, and she sat on the edge of the bed at her son's shrouded feet. "My Roux, I'm so sorry. I never meant for it to happen this way-- "
"You didn't mean...?" I felt my brow furrow as his thoughts fought to connect in my brain. "You made the deal, Tante. How can you expect to change his mind once the die is cast?"
It was my body, my lips, being toyed with. I felt manipulated like some flesh and blood marionette-- a dancer in the parade of fools, and to suggest I fucking resented it was a massive understatement. Like suggesting the surface of the sun might be a tad warm.
"But I did it for you, Jarell. I did it all for you..." Ezra reached out and took my hand in hers, and I felt a massive rush of heat spill out. Her skin felt molten. "I wanted you to have what I couldn't give you. What I could never give you..." Her voice trailed off and she turned her eyes to the light spilling across the windowsill.
I felt a pain rip across Jarell's soul, worse than any mortal heartache, because it was spread all over my upper body. It lingered for a few moments and started to fade. Pain was mortal, and flesh remembers. "I know. At least, now I do. It was only a matter of time..."
"You made me so proud, my Roux. So proud..." She pulled my hand to her chest, and it dragged me out of my chair until I was on my knees, looking up at her. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, dripping onto our fingers where they were crushed between her breasts.
"Thank you, Tante," he said through me.
I've had spirits try to crawl up inside my head before, but nothing like this. He wasn't trying to own me, there was no grand scheme... he just wanted to borrow me for awhile. He never tried to crawl inside my head, or even pry into my thoughts. If he had, it would have been a really short fight, and I think he sensed that. At the same time, I couldn't let him get comfortable. The longer he stayed, the harder it was going to be to get rid of him later.
Finding a place to start was harder than it sounds, though. Jarell coated my body like flowing beignet sugar. Because he wouldn't sit still, there was no single point for me to attack and exercise his spirit. Taking hold of Jarell's thoughts was like trying to herd cats on fire.
I needed a common thread, something he and I shared-- a rallying point. A moment later when I found it, I seriously wished I hadn't... When Ezra glanced down at me, all of our eyes locked in place for a single, prolonged breath. It was the moment I was waiting for, and I channeled that feeling of lust I felt when I first met Ezra and then combined it with the spark of forbidden desire Jarell kept hidden his entire life. It ignited into a slowly-churning inferno before Ezra looked away to blink back tears.
"Tante?" Jarell squeezed her hands tighter.
"Yes, my Roux?"
He waited for our eyes to meet again and held her gaze. "It's me, but it isn't me," I felt my throat going dry, "I know you felt it, too." I felt my eyes drag themselves across the line of her cheek to her jaw, and then together, Jarell and I traced the dark line of her skin all the way to her collarbone. We lingered at the swell of her breasts where our hands were cradled. "This is the only way... the only time."
I remember feeling my pulse race-- there was a massive unreal quality to the moment, and I didn't do a damn thing, afraid of shattering the spell Jarell was casting over us all. I felt my panties getting wet as a look of shock registered on Ezra's face. Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked around as if the walls would implode, or a cry of condemnation would rip out at her from the receding shadows in the room. The faces of their ancestors faded fast with the morning light and disappeared rapidly into the evaporating ether. I could almost see her resolve fading with them.
I remember wanting to probe their dynamic more, to see how long their mutual attraction existed, maybe even find the moment where they both realized they wanted more from each other-- but there wasn't time. Right now, I just needed them to connect long enough for me to drop three nickles onto Jarell's spirit for the ferryman.
I latched onto a memory, something recent, where Jarell was seducing an older woman after a movie premiere. Her resemblance to Ezra was incredible. The same swell of her breasts, nearly the same eyes, the same curve of her hips. I helped him hold her hands while he told her about it. I helped Jarell realize that when he was going down on her in the back of his limousine, he was pretending it was his mother. That when he licked her from the base of her lips to her swollen clitoris, it was like a salmon returning home.
Ezra's mouth fell open, and her breathing grew shallow as she listened. Her eyes were frozen, fixed on mine, and the only thing that gave away her thoughts was the shape of her nipples poking through her dress. Jarell moved my hands to touch the skin under her neck, and the contact broke Ezra out of her trance. She moved to back away, but Jarell and I both caught her wrists, and we pulled her down close enough for our lips to touch. Ezra's tightened up at first, her muscles locking her jaw. We felt tears leaking between her eyelids, but after a breath, her resistance softened, and her clenched jaw relaxed. Our lips stayed pressed together, and as I drew in a breath, they parted just enough for our tongues to connect.
The softness of her tongue still lingers in my mind from time to time. It was like warm butter, but sweet, and it caused such a deep heat to boil between my legs. It made me hungry in a way that could never be satisfied. Jarell reached up to cup the back of her head, and then plunged his tongue into her mouth. He pressed her, pushing her limits to the edge, and shattered them. Ezra inhaled sharply, a hiss of air filled her nose as her back arched. She pulled away, but pressed her tongue into my mouth at the same time. Her body was like a tornado of conflicting sensations-- passion, fear, morality, decadence...
When Ezra finally managed to pull away long enough to breathe, Jarrel dove toward her neck. I tasted her skin, the light feel of her tendons beneath the surface. She melted against my mouth and groaned so softly that only my lips felt it. She swallowed hard, and suddenly jerked away, but we followed her, relentless. I watched myself crawl over the top of Jarrel's feet and grabbed Ezra's hands. "You can't tell me you don't want it, too."
"I-- " Ezra stared, but our mouths connected again. Tongues lashed at each other, and I felt the softness of her dress under my palm.
Her breasts swelled against my fingers as she pressed against my hands. Her thighs clenched together, and her own hands found the back of my head. We pressed together, inhaled sharply as our nipples grazed against each other through our bras. I could feel Jarell and I closing in on a single mind, our solitary goal. When our lips parted again, it was Ezra who lunged for my neck, and she murmured words in a language I couldn't understand. It was deep, rich with love, gris-gris, and passion. She cooed about Jarrel, about watching him grow into a fine man; it was longing laced with hints about her jealousy over his string of women he simply fucked and forgot.
Jarrel fought back with words, telling Ezra how each of those women reminded him of her. Their breasts were like the ones he suckled as a child, their nipples were as hard like Ezra's were now, and we kept pawing at each other. I felt her skin under my fingertips as Jarrel pushed past her neckline. I felt the edge of her lacy bra, the soft skin of her naked breast and then the hardened tip. Jarrel squeezed it between my fingertips, and I felt my own wetness leaking through my jeans. Jarrel pushed her back with more force than I could have managed alone, and together, we crawled up on top of her. Her knee rose up between my legs, and I arched my hips to grind against her. Ezra's wrists were pinned above her head, and my mouth found her neck again. Jarrel didn't linger there for long, and I felt my tongue trail down to the curve of her breasts. Ezra lost all sense of resistance and started begging for more.
When Jarrel let go of her hands and started pulling down Ezra's shoulder straps, I saw her hands clench in the shroud covering his body. She pulled it up over her face and sobbed as her bra came into view. Her nipples were erect, clear through the sheer material. Jarrel pulled her dress down to her waist, and my mouth descended to her chest again. Jarrel used me to lap at her, soaking her breasts through the cloth, leaving her tips glistening. She kept pushing up at me, making my clit throb against the cotton of my drenched panties. I soaked through, leaving a wet stain against her dress.
Her bra was pulled down, roughly, scraping against her chest so that when I dipped my head again, my tongue only felt pliant flesh. Her skin was hot, hotter than anything I'd ever tasted and There was no way I was going to stop until Ezra screamed for the end of the world. Jarrel and I were driven, almost perfectly focused. When Ezra gasped, the shroud sucked in over her mouth, and Jarrel became even more aggressive.
He shot me back and dropped us to the foot of the bed near her feet. She didn't look up and barely parted her thighs between sobs. I watched my hands lift the hem of her dress, and my breath caught as it rose to her thighs. I could smell her excitement. By the time the dress reached her waist, I could already see the delicate lace of her panties. I knew Ezra was beyond reason. Her passion and her remorse blurred to a melting point. Her wetness mirrored mine, and it coated everything and poured out of her like a fount. As Jarrel leaned in close, I smelled the lilacs again, and when finally I tasted her, I nearly had an orgasm of my own. She opened her legs wide enough for my head to dip between her thighs, almost clinically-- like a mother waiting to give birth, but the sound was anything but painful. She stopped crying long enough to start begging for Jarrel to come home, to make her feel him inside her again.
I lapped at her folds through the silk, and she gasped, arched her back, trying to feed me more of her. I slipped her panties aside and dove into her. Jarrel knew a lot more about pleasing women than I did, so I let him guide me in how we tasted his mother. I let him make her moan and writhe under my mouth. He didn't rush her to orgasm, but built her up slowly before letting her drift back down. Together we kissed and teased his mother's clit, making Ezra gasp, choking off a scream every time she closed in on her orgasm. When he finally pushed her over the top, he had me plunging my tongue as deep into her as I could, thrusting like a small cock. My fingers joined my mouth in teasing her opening. With a single finger at first, I toyed with her wetness, then added more as I spread her open. I turned my wrist and curled my fingers to rub against her g-spot. Her breathing got even more ragged when my tongue dipped low enough to tease the opening of Ezra's ass.
She started screaming through the shroud, coming in waves, and her thighs kept clenching around my ears. I forced my elbows between her legs to pin her open enough for me to lock my mouth against her. Jarrel had me drink from her; he pressed my face into her until I felt my nose graze against her clit while my lips nuzzled at her dripping folds. My cheeks were coated in her wetness, drenched in the scent of lilacs and passion. I felt her hands grip the back of my head, and her fingers tightened into fists in my hair. Ezra pulled me deeper into her and then pushed me away in alternating waves as her climaxes increased in frequency.
Ezra turned into an animal, unleashing years of forbidden desire under the careful ministrations of her son's intuition until her body couldn't take any more. I felt the moment I needed closing in, and I think Ezra sensed it, too, because even as she started to come down from her orgasmic high, her hands became less frenzied and more gentle. She stroked the sides of my head while I lapped at her, like a kitten. She began to hum, her thighs twitching, undulating to the rhythm of my mouth. The lullaby was sweet, Fais Dodo, and I felt Jarell's spirit gather at the front of my mind. Sadness swept into him. Between licks, I focused everything I had, all of my concentration, and I pushed his spirit away from me. He didn't resist as he was pulled into the ether, fading like his ancestors in the sunlight. There were no last words, no long goodbyes. I almost felt sorry for them, but I also felt overwhelmed by a lust I never knew existed. I'd be lying to you if I said I stopped drinking the lilacs. I tasted her for more than hour. I even let Ezra do the same to me, letting her reveal her darkest fantasies into my flesh. She licked secrets into my nipples, whispered her innermost demons into my clitoris while I came for her.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Photo courtesy of Maria opens up
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~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~Bloggers, please I Touch Myself Stunt Porn / People Porn
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Thoughts & Advice on Sex & RelationshipsAnorgasmia in women One Week On chatterbox Safe Craigslist Hookups Online Dating: How to Talk to People Stealth Sex Toys-Stash Management Last Longer In Bed For Men Naturally
Erotic Non-FictionSpicing Up Sex Life Gasp, Shake, Thank You Again and Again Fapping to My Photos and Stories Did you miss me? Desire….What happens when you can’t succumb? Off Balance On the Sofa The Solace of My Body Self Given Orgasms & Ice Cream Skid Marks
Sex News,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & HumorNasty Jacky au royaume des filles What makes a sex writer? Dubrovnik whore as metaphor 4 Balkan politics Am I Pretty or Ugly?
Erotic FictionLonely observations Fucking and Being Fucked The Churning Black, Part 4 A Return to Purpose Bang on Target! Polished Please My Night With Lilith
Writing About WritingWords That Shouldn't Be In Erotica Transhumanist Erotica: Jacked In
BloggingJust One Look
Thoughts and Advice on Kink and FetishThe Hotness Of Cockteasing A Guy In Chastity My eyes are over here Submissive Men 101 Facts Emotional Masochism The time I made him make me safeword
PoetryFrame Game - A Lusty Limerick
EventsDiana J Torres- Vagaculation Workshop