Copyright ©2007 by Crystal Barela
My nose was pressed to the window like a child’s at a pet store, eager to touch and hold. I had the same desire for the smooth gleam of patent leather and the pussy wetting stilettos.
Did I need another pair? My obsession with heels was getting expensive.
The sign on the shop door answered for me.
CLOSED.
I had taken two steps uptown when bells tinkled behind me. The woman who worked in the boutique waved me in with a flip of her cinnamon colored hair.
"Stella," her nametag read. She went directly to the pair I was lusting after.
Stiletto heel, five inches, in blood red with leg wrap.
I took a seat in one of the wingback chairs scattered about the shop.
Stella knelt at my feet.
The tissue paper crinkled.
My breath quickened.
A warm hand held my ankle lightly, while the other wriggled the shoe from my foot. Stella ran her fingers under my heel and arch, her thumb falling over the top of my foot.
“Beautiful color,” she said, warm breath tickling my desire.
The stiletto flashed as she slipped it onto my foot, the open toe framing my coral nails like a piece of art. Stella cris-crossed the long laces around my ankle. Her fingers skimmed my calf as she wrapped the length around my leg again and again.
My breath caught with every pass.
Stella tied the laces off in a bow just below my knee.
The shop worker’s palm slid down the back of my calf.
Satin to flesh, flesh to satin.
“Amazing legs,” she said.
Our eyes met.
Her tongue wet her lower lip, leaving it glossy, like a clit ripe with desire.
The ache between my legs grew.
Without breaking our gaze, Stella slipped the shoe from my other foot.
“Wear stockings?”
I shook my head.
Stella pulled a nude stocking from her pocket.
My leg lengthened as she pushed the silk over my toes and heel, spreading the sheer fabric from
calf to knee and knee to thigh, moving over my skin with dancing fingers.
Our eyes met.
My legs spread.
Stella rolled my white skirt to my waist. Her strong hands massaged my inner thighs.
Fingers touched panty. She pressed the fabric into me and it lingered in my juices.
My hungry kitty nudged her hand.
She pushed the silk aside and took the other stiletto from the box.
The toe of the shoe pressed against my mound in slow circles. I moaned, the heel teasing my hole.
With a twist of Stella’s wrist the heel wiggled into me. Hard and foreign.
I gasped, closing my eyes tightly.
Stella sucked my clit between her lips.
My wet walls embraced the unyielding heel.
Leather flavored juices wet Stella’s tongue as she fucked me with the heel.
My teeth sank into my lower lip and I twisted my nipple, arching.
Heat tightened my limbs.
I was still.
“Buy one pair, get the second half off,” Stella whispered.
“Sold.”
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Fame, Fortune and Hayden
Copyright © 2007 by Crystal Barela
Daisy stood at the top of the curved staircase that led into the marble foyer of John’s Malibu mansion waiting for Hayden Nickels to arrive. Daisy did not know how this had happened. How she had agreed to do and be all that John wanted of her. She wanted him in a way that had nothing to do with logical thought.
John was upstairs waiting. He was naked, his long lean rocker’s body hard with anticipation. He wasn’t alone. There were two cameramen, provided by the United States government, to film John’s wet dream.
Her lover wouldn’t tell her what he held over the president’s head. What bit of information he had used to extort the ten million dollar bank account, or the rock stardom that seemed to overtake their lives overnight, but it must be world changing for the white house to have arranged this life. Fame, fortune and Hayden.
The doorbell rang and Daisy cursed. She pushed her dark shoulder length hair behind her ears and hurried downstairs. Daisy pulled open the door.
Hayden was shorter than Daisy, but the blonde made up for that oversight with five inch patent leather stiletto heels. Daisy was curious at to what Hayden wore Johneath her black trench coat, but would not have allowed anyone to know her innermost thoughts. Waves of thick golden hair framed Hayden’s cheeks. Her blue eyes were like ice and her red lips turned in a tempting smile. Bitch.
“You are not to say one fucking word, Daisy, unless I ask you to,” were the first words out of Hayden’s mouth. “If you do, I will tell your sister what a cum slut you are.”
Hayden’s watched Daisy’s tan cheeks drain of color, causing the mole on her chin to appear black in contrast. The girl was pretty in a dramatic sort of way. Broad shoulders and slim with breasts roughly the size of cantaloupes. The simple white dress she was wearing added nothing to her figure. It skimmed her flat stomach and the curve of her hips letting her admirers anticipate what they would find Johneath. Hayden’s pussy was wet with immediate desire at the thought.
“Where is he, cunt?”
“Upstairs.”
“Let’s not dawdle then, shall we? I want to fuck your boyfriend.”
Daisy’s brown eyes darkened black with emotion, narrowing into angry slits. The girl said nothing though and turned to walk up the stairs. Hayden couldn’t help but notice how smooth Daisy’s caramel colored skin was, and the soft dark hairs on her forearms.
Hayden pushed past Daisy and burst into the bedroom, unbelting her coat as she went.
John gasped her name from the bed. Hayden raised her eyebrows. The fucker was naked, his huge prick waving at her from across the distance.
Not one to mince words or actions Hayden approached the bed. Daisy hovered in the doorway.
One of the cameramen woke from his shocked stupor and bounded forward. He knelt at her feet, as Hayden thought all men should, and aimed the camera up the length of her barely clothed body.
Hayden grabbed the end of the camera lens and brought it to her face. “Did I tell you to move boy?” she asked, tossing the cameraman from her. The short broad-shouldered man landed on his ass. “You shoot what I tell you to, when I say!”
“Yes mam!” he said, his camera captured the silky smooth length of leg in black stockings. The bare flesh of her slim thighs, lead to a neatly trimmed bush of blonde hair.
A natural blonde. John swallowed hard.
“I’ll call you Max,” she said. “I had a bulldog named Max I was quite fond of. And you will be Red, my freckled friend.” The other cameraman nodded.
The half corset accentuating her tiny waist and Max’s vantage point on the floor, he could see the wet lips of her glistening pussy.
“It will be worth your while to do what I say, boys.”
“Yes mam!” they said in unison.
“Red, you will be on Daisy,” Hayden said. She walked over to the taller woman and circled her. She eyed her from head to toe, a smile toying with her lips.
“Max, you will shoot everything I tell you to.”
“Yes mam.”
“Let’s start with this pervert’s huge cock.” Hayden refocused her attention to the reason she was in this hotel room. “Rock hard and ready for me,” she said, her eyes on the John’s erection. Her tongue swept her lower lip in anticipation.
“Have a seat,” she pushed Daisy onto the silk covered chaise against the wall. “Watch and learn whore.”
Daisy opened her mouth to protest, buy the look in Hayden’s eyes quelled what she had to say. Daisy twisted her long slender fingers in her lap.
“Now, Johnathon,” Hayden said. She climbed onto the bed with him. “Sisters aren’t enough for you big boy?” She took hold of John’s cock between her nimble fingers. “Now you’re collecting actresses?”
“Only you,” John gritted out. This was unbelievable.
“That’s right, handsome,” Hayden said. “Tell me what I want to hear.”
He groaned as she stroked his hard-on. His dick on fire.
“How do I know you won’t be fucking Scarlett Johansson next weekend?”
“Never!”
Hayden swung her leg over John’s waist and rocked back and forth. She gave the tip of his huge hard-on a bath with her dripping wet pussy lips. He groaned, his hands taking hold of her hips.
“I’ve been thinking about your boyfriend’s fat cock ever since the agent rang my house.”
“Max get a close-up of my snatch taking John’s dick.” Hayden slid down John’s length enveloping his hard-on in hot tight heat. The slick sound of Hayden’s juices were clearly audible from where Daisy sat. She crossed her legs to relive the ache growing in her sex.
“Feel how wet my cunt is?” Hayden began to ride. “Look at his face, Daisy. Your man like’s it when I squeeze his cock with my tight pussy.” Hayden moved her hips faster, her juices slurping. “Come close Daisy.” She beckoned, and Daisy walked over to the bed, Ray following close behind her.
“Christina fucked you like this, didn’t she?” Hayden said.
“Yes,” John gasped.
“But you were thinking of her baby sister, weren’t you?” Hayden said. “Fucking her sweet little sister with the innocent eyes and the sexy mole on her chin. Wondering what her hot fuck hole would feel like.”
“Yes.”
Hayden laughed and ground her hips into John’s.
“On the bed whore!” Hayden ordered.
Daisy climbed up on the bed and knelt beside Hayden.
“Kiss me.”
Daisy hesitated.
“Don’t think about it. Kiss me!”
Their lips met, not in a soft kiss, but mouths open. Tongues and teeth clashed. For a moment John thought he was going to blow too soon. The velvet vice on his cock and Daisy and Hayden making out on top of him was nearly too much. Hayden pulled away from Daisy and pressed the girl’s head between her breasts. “Suck me.”
Daisy kissed her way to Hayden’s nipple and sucked it thought the black lace that caressed the tender flesh.
“Harder!”
She bit and tugged, the nipple a hard nubbin in her mouth. Hayden moaned and pumped John’s cock. His hot cum moved closer and closer to the surface.
“You wanted them both, didn’t you John?” Hayden gasped, grinding her hips into his. “Wanted to fuck them together?”
“Yes.” His eyes were open and on Daisy as her lips slid down Hayden’s stomach, the back of her dark hair in contrast with Hayden’s smooth pale skin.
“Lick me slut!”
Daisy’s tongue circled the blonde’s naval and slipped lower. Hayden’s hand went to the back of Daisy’s neck and forced her face against her pussy.
“Suck my clit!”
Daisy sucked and John’s prick exploded, his hips lifting Hayden off the bed. She cried out as her orgasm tore through her. Her cunt squeezed his sensitive dick over and over.
“You’re a dirty girl Daisy,” Hayden said, climbing off of John and facing Daisy. “Nastier than your sister.” Hayden took Daisy’s head between her palms and leaned in lick Daisy’s lips wet with her cunt juice and John’s spunk. “Christina wouldn’t let another woman fuck her boyfriend,” she said. “Let a girl come on her face. What if I tell you sister?”
John could see the fear in Daisy’s trembling lips. The secret excitement in her up-turned eyes.
Hayden took Daisy’s wrist and lifted the taller girl’s arm so that her elbow was level to Hayden’s luscious lips.
“Red,” Hayden said, gesturing with her free arm for him to focus on Daisy’s elbow. The hair was long and soft at the Johnd of her arm. Hayden nuzzled the hair.
John groaned behind them.
“This sure is pretty,” Hayden said. She met John’s eyes over Daisy’s arm as her tongue combed the hair against the grain, catching in the soft strands. “I could fuck your arm.” Hayden sucked the hair between her lips. “I’d like to feel these hairs against my pussy.” She tugged the strands between her teeth. Her free hand to the zipper at the back of Daisy’s white dress.
“Your sister wouldn’t let a complete stranger undress her for her boyfriend’s sick amusement.” Hayden pulled the zipper down slowly revealing a triangle of smooth tanned skin that narrowed to a point below Daisy’s waist. “You’re sister would not be…” Hayden peeled back the neck and the dress fell from Daisy’s shoulders and caught at her elbows. “…as wet as you are now.”
“Smell that John?” Hayden asked. “That’s Daisy’s cunt.”
John sniffed. The scent of Daisy’s pussy made his dick twitch.
Hayden ordered Daisy to pull the dress over her shoulders and Daisy tossed it to the floor. Daisy turned to face John. She wore a white lace demi bra. Her breasts trembled in the cups from her excited breathing, daring to spill over the bits of lace.
“Get that camera in Daisy’s snatch.” Max dropped down on one knee between the two women. The heat from their wet pussies fogged the lens and he gestured for the other cameraman to take his place.
Hayden set her hand flat against Daisy’s stomach. She pushed the delicate waistband of her panties aside and revealed Daisy’s dark bush. Hayden slid her slender fingers between the wet folds of Daisy’s pussy lips.
“You’re a hot little whore.” Hayden said and brought her wet fingertips to Daisy’s lips and painted them with her juices.
Hayden brushed her lips against Daisy’s. Soft, the opposite of all that had happened in the room since she walked through the door. She licked and savored the tender flavor of her new lover’s juices. She pressed herself against Daisy. Tongue to tongue, breast to breast, and thigh to thigh. Her hands ran the length of Daisy’s back and unhooked her bra with a practiced twist of her wrist.
“Feed me your tits, slut,” she breathed. Daisy cupped her breasts in her hands and lifted them for Hayden’s attention. Hayden drew Daisy’s hard nipple between her lips and the girl moaned, swaying toward Hayden. The blonde circled the nipple with her tongue and said, “are your sister’s breasts this perfect?”
There was no answer.
“I asked a question.” Hayden said, licking a trail down Daisy’s flat stomach and around her belly button.
“No.”
Hayden laughed. “Egotistical cunt.”
Hayden pushed Daisy’s back onto the bed so that her head landed between John’s knees.
John watched, entranced, his hand on his cock, pumping.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Hayden reprimanded setting her hand over John’s. “Let Daisy help with that. Stoke his dick bitch!”
Daisy’s knelt between John’s legs and took hold of his engorged prick.
“Red, keep that camera on Daisy’s face. You!” Hayden said getting off the mattress and gesturing to the other cameraman. “Take off your pants.”
“Yes mam!” Max said.
Hayden turned back to the couple on the bed. “Tell John you’re a cum slut!”
Daisy’s pulled her hand up John’s length. “I’m…I’…”
“Say you’re a fucking cum slut!”
“I’m a cum slut!”
“A fucking cum slut!”
“I’m a fucking cum slut!”
“Ask him if you’re as good as your sister.”
“Am I as good as Christina?” Daisy whispered, finding a rhythm to her stroke.
“We can’t hear you whore!” Hayden said, kneeling in front of Max, who now had his camera up and rolling again.
“Do I stroke you better than my sister?”
John’s hips followed Daisy’s hand in answer.
“Give him you’re free arm, slut.” Hayden’s mouth enveloped Max’s cock.
Daisy offered her arm to John. He sucked her fingers one by one, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along her wrists. His lips and tongue lapped at her forearm, the soft strands seeming to tangle on his taste buds. He drew the skin deep in his mouth, sucking like a man drugged, bruising her tender flesh as Daisy whacked him off, his cock was huge, larger than he had ever been.
“Fuck him, cum slut!”
Daisy did not need further urging to spread her knees and straddle boyfriend. John’s hips burst forward, his hard cock not waiting for Daisy to get settled. Her sopping wet love tunnel left no resistance.
“Is her pussy tighter than Christina’s?”
“Fuck, yes.”
Daisy humped John’s cock in fast motion, squeezing his dick with each pass of her pussy. She wanted to come.
Her large breasts bounce beautifully. John reached up and massaged them.
“Red, you’re next,” Hayden gasped around Max’s prick. Red didn’t need to be told to drop his trousers.
Hayden came back over to the bed, Max following behind her. She hopped onto the bed behind Daisy and pressed close, slipping her hand along the crack of Daisy’s ass.
“No!” Daisy said, but her pussy squeezed John’s dick in a vice.
“No?” Hayden said wiggling a digit against the hole while the other reached around to tug her nipples in turn. “All sluts like it in the ass.” She twisted another finger in and Daisy moaned. “Nasty girl. I wish I’d brought my strap-on.” Hayden pumped her fingers. “I’d fuck that sweet little ass raw.” She pushed harder. “You’d beg me for it.”
Daisy’s cunt milked John as she was nearing her peak. They cried out in unison, about to cum.
Hayden laughed and pushed Daisy away from her boyfriend. All Daisy could do was watch as the actress took John’s dick between her lips.
“Your big cock tastes so good,” Hayden said between licks. “Covered in Daisy’s pussy juice.” With each flick of Hayden’s tongue, John moaned.
Hayden took the throbbing hardness in her palm and squeezed. John groaned as she aimed the turgid flesh at Daisy and hot cum exploded from the bulbous head. The sticky cream caught in Daisy’s eyelashes and hair. Landed in her gasping mouth.
Hayden reached a hand to Daisy’s face. She wiped the cum from the girl’s cheek and brought her dirty finger to her mouth. The cameramen zoomed in her slender fingers as she licked their length before placing them in her mouth to suck off John’s spunk in super slow motion.
Daisy lifted the sheet to wipe her face.
“Don’t touch it whore!” Hayden said. She got off the bed, pulling Daisy with her and forced the girl to her knees beside the bed.
“Give me the camera.” Max handed the camera to Hayden and she aimed the lens at Daisy’s face. Tears of frustration trembled on the girl’s lashes. Her breathing was ragged. She hadn’t cum yet.
“What is the definition of Cum slut?” Hayden asked. She circling Daisy as a tear rolled down her cheek. Daisy’s eyes were desperate.
“Do you know boys?” Hayden handed the camera to John.
“Yes mam,” the cameramen said together. “Daisy!”
Hayden clapped her hands together happily. “You boys deserve a treat.”
The cameramen’s erections were tremendous.
“I think you two deserve some relief. Don’t you Daisy?” Hayden knelt on the carpet next to the bed, her knees touching Daisy’s. “Give me your dicks boys.”
Red set his camera on the dresser and they stepped to either side of Hayden, dicks hard and ready.
For the first time all night, John moved from where he sat on the bed and aimed the camera at the scene below him.
Hayden took Max and Red’s cocks in her hands and began to jerk them off in unison. A talent John is impressed with.
“Ask me if you can touch your cunt.”
“Can I touch myself?” Daisy gasped.
“My cunt!”
“Can I touch my cunt?”
“Fuck yourself,” Hayden said.
Daisy twisted her fingers into her pussy and circled her clit. She closed her eyes, so close. So close.
“Open your eyes!”
Daisy did and Red’s cum hit her in the face.
“Mouth open, bitch!”
Max’s cum hit target, splashing Daisy’s tongue and lips.
“Swallow!”
The bitter mix of seed slipped down Daisy’s throat as she orgasms, her juices squirting her thighs.
The room was silent but for the heavy breathing of all involved.
“Perverts,” Hayden said taking the camera from John and removing the video tape. She walked over to the camera on the dresser and did the same.
“Those are mine,” John said from the bed.
“They need to be edited,” Hayden said. She picked up her trench from the floor and secured the belt around her waist. “Give me a couple days and I’ll send you a copy.
“I’m flying out to tour Europe tomorrow.”
“I’ll find you.” Hayden lowered her lips John’s in farewell. “Make me happy.”
“Yes.”
“Make Daisy, happy.”
“Yes.”
“Happier than you made her sister.”
John nodded and watched Hayden walk to the door with a sway of her hips. She turned back to them and said:
“I’ll send your copy to your sister, Daisy.” Daisy gasped and fell back on her calves as if slapped. “Maybe she’ll join us next time.”
Hayden shut the door behind her.
John grinned. Fame, fortune and Hayden. And Christina. And her baby sister Daisy.
Daisy stood at the top of the curved staircase that led into the marble foyer of John’s Malibu mansion waiting for Hayden Nickels to arrive. Daisy did not know how this had happened. How she had agreed to do and be all that John wanted of her. She wanted him in a way that had nothing to do with logical thought.
John was upstairs waiting. He was naked, his long lean rocker’s body hard with anticipation. He wasn’t alone. There were two cameramen, provided by the United States government, to film John’s wet dream.
Her lover wouldn’t tell her what he held over the president’s head. What bit of information he had used to extort the ten million dollar bank account, or the rock stardom that seemed to overtake their lives overnight, but it must be world changing for the white house to have arranged this life. Fame, fortune and Hayden.
The doorbell rang and Daisy cursed. She pushed her dark shoulder length hair behind her ears and hurried downstairs. Daisy pulled open the door.
Hayden was shorter than Daisy, but the blonde made up for that oversight with five inch patent leather stiletto heels. Daisy was curious at to what Hayden wore Johneath her black trench coat, but would not have allowed anyone to know her innermost thoughts. Waves of thick golden hair framed Hayden’s cheeks. Her blue eyes were like ice and her red lips turned in a tempting smile. Bitch.
“You are not to say one fucking word, Daisy, unless I ask you to,” were the first words out of Hayden’s mouth. “If you do, I will tell your sister what a cum slut you are.”
Hayden’s watched Daisy’s tan cheeks drain of color, causing the mole on her chin to appear black in contrast. The girl was pretty in a dramatic sort of way. Broad shoulders and slim with breasts roughly the size of cantaloupes. The simple white dress she was wearing added nothing to her figure. It skimmed her flat stomach and the curve of her hips letting her admirers anticipate what they would find Johneath. Hayden’s pussy was wet with immediate desire at the thought.
“Where is he, cunt?”
“Upstairs.”
“Let’s not dawdle then, shall we? I want to fuck your boyfriend.”
Daisy’s brown eyes darkened black with emotion, narrowing into angry slits. The girl said nothing though and turned to walk up the stairs. Hayden couldn’t help but notice how smooth Daisy’s caramel colored skin was, and the soft dark hairs on her forearms.
Hayden pushed past Daisy and burst into the bedroom, unbelting her coat as she went.
John gasped her name from the bed. Hayden raised her eyebrows. The fucker was naked, his huge prick waving at her from across the distance.
Not one to mince words or actions Hayden approached the bed. Daisy hovered in the doorway.
One of the cameramen woke from his shocked stupor and bounded forward. He knelt at her feet, as Hayden thought all men should, and aimed the camera up the length of her barely clothed body.
Hayden grabbed the end of the camera lens and brought it to her face. “Did I tell you to move boy?” she asked, tossing the cameraman from her. The short broad-shouldered man landed on his ass. “You shoot what I tell you to, when I say!”
“Yes mam!” he said, his camera captured the silky smooth length of leg in black stockings. The bare flesh of her slim thighs, lead to a neatly trimmed bush of blonde hair.
A natural blonde. John swallowed hard.
“I’ll call you Max,” she said. “I had a bulldog named Max I was quite fond of. And you will be Red, my freckled friend.” The other cameraman nodded.
The half corset accentuating her tiny waist and Max’s vantage point on the floor, he could see the wet lips of her glistening pussy.
“It will be worth your while to do what I say, boys.”
“Yes mam!” they said in unison.
“Red, you will be on Daisy,” Hayden said. She walked over to the taller woman and circled her. She eyed her from head to toe, a smile toying with her lips.
“Max, you will shoot everything I tell you to.”
“Yes mam.”
“Let’s start with this pervert’s huge cock.” Hayden refocused her attention to the reason she was in this hotel room. “Rock hard and ready for me,” she said, her eyes on the John’s erection. Her tongue swept her lower lip in anticipation.
“Have a seat,” she pushed Daisy onto the silk covered chaise against the wall. “Watch and learn whore.”
Daisy opened her mouth to protest, buy the look in Hayden’s eyes quelled what she had to say. Daisy twisted her long slender fingers in her lap.
“Now, Johnathon,” Hayden said. She climbed onto the bed with him. “Sisters aren’t enough for you big boy?” She took hold of John’s cock between her nimble fingers. “Now you’re collecting actresses?”
“Only you,” John gritted out. This was unbelievable.
“That’s right, handsome,” Hayden said. “Tell me what I want to hear.”
He groaned as she stroked his hard-on. His dick on fire.
“How do I know you won’t be fucking Scarlett Johansson next weekend?”
“Never!”
Hayden swung her leg over John’s waist and rocked back and forth. She gave the tip of his huge hard-on a bath with her dripping wet pussy lips. He groaned, his hands taking hold of her hips.
“I’ve been thinking about your boyfriend’s fat cock ever since the agent rang my house.”
“Max get a close-up of my snatch taking John’s dick.” Hayden slid down John’s length enveloping his hard-on in hot tight heat. The slick sound of Hayden’s juices were clearly audible from where Daisy sat. She crossed her legs to relive the ache growing in her sex.
“Feel how wet my cunt is?” Hayden began to ride. “Look at his face, Daisy. Your man like’s it when I squeeze his cock with my tight pussy.” Hayden moved her hips faster, her juices slurping. “Come close Daisy.” She beckoned, and Daisy walked over to the bed, Ray following close behind her.
“Christina fucked you like this, didn’t she?” Hayden said.
“Yes,” John gasped.
“But you were thinking of her baby sister, weren’t you?” Hayden said. “Fucking her sweet little sister with the innocent eyes and the sexy mole on her chin. Wondering what her hot fuck hole would feel like.”
“Yes.”
Hayden laughed and ground her hips into John’s.
“On the bed whore!” Hayden ordered.
Daisy climbed up on the bed and knelt beside Hayden.
“Kiss me.”
Daisy hesitated.
“Don’t think about it. Kiss me!”
Their lips met, not in a soft kiss, but mouths open. Tongues and teeth clashed. For a moment John thought he was going to blow too soon. The velvet vice on his cock and Daisy and Hayden making out on top of him was nearly too much. Hayden pulled away from Daisy and pressed the girl’s head between her breasts. “Suck me.”
Daisy kissed her way to Hayden’s nipple and sucked it thought the black lace that caressed the tender flesh.
“Harder!”
She bit and tugged, the nipple a hard nubbin in her mouth. Hayden moaned and pumped John’s cock. His hot cum moved closer and closer to the surface.
“You wanted them both, didn’t you John?” Hayden gasped, grinding her hips into his. “Wanted to fuck them together?”
“Yes.” His eyes were open and on Daisy as her lips slid down Hayden’s stomach, the back of her dark hair in contrast with Hayden’s smooth pale skin.
“Lick me slut!”
Daisy’s tongue circled the blonde’s naval and slipped lower. Hayden’s hand went to the back of Daisy’s neck and forced her face against her pussy.
“Suck my clit!”
Daisy sucked and John’s prick exploded, his hips lifting Hayden off the bed. She cried out as her orgasm tore through her. Her cunt squeezed his sensitive dick over and over.
“You’re a dirty girl Daisy,” Hayden said, climbing off of John and facing Daisy. “Nastier than your sister.” Hayden took Daisy’s head between her palms and leaned in lick Daisy’s lips wet with her cunt juice and John’s spunk. “Christina wouldn’t let another woman fuck her boyfriend,” she said. “Let a girl come on her face. What if I tell you sister?”
John could see the fear in Daisy’s trembling lips. The secret excitement in her up-turned eyes.
Hayden took Daisy’s wrist and lifted the taller girl’s arm so that her elbow was level to Hayden’s luscious lips.
“Red,” Hayden said, gesturing with her free arm for him to focus on Daisy’s elbow. The hair was long and soft at the Johnd of her arm. Hayden nuzzled the hair.
John groaned behind them.
“This sure is pretty,” Hayden said. She met John’s eyes over Daisy’s arm as her tongue combed the hair against the grain, catching in the soft strands. “I could fuck your arm.” Hayden sucked the hair between her lips. “I’d like to feel these hairs against my pussy.” She tugged the strands between her teeth. Her free hand to the zipper at the back of Daisy’s white dress.
“Your sister wouldn’t let a complete stranger undress her for her boyfriend’s sick amusement.” Hayden pulled the zipper down slowly revealing a triangle of smooth tanned skin that narrowed to a point below Daisy’s waist. “You’re sister would not be…” Hayden peeled back the neck and the dress fell from Daisy’s shoulders and caught at her elbows. “…as wet as you are now.”
“Smell that John?” Hayden asked. “That’s Daisy’s cunt.”
John sniffed. The scent of Daisy’s pussy made his dick twitch.
Hayden ordered Daisy to pull the dress over her shoulders and Daisy tossed it to the floor. Daisy turned to face John. She wore a white lace demi bra. Her breasts trembled in the cups from her excited breathing, daring to spill over the bits of lace.
“Get that camera in Daisy’s snatch.” Max dropped down on one knee between the two women. The heat from their wet pussies fogged the lens and he gestured for the other cameraman to take his place.
Hayden set her hand flat against Daisy’s stomach. She pushed the delicate waistband of her panties aside and revealed Daisy’s dark bush. Hayden slid her slender fingers between the wet folds of Daisy’s pussy lips.
“You’re a hot little whore.” Hayden said and brought her wet fingertips to Daisy’s lips and painted them with her juices.
Hayden brushed her lips against Daisy’s. Soft, the opposite of all that had happened in the room since she walked through the door. She licked and savored the tender flavor of her new lover’s juices. She pressed herself against Daisy. Tongue to tongue, breast to breast, and thigh to thigh. Her hands ran the length of Daisy’s back and unhooked her bra with a practiced twist of her wrist.
“Feed me your tits, slut,” she breathed. Daisy cupped her breasts in her hands and lifted them for Hayden’s attention. Hayden drew Daisy’s hard nipple between her lips and the girl moaned, swaying toward Hayden. The blonde circled the nipple with her tongue and said, “are your sister’s breasts this perfect?”
There was no answer.
“I asked a question.” Hayden said, licking a trail down Daisy’s flat stomach and around her belly button.
“No.”
Hayden laughed. “Egotistical cunt.”
Hayden pushed Daisy’s back onto the bed so that her head landed between John’s knees.
John watched, entranced, his hand on his cock, pumping.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Hayden reprimanded setting her hand over John’s. “Let Daisy help with that. Stoke his dick bitch!”
Daisy’s knelt between John’s legs and took hold of his engorged prick.
“Red, keep that camera on Daisy’s face. You!” Hayden said getting off the mattress and gesturing to the other cameraman. “Take off your pants.”
“Yes mam!” Max said.
Hayden turned back to the couple on the bed. “Tell John you’re a cum slut!”
Daisy’s pulled her hand up John’s length. “I’m…I’…”
“Say you’re a fucking cum slut!”
“I’m a cum slut!”
“A fucking cum slut!”
“I’m a fucking cum slut!”
“Ask him if you’re as good as your sister.”
“Am I as good as Christina?” Daisy whispered, finding a rhythm to her stroke.
“We can’t hear you whore!” Hayden said, kneeling in front of Max, who now had his camera up and rolling again.
“Do I stroke you better than my sister?”
John’s hips followed Daisy’s hand in answer.
“Give him you’re free arm, slut.” Hayden’s mouth enveloped Max’s cock.
Daisy offered her arm to John. He sucked her fingers one by one, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along her wrists. His lips and tongue lapped at her forearm, the soft strands seeming to tangle on his taste buds. He drew the skin deep in his mouth, sucking like a man drugged, bruising her tender flesh as Daisy whacked him off, his cock was huge, larger than he had ever been.
“Fuck him, cum slut!”
Daisy did not need further urging to spread her knees and straddle boyfriend. John’s hips burst forward, his hard cock not waiting for Daisy to get settled. Her sopping wet love tunnel left no resistance.
“Is her pussy tighter than Christina’s?”
“Fuck, yes.”
Daisy humped John’s cock in fast motion, squeezing his dick with each pass of her pussy. She wanted to come.
Her large breasts bounce beautifully. John reached up and massaged them.
“Red, you’re next,” Hayden gasped around Max’s prick. Red didn’t need to be told to drop his trousers.
Hayden came back over to the bed, Max following behind her. She hopped onto the bed behind Daisy and pressed close, slipping her hand along the crack of Daisy’s ass.
“No!” Daisy said, but her pussy squeezed John’s dick in a vice.
“No?” Hayden said wiggling a digit against the hole while the other reached around to tug her nipples in turn. “All sluts like it in the ass.” She twisted another finger in and Daisy moaned. “Nasty girl. I wish I’d brought my strap-on.” Hayden pumped her fingers. “I’d fuck that sweet little ass raw.” She pushed harder. “You’d beg me for it.”
Daisy’s cunt milked John as she was nearing her peak. They cried out in unison, about to cum.
Hayden laughed and pushed Daisy away from her boyfriend. All Daisy could do was watch as the actress took John’s dick between her lips.
“Your big cock tastes so good,” Hayden said between licks. “Covered in Daisy’s pussy juice.” With each flick of Hayden’s tongue, John moaned.
Hayden took the throbbing hardness in her palm and squeezed. John groaned as she aimed the turgid flesh at Daisy and hot cum exploded from the bulbous head. The sticky cream caught in Daisy’s eyelashes and hair. Landed in her gasping mouth.
Hayden reached a hand to Daisy’s face. She wiped the cum from the girl’s cheek and brought her dirty finger to her mouth. The cameramen zoomed in her slender fingers as she licked their length before placing them in her mouth to suck off John’s spunk in super slow motion.
Daisy lifted the sheet to wipe her face.
“Don’t touch it whore!” Hayden said. She got off the bed, pulling Daisy with her and forced the girl to her knees beside the bed.
“Give me the camera.” Max handed the camera to Hayden and she aimed the lens at Daisy’s face. Tears of frustration trembled on the girl’s lashes. Her breathing was ragged. She hadn’t cum yet.
“What is the definition of Cum slut?” Hayden asked. She circling Daisy as a tear rolled down her cheek. Daisy’s eyes were desperate.
“Do you know boys?” Hayden handed the camera to John.
“Yes mam,” the cameramen said together. “Daisy!”
Hayden clapped her hands together happily. “You boys deserve a treat.”
The cameramen’s erections were tremendous.
“I think you two deserve some relief. Don’t you Daisy?” Hayden knelt on the carpet next to the bed, her knees touching Daisy’s. “Give me your dicks boys.”
Red set his camera on the dresser and they stepped to either side of Hayden, dicks hard and ready.
For the first time all night, John moved from where he sat on the bed and aimed the camera at the scene below him.
Hayden took Max and Red’s cocks in her hands and began to jerk them off in unison. A talent John is impressed with.
“Ask me if you can touch your cunt.”
“Can I touch myself?” Daisy gasped.
“My cunt!”
“Can I touch my cunt?”
“Fuck yourself,” Hayden said.
Daisy twisted her fingers into her pussy and circled her clit. She closed her eyes, so close. So close.
“Open your eyes!”
Daisy did and Red’s cum hit her in the face.
“Mouth open, bitch!”
Max’s cum hit target, splashing Daisy’s tongue and lips.
“Swallow!”
The bitter mix of seed slipped down Daisy’s throat as she orgasms, her juices squirting her thighs.
The room was silent but for the heavy breathing of all involved.
“Perverts,” Hayden said taking the camera from John and removing the video tape. She walked over to the camera on the dresser and did the same.
“Those are mine,” John said from the bed.
“They need to be edited,” Hayden said. She picked up her trench from the floor and secured the belt around her waist. “Give me a couple days and I’ll send you a copy.
“I’m flying out to tour Europe tomorrow.”
“I’ll find you.” Hayden lowered her lips John’s in farewell. “Make me happy.”
“Yes.”
“Make Daisy, happy.”
“Yes.”
“Happier than you made her sister.”
John nodded and watched Hayden walk to the door with a sway of her hips. She turned back to them and said:
“I’ll send your copy to your sister, Daisy.” Daisy gasped and fell back on her calves as if slapped. “Maybe she’ll join us next time.”
Hayden shut the door behind her.
John grinned. Fame, fortune and Hayden. And Christina. And her baby sister Daisy.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Water In the Bowl
Copyright © 2007 by Crystal Barela
I was standing in the water. Standing in the bowl. An oval shaped full-length mirror trimmed in delicately carved mahogany reflected the length of my nude body. My ankles and feet could not be seen. They were blocked from view by the rim of the white porcelain bowl. The diameter of the basin was just wide enough for the length of my feet from heel to toes.
Earlier, Mistress had taken off her jacket and hung it from a gold hook on the back of the door. She removed her studded cufflinks and put them in her vest pocket, then folded the sleeves of her pressed white blouse to her elbows. The crisp line of my Mistress’s black trousers broke when she squatted behind me, a steaming jug of hot water in her hands.
Now, she tipped the pitcher of water and the wet heat spread around the seam of my feet. The liquid squeezed between my toes and swam over the arch of my foot. It pooled around my ankles and rose up my lower calves with a soft swish. All skin below the water bloomed to a delicate pink.
Mistress took the sea sponge next to the basin and dipped into the water. She pressed the sponge against the back of my knee and the hot water warmed its way back to the bowl. The drip of the water was the only sound in the room. Sponge to thigh and stomach. Sponge to back and ass. Water lingered on the fine hairs that trailed from my navel and lower.
I would have closed my eyes to focus on the sensations, but Mistress would not be pleased. She liked my eyes open, watching her hands on my body, the dark red of her nails in contrast with my pale skin. Seeing the rivulets of water caress my body held me in a mental prison, unable to express my desire, but literally bathed in it.
With one hand, Mistress took the length of my long black hair and pulled the soft strands to one shoulder. She pressed the wet sponge to my collar bone and the warm water spread in tiny streams down my torso. The wetness caught in the puckered wrinkle of one dark nipple, before traveling to the hollow of my navel. She brought the sponge up again and the water rushed between my small breasts and down across my belly into the dark hairs covering her sacred treasure.
The sponge was an extension of Mistress’s hand and she ran it over every inch of my body, my breath quickening as I fought not to move or tip the bowl. She stood behind me, the darkness of her pants and vest strengthening my silhouette. The gentle curve of my hip made more womanly by the sharp lines of her dress.
Mistress brought her arm around my waist and pressed the sponge between my legs, against the moist heat gathered there, and lingered at my center. She watched my eye color change from soft gray to blue with my rising desire.
She slid the sponge along my slit until it pressed against my aching hole. Mistress twisted her hand back and forth, her thumb rubbing my clit as the soft buffer was forced inside me.
My mistress took a step back to admire her work. The ochre spotted thing sprouting from my bush like an exotic mushroom.
Mistress stepped behind me, close enough to ruin the careful ironing of her suit. She reached between my thighs and drove the sponge further inside me. Not two fingers, but all of them, thrust against my pussy.
My control snapped. I humped her hand uncontrollably.
“Filthy cunt,” my Mistress whispered. The sound of her voice was a tonic.
I ground my fuckhole on her fist. Wanting her in me. Mistress twisted her knuckles until the sponge and her hand took up all room in my body. I was crying. Emotion overwhelmed me. She pressed into me again and again, my wet box pulling her deep inside.
My Mistress pulled the sponge free. I came hard and desperate. My weak knees wobbled the bowl.
“Take hold of the mirror.” There was no emotion in her voice.
My fingers gripped the wooden frame, careful not to spill the water from the bowl. The sound of her fly being unzipped nearly made me press back against her.
Mistress always took me from behind.
The silky length of my black hair was wrapped around her fingers. She yanked my head back and pressed the sponge in my mouth. My thick scent clogged my nostrils and coated my tongue.
It was hard to breathe.
Mistress rubbed the length of her strap-on dick along the crack of my ass. I cooled my cheek against the glass in front of me, eyes wide open. Her cock was big but I was wet—more than wet and she had no trouble sliding into the back of my womb. Mistress was still, her breath hot on my neck. She pushed her hand between us. Her thumb pressed my anus and I nearly came again. She wiggled the digit into the hole. Never had she touched me there. Even though I wanted Mistress in there, fear clenched my ass cheeks tight.
The water in the bowl sloshed in danger of wetting the floor.
The sound of Mistress’s hand coming down on my hip was like a door slamming in the room.
I bit down on the sponge hard, my juices dribbling down my throat and chin.
The water in the bowl settled.
Mistress pulled her big rubber dick from cunt. The thick knob pressed against my back door. Instinct said no. But my body always wanted my mistress in me. Her tool hurt, the pain ripping the nerve endings around my sphincter. Tears wet my cheeks but still my ass pressed back against her. Mistress’s cock thrust through.
My body felt backward, like my insides were outside and the layers of my skin were on fire. I looked over my shoulder and Mistress met my eyes. I nodded.
She slammed into my ass with a swift stroke.
I stumbled, the water in the bowl sloshing onto the floor.
My heart fell into my stomach and my eyes shot to my Mistress’s. I couldn’t help it, my eyes pleaded!
Mistress punished me, fucking me like I took it from behind every day, every hour, every minute.
The bowl wobbled and tipped, water spreading across the shiny bamboo in all directions.
The mirror shook and I held on for dear life. My body pulsed and my clit was a hard pearl of aching need.
Mistress pulled free.
I dropped to my knees.
The sound of the bowl rolling across the floor echoed in the room; the circular waves of the porcelain came to a stop. It was the only sound I could hear over the pounding of my heart.
“Turn around!” she said. Mistress was angrier than I had ever seen her.
Even though I never faced her, only saw her reflection in the mirror in front of me, I turned slowly on my hands and knees. Mistress had her cock in her hand and she was stroking the black rubber. With every pass of her hand the swollen head of the hard dick passed through her fingers.
I wanted her swollen flesh. Her hard desire to press the back of my throat. My tongue ached.
My lips trembled. But she didn’t give me what I wanted, she didn’t come closer. I rose to my knees, mouth watering.
With a twist of her wrist, Mistress unsnapped the harness and came in a wet stream. The heat of her wet juices slapped me in the face and made my pussy cream. I was shocked. Mistress made a mess in front of me. She liked her space, her fucking to be clean and orderly. Controlled.
Mistress returned her clothing to their previous order. Her fingers trembled slightly when she helped me rise.
“Fill the bowl.”
Eyes down, I did what I was bid and returned the soapy hot water to its home in front of the mirror. I stepped inside the liquid and looked at my reflection.
My normally smooth hair was matted with my Mistress’s come and my eyeliner in black streams beneath my eyes. The sponge poked obscenely from between my lips.
Mistress gently removed the sponge and walked over to the sink. She rinsed it several time before returning. Mistress bent and soaked the sponge.
“Close your eyes.”
I did. Mistress gently wiped my eyes and cheeks clean. With careful strokes she bathed my soul. She placed a soft kiss on my forehead and left me standing in the water. Standing in the bowl.
I was standing in the water. Standing in the bowl. An oval shaped full-length mirror trimmed in delicately carved mahogany reflected the length of my nude body. My ankles and feet could not be seen. They were blocked from view by the rim of the white porcelain bowl. The diameter of the basin was just wide enough for the length of my feet from heel to toes.
Earlier, Mistress had taken off her jacket and hung it from a gold hook on the back of the door. She removed her studded cufflinks and put them in her vest pocket, then folded the sleeves of her pressed white blouse to her elbows. The crisp line of my Mistress’s black trousers broke when she squatted behind me, a steaming jug of hot water in her hands.
Now, she tipped the pitcher of water and the wet heat spread around the seam of my feet. The liquid squeezed between my toes and swam over the arch of my foot. It pooled around my ankles and rose up my lower calves with a soft swish. All skin below the water bloomed to a delicate pink.
Mistress took the sea sponge next to the basin and dipped into the water. She pressed the sponge against the back of my knee and the hot water warmed its way back to the bowl. The drip of the water was the only sound in the room. Sponge to thigh and stomach. Sponge to back and ass. Water lingered on the fine hairs that trailed from my navel and lower.
I would have closed my eyes to focus on the sensations, but Mistress would not be pleased. She liked my eyes open, watching her hands on my body, the dark red of her nails in contrast with my pale skin. Seeing the rivulets of water caress my body held me in a mental prison, unable to express my desire, but literally bathed in it.
With one hand, Mistress took the length of my long black hair and pulled the soft strands to one shoulder. She pressed the wet sponge to my collar bone and the warm water spread in tiny streams down my torso. The wetness caught in the puckered wrinkle of one dark nipple, before traveling to the hollow of my navel. She brought the sponge up again and the water rushed between my small breasts and down across my belly into the dark hairs covering her sacred treasure.
The sponge was an extension of Mistress’s hand and she ran it over every inch of my body, my breath quickening as I fought not to move or tip the bowl. She stood behind me, the darkness of her pants and vest strengthening my silhouette. The gentle curve of my hip made more womanly by the sharp lines of her dress.
Mistress brought her arm around my waist and pressed the sponge between my legs, against the moist heat gathered there, and lingered at my center. She watched my eye color change from soft gray to blue with my rising desire.
She slid the sponge along my slit until it pressed against my aching hole. Mistress twisted her hand back and forth, her thumb rubbing my clit as the soft buffer was forced inside me.
My mistress took a step back to admire her work. The ochre spotted thing sprouting from my bush like an exotic mushroom.
Mistress stepped behind me, close enough to ruin the careful ironing of her suit. She reached between my thighs and drove the sponge further inside me. Not two fingers, but all of them, thrust against my pussy.
My control snapped. I humped her hand uncontrollably.
“Filthy cunt,” my Mistress whispered. The sound of her voice was a tonic.
I ground my fuckhole on her fist. Wanting her in me. Mistress twisted her knuckles until the sponge and her hand took up all room in my body. I was crying. Emotion overwhelmed me. She pressed into me again and again, my wet box pulling her deep inside.
My Mistress pulled the sponge free. I came hard and desperate. My weak knees wobbled the bowl.
“Take hold of the mirror.” There was no emotion in her voice.
My fingers gripped the wooden frame, careful not to spill the water from the bowl. The sound of her fly being unzipped nearly made me press back against her.
Mistress always took me from behind.
The silky length of my black hair was wrapped around her fingers. She yanked my head back and pressed the sponge in my mouth. My thick scent clogged my nostrils and coated my tongue.
It was hard to breathe.
Mistress rubbed the length of her strap-on dick along the crack of my ass. I cooled my cheek against the glass in front of me, eyes wide open. Her cock was big but I was wet—more than wet and she had no trouble sliding into the back of my womb. Mistress was still, her breath hot on my neck. She pushed her hand between us. Her thumb pressed my anus and I nearly came again. She wiggled the digit into the hole. Never had she touched me there. Even though I wanted Mistress in there, fear clenched my ass cheeks tight.
The water in the bowl sloshed in danger of wetting the floor.
The sound of Mistress’s hand coming down on my hip was like a door slamming in the room.
I bit down on the sponge hard, my juices dribbling down my throat and chin.
The water in the bowl settled.
Mistress pulled her big rubber dick from cunt. The thick knob pressed against my back door. Instinct said no. But my body always wanted my mistress in me. Her tool hurt, the pain ripping the nerve endings around my sphincter. Tears wet my cheeks but still my ass pressed back against her. Mistress’s cock thrust through.
My body felt backward, like my insides were outside and the layers of my skin were on fire. I looked over my shoulder and Mistress met my eyes. I nodded.
She slammed into my ass with a swift stroke.
I stumbled, the water in the bowl sloshing onto the floor.
My heart fell into my stomach and my eyes shot to my Mistress’s. I couldn’t help it, my eyes pleaded!
Mistress punished me, fucking me like I took it from behind every day, every hour, every minute.
The bowl wobbled and tipped, water spreading across the shiny bamboo in all directions.
The mirror shook and I held on for dear life. My body pulsed and my clit was a hard pearl of aching need.
Mistress pulled free.
I dropped to my knees.
The sound of the bowl rolling across the floor echoed in the room; the circular waves of the porcelain came to a stop. It was the only sound I could hear over the pounding of my heart.
“Turn around!” she said. Mistress was angrier than I had ever seen her.
Even though I never faced her, only saw her reflection in the mirror in front of me, I turned slowly on my hands and knees. Mistress had her cock in her hand and she was stroking the black rubber. With every pass of her hand the swollen head of the hard dick passed through her fingers.
I wanted her swollen flesh. Her hard desire to press the back of my throat. My tongue ached.
My lips trembled. But she didn’t give me what I wanted, she didn’t come closer. I rose to my knees, mouth watering.
With a twist of her wrist, Mistress unsnapped the harness and came in a wet stream. The heat of her wet juices slapped me in the face and made my pussy cream. I was shocked. Mistress made a mess in front of me. She liked her space, her fucking to be clean and orderly. Controlled.
Mistress returned her clothing to their previous order. Her fingers trembled slightly when she helped me rise.
“Fill the bowl.”
Eyes down, I did what I was bid and returned the soapy hot water to its home in front of the mirror. I stepped inside the liquid and looked at my reflection.
My normally smooth hair was matted with my Mistress’s come and my eyeliner in black streams beneath my eyes. The sponge poked obscenely from between my lips.
Mistress gently removed the sponge and walked over to the sink. She rinsed it several time before returning. Mistress bent and soaked the sponge.
“Close your eyes.”
I did. Mistress gently wiped my eyes and cheeks clean. With careful strokes she bathed my soul. She placed a soft kiss on my forehead and left me standing in the water. Standing in the bowl.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Dressing A Diva
Copyright © 2006 by Crystal Barela
“She’s late.” Christina was not one to wait around for ego inflated divas. Even if she was Tatiana Marci.
“Please Ms. Reynolds,” the producer said, on his feet and clutching at my arm as I loaded my sewing box. “I am sure she will be here any moment. Ms. Marci is a very important…”
“Save it, Dillon,” Christina said. “I have designed and fit more than one hundred costumes for this production and every one of the other actors has managed to show up for fittings.” She shrugged the strap of her sewing box over her shoulder and pulled her tweed newsboy cap low over her eyes. “There are only two weeks until opening night and she has more than a dozen costume changes.”
“Yes, but…”
“No amount of talent is worth dealing with this bullshit.” Christina hadn’t slept in more than three days. The glasses perched on her nose couldn’t disguise her red rimmed eyes or the slump of her shoulders.
“Please her assistant said…”
“Tell her assistant that Ms. Marci better get down on her knees if she wants me to finish her costumes.” Christina walked out of the fitting room and down the dark hall backstage, pulling on her gloves as she went. She’d never even met Tatiana, and quite frankly, after the past eight weeks of pre-production, she had no desire to.
Every last ounce of admiration for that angel’s voice had evaporated after months of fittings and sewing without her showing up. Apparently, everything but looking fabulous on stage was important to Ms. Marci. Christina tightened her scarf around her neck and she picked up her pace.
Time Square was busy, the theater crowd having just been wowed by Broadway’s stage talent. The billboards stared down at her selling underwear and booze, while taxi’s whizzed by, splashing slush on her boots. Still, in the bitter cold, card tables decorated the corners selling “I Love NY” t-shirts and socks by the dozen. Christina was stopped half a dozen times by guys selling Rolex knock-offs, pirated DVDs, Rayban sunglasses, Yves St. Laurent bags, and designer perfumes.
Christina only lived three blocks from the theater district, in a forth floor walk up. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, looked up at the steps with a sigh, and began to climb. This was getting old, real old and she just did not feel like putting up with this anymore. The stairs, the stage, the pace. Go, go, go!
It’s true what they say, with success comes a fucking headache. Christina took the last few stairs, rounded the corner, when someone stepped from the shadows of the hall.
“Mr. Dillon, said you’d be here.”
“Christ! Fuck!” Christina said, stumbling against the stair rail.
There she was, the stage diva herself--dressed entirely in white. The woman was definitely mad. White and New York winters did not go well together.
“What do you want?” Christina walked past her and put her key in the lock.
“My fitting.”
Christina snorted and shouldered her way through the door, attempting to shut it behind her, but Ms. Marci wedged her Gucci clutch purse in the door jam.
“The fitting was an hour ago.”
“I was tied up…”
“And held for ransom?”
Tatiana’s mouth hung open.
“Because that is the only way I’m going to work with you on this project.”
“Miss Reynolds, you are being…”
“A tired annoyed bitch?” She tossed her sewing box onto the small red loveseat in the living room and pulled off her hat.
“But there are only two weeks…”
“You should have thought of that before you wasted hours of my time.” Christina threw her coat on the couch and then bent over to remove her wet boots. “We have made more than a dozen appointments, all to your specifications, and you have not managed to show up for one of them.”
She stood and unzipped her jeans. “Nor have you felt in necessary to call and reschedule after numerous phone calls.”
“I’ve been…”
“Yeah, busy…I get it.” Christina pulled her turtleneck over her head. “I’m busy too and you don’t give a fuck.”
“Christina…”
“You know the way out.” Christina turned and walked down the hall, shimmying out of her jeans as she went.
“You can’t do this!” Tatiana cried, her voice muffled by the black turtleneck being pulled over
Christina’s head. The actress grabbed Christina’s arm as she whipped the sweater across the space of her bedroom.
“Check my contract!” Christina said shrugging off her hand.
Tatiana was breathing heavy, the stole hugging her shoulders sliding to one side. Her eyes were ice blue and staring. The expression on the actresses face would have been exciting under different circumstances.
Lust. The bloom of color in the actress’s cheeks, the swipe of her tongue on her full pout.
Christina laughed, looking down at her non-existent breasts, long john covered legs and wool toe socks. She removed the scrunchy from her hair and let it fall around her shoulders in a cascade of rich chocolate.
The actress removed her stole and began to undo the line of tiny pearl buttons running down the front of her shirt, revealing a white lace camisole.
“I promise to make it worth your while,” Tatiana breathed.
Confident. Beautiful.
The actress took the two steps separating them, close enough for Christina to smell White Diamonds on the other woman’s skin and the cocktail on her breath.
“Fuck off!” Christina turned and slammed the bedroom door behind her.
***
When Christina walked into the theatre dressing room the next day she was greeted by the largest bouquet of red roses she had ever seen.
“Who’d you fuck?” her assistant Jackie asked, accompanied by the whiz of the sewing machine.
“As if I have time for a sex life,” Christina said, setting her sewing kit on the vanity table and searching for the card amongst the dozens of blooms. She loved flowers. Even when she had been broke she would manage to scrape together enough money to purchase a bouquet once a week.
Beauty before food had been her motto in college.
“I’d be your fuck buddy if you let me,” Jackie said, batting her eyes. She came up behind Christina and wrapped her arms around the costumer’s waist. “That’s my favorite kind of sex.”
Jackie’s hands slid up Christina’s rib cage and gave her breasts a soft massage.
“Hmmmm, and you could teach me a thing or two,” Christina said her nipples hardening into tight little knots as she pulled the card from the envelope.
“It’s the least I could do,” Jackie said, pushing aside Christina’s pony-tail to nibble on her neck.
“After all you’ve taught me about sewing.”
“Fuck!”
“With pleasure,” Jackie said, one of her hands sliding down to the waistband of Christina’s pants.
“No,” Christina laughed pulling away. “The flowers are from Tatiana.” She took a seat at the
vanity and put her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hands. She could feel a migraine coming on.
“ ‘Let me make up for last night. Dinner at six. T.,’” Jackie read. “What happened last night?”
“I told the star of the show to fuck herself.”
Jackie snorted. “Let me guess. You have no measurements for me?”
“Just go with the numbers her manager gave us,” Christina said. “I’ve already made the patterns. Cut, sew, and we’ll pin her up as she heads out onto stage. Screw perfection!”
“You called?” Tatiana said from the doorway, her white ensemble replaced by an equally rich fire engine red faux fur and ass hugging slacks. Jean Paul Guatier had a hand in this look. Straight from the pages of the December issue of Vogue on newsstands now. “You had your chance last night, but I’m flexible Ms. Reynolds.” Tatiana winked. “Champagne and strawberries can be arranged.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Christina wanted to scream, to hit something.
“I’m here darling,” Tatina said removing her fur reveal a matching sheer blouse and no bra. She picked up a yellow measuring tape from the sewing table. “Measure me.”
“I’ll do that!” Jackie said taking the tape from the actress’s hand. “Why don’t you run down and get some coffee, Christina.”
***
The coffee burned its way down Christina’s throat and gurgled in her stomach. Christina chased the hot liquid with a couple of Tums. The frigid air whipped around the corner of the theater, but she refused to return to the dressing room. It was childish, she knew, but that damn woman was driving her mad. She took another strengthening sip.
“I really am sorry,” Tatiana said from behind Christina.
The brunette cursed and dropped her cup onto the pavement. “Will you stop fucking doing that!”
“You like that word don’t you?” Tatiana picked up the cup and walked to the corner, depositing in the waste basket. She would be short if it weren’t for her heels.
“Fits most situations.”
“Look, Christina,” Tatiana said, taking hold of the bill of Christina’s cap and lifting it so their eyes could meet. “Measurements are taken and I promise to be at the fitting Tuesday next.” She really was beautiful, her brows arching over her eyes like graceful wings above her sunglasses.
“Please let me apologize with dinner.”
Christina shook her head. “I really have too much to do with the opening only…”
“You have to eat right?”
“Really, I…”
“Any place you want to go.” Tatiana took her lipstick from her clutch and applied the color
without a mirror, the bottom lip blooming under the gloss.
“I don’t like to go out.”
“Well then, I’ll cook.”
“You cook?”
“Yes, darling. I can do more than act and sing.” She leaned in close, rubbing her hands together
briskly. “Once upon a time, even I was just like anyone else.”
“Okay, why not.” Christina had to admit she was curious.
“Fabulous!” Tatiana said, the dimpled smile she was famous for climbing to her eyes.
A limo pulled up to the curb beside them. “I’ll have the car come round your place at 5:30 then?”
Tatiana hopped into the back seat and her driver shut the door behind her before Christina could answer.
Christina wondered if she had lost her mind. She hated the woman. But Christina was pretty sure she could hate and fuck at the same time.
***
Prior to this project, Christina had spent more than one occasion riding her vibrator with thoughts of Tatiana in her head and that was why she ran home to shower and dressed carefully for the evening. She was nothing if not practical.
The car arrived promptly at 5:30 and even with uptown rush hour traffic, she was deposited at the curb of Tatiana’s building within half an hour.
“Good evening Ms. Reynolds,” said the doorman with a tip of his rust colored top hat. “We were expecting you.” He opened the door with a gloved hand and Christina was led into a marble foyer and over to the elevator on the right. Once inside she saw that this car bypassed floors one through forty, taking the rider straight to the pent house. The cedar interior invaded her nostrils reminding her of her last visit home to northern California.
The reminder didn’t end here. When Tatiana opened the door to her condo Christina was shocked. Not just by the food spattered apron her hostess was wearing, but the condo. It was not what she had expected. Exposed wood beams stretched across the ceiling and rustic furniture, seemingly made for a cabin in the Cascades, was placed about the living room in casual invitation.
“You can close your mouth,” Tatiana said with a grin, pulling Christina’s immobile form into her home.
“Fuck. This is totally unexpected.”
“Usually is.”
“Where’s the chrome? The glass?” Christina asked, removing her coat. Her plans for a quick fuck evaporating.
“I was raised in Oregon and inherited my father’s taste in decorating,” Tatiana said, taking Christina’s jacket.
“And born with a name like Tatiana Marci?”
“Stage name, darling.”
They followed the aroma of food cooking to the kitchen. Tatiana walked through to a closet around the corner, while Christina went over to the stove and pulled back the range door.
“Hey!” Tatiana said, bumping Christina’s hip with her own. “No peeking!”
“Is that meatloaf?”
“My grandmother’s recipe."
Christina fought the urge to laugh. She would have sworn Tatiana was playing the role of down to earth temptress if it weren’t for the décor. The warm earth colors were as inviting as the home cooked aroma wafting from the oven. And nearly as enticing as the women behind the apron.
“Is wine alright?” Tatiana asked, pouring a glass of red before Christina could respond. “This is a favorite of mine. Bold and strong.” Their eyes met. “From a California vineyard I visited last summer.”
Christina brought the cup to her nose and sniffed. She really wasn’t a wine drinker and when she did imbibe the brew normally came from a box. The liquid was rich and flavorful.
Tatiana smiled. “I knew you would like it. ‘Screaming Eagle’ fits your personality.” She turned to the oven and pulled a large pot to the front burner.
“My personality?”
Tatiana added butter, milk and sour cream then went at it with the hand masher.
“Focused, to the point.”
Christina couldn’t disagree with that. “Potatoes too?”
“And green beans,” Tatiana said. “I’m no gourmet, darling. Just know what my mother taught me.”
“You say your parents live out West?”
“Portland. Dad’s a park ranger and mom runs a little flower shop.”
“How’d you end up in show business?” Christina asked taking a seat on one of the wooden stools butting up to the island at the center of the kitchen.
“We’re theatre people.”
The timer went off and Tataina bent to remove the meatloaf, denim hugging her ass in ways that
had made teenage boys discover puberty. Christina shifted on her stool with an itch of her own.
“Mom and Dad love being on stage, so I caught the bug early.” Tatiana set the meatloaf on the island.
“I hate to be rude, but can we do this after?” Christina asked.
“What was that?”
“Eat. After.”
“After?”
“We fuck.”
Christina didn’t think she could have shocked the actress more. The look on Tatiana’s face was comical.
“Last night you were eager enough,” Christina said. “I just prefer to work up an appetite.”
Not waiting for an answer, Christina stood and walked in the direction she assumed the bedroom
was in, kicking off her loafers as she went.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Tatiana said.
Christina turned to face the actress walking backward, her hand at the fly of her slacks. “I should hope not.”
Tatiana laughed as her guest backed into the hallway.
“Let me get that for you,” the actress said, catching up with Christina and pressing her against the wall. She breathed against Christina’s lips, her hand taking hold of the zipper and opening the fly in one deft motion. Long tapered fingers slid into the slit white cotton boxer briefs and tangled in the thick hair of the brunette’s muff.
“You’ve been anticipating your visit.” Tatiana brought her hand up to her lips and licked her wet fingers in slow motion.
“Not as much as you have,” Christina said watching her tongue play. “I could smell your cunt from the moment I walked through the door.”
“Nasty bitch!”
“On your knees!” Christina demanded and Tatiana dropped with a graceful sway. The cashmere sweater came over her head and landed next to the slacks at Christina’s feet. Tatiana’s glacier blue eyes peered up at Christina, wet and wanting.
“Say you’re sorry,” Christina whispered.
Tatiana’s hands found the elastic at her waist and pulled the cotton down over hips and thigh. Her face disappeared into Christina’s aching pussy, nose and lips butting against her hairy mound with passionate hunger. Tatiana’s shoulders widened Christina’s legs, a small sharp tongue circling her little hard-on with rapid strokes.
Christina’s clit was on over-drive and her hand twisted into the actress’s neat chignon, causing Tatiana’s hair to fall around her shoulders in a hypnotic wave. The silky strands rubbed her inner thighs as Tatiana ate her honey.
Down the hall Christina could see the kitchen, steam rising from the meatloaf sitting on the island. She could smell garlic and herbs, her own hot pussy and Tatiana’s begging to be fucked. The fresh flowers on the dining table mingled with her new lover’s perfume. The loud slurping sounds of Tatiana’s lips sucking her labia made her knees weak. The long aquiline nose pressing her clit made her moan.
“Apologize!”
And Tatiana’s tempo quickened, her fingers squeezing Christina’s inner thighs. Christina’s legs began to tremble and she pushed Tatiana away, pulling the other woman to her feet. Tatiana’s face was flushed, her lips and cheeks sticky.
Christina took her through first open door she found, and pushed the actress across the foot of the bed, her hand diving beneath the denim skirt and panties. She lay over Tatiana’s back, her fingers sliding into her wet cunt with a satisfied grunt.
The blonde was soft and needy, her ass pressing against her mound as Christina fucked her from behind. Christina sucked on her neck, feeling her own pussy tremble as the soft skin of Tatiana’s ass pulled at her short hairs, pushing them against her clit.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Tatiana was gasping under her breath. Her pussy lips locked onto
Christina’s fingers when she came, tossing Christina over the edge with her.
They lay in silence; a half undressed pile of skin and clothing, and caught their breath.
“Fuck,” Christina said, enjoying the slowing of her heart and the warmth of Tatiana’s body pressed beside her. The ceiling came into focus above them as Tatiana hooked her foot around the edge of the blanket that had slid toward the foot of the bed during their mad tumble into the room.
Tatiana brought her arm across Christina’s torso and settled her palm on her turgid nipple. She looked down at her with that dimpled smile and Christina felt something soften.
“You hungry yet?” Tatiana purred.
“For pussy or dinner?”
“Either.” Tatiana leaned over and pulled the other nipple into her mouth, her eyes never leaving Christina’s. She rolled the puckered flesh under her tongue and sucked it deep into her mouth, sending waves of desire swimming from nipple to Christina’s hot center.
“Dessert would be nice,” Christina said, rolling Tatiana onto her back.
“I made apple pie.”
“With your busy schedule?” Christina feathered kissed over the actress’s torso and crawled
down her golden skinned body. Tatiana’s pussy was smooth, the skin wet with her juices, hot like a pie just from the oven. The spicy scent teased Christina’s nostrils as she breathed against the ripe flesh.
Tongue wide and flat, she licked from taint to clit in slow motion.
Tatiana cried out, her hands flying to Christina’s hair.
The blonde was sweet and tart, like a granny smith.
Another swipe of tongue and Christina’s hair was yanked. The pain shot straight to the costume designer’s cunt.
The folds of Tatiana’s pussy pulled Christina’s tongue close. Slow, languid drags of flesh on flesh. Christina slurped the tiny ball of desire between her lips and sucked. She nursed the excited nubbin until the heat of the actress’s thighs grabbed hold of her ears and her name was an echo in the room.
***
Before Christina left, she assembled a meatloaf sandwich to eat in the ride down the elevator. A new doorman was on duty, but he greeted her by name and hailed her a taxi.
This was fucked up. She was screwing a woman who she didn’t particularly like, but made phenomenal meatloaf. A woman whose face was plastered on billboards, but missed her family enough to make her home a reflection of her roots. Whose public image was the opposite of her private one. Christina was sure her fans would be shocked that their diva could eat pussy and eat it well.
The taxi stopped in front of the theatre and Christina got out, key at the ready as she approached the stage door. The hall was dark and silent as she made her way toward the dressing room. She was familiar with the route, easily walking around boxes and props until she was in her haven.
Christina flipped the switch and was embraced in the familiar cacophony of color. Bolts of fabric, racks of costumes, sewing machines and rolled patterns. She shrugged off her jacket.
It looked like Jackie had already cut the design for Tatiana’s formal number. She cursed, wishing she had noticed the true color of Tatiana’s eyes before tonight. The ice-blue shantung would be better than the green. The dress, in this color and with proper make-up, would have the audience in the back row catching a glimpse of Tatiana’s eyes.
The cutting table was cleared in moments and Christina laid out the fabric, smoothing it across the flat expanse. She pinned the pattern pieces to the material, time passing in slow motion as the familiar beat of sewing matched the cadence of her heart.
The sound of scissors cutting through fabric held a particular fondness for Christina, reminding her of the summer dresses and Halloween costumes of her childhood. Her mother had been a wonderful seamstress, and up until Christina was in junior high, had made most of her daughter’s clothes. Then Christina took over.
Soon the whirr of the sewing machine accompanied the sound of the fabric sliding beneath the needle. The dress came together in tandem with her yawns.
“You’re crazy.”
Chistina snapped awake, her neck stiff from sleeping on her arm scrunched up on a sofa too short for her body.
“Crazy.” Jackie was squatting beside Christina, her face inches away.
With a groan, Christina sat up, her hand trying to rub out the kinks. “What time is it?”
“Close to noon,” Jackie said taking a seat beside her on the couch. “As always, we’re the first one’s here.” Her assistant walked over to the gown hanging on Tatiana’s rack and examined it closely, taking in the fine stitching. “Good date I take it?”
An experimental sniff had Chistina smiling.
Meatloaf and a slice of pie.
“She’s late.” Christina was not one to wait around for ego inflated divas. Even if she was Tatiana Marci.
“Please Ms. Reynolds,” the producer said, on his feet and clutching at my arm as I loaded my sewing box. “I am sure she will be here any moment. Ms. Marci is a very important…”
“Save it, Dillon,” Christina said. “I have designed and fit more than one hundred costumes for this production and every one of the other actors has managed to show up for fittings.” She shrugged the strap of her sewing box over her shoulder and pulled her tweed newsboy cap low over her eyes. “There are only two weeks until opening night and she has more than a dozen costume changes.”
“Yes, but…”
“No amount of talent is worth dealing with this bullshit.” Christina hadn’t slept in more than three days. The glasses perched on her nose couldn’t disguise her red rimmed eyes or the slump of her shoulders.
“Please her assistant said…”
“Tell her assistant that Ms. Marci better get down on her knees if she wants me to finish her costumes.” Christina walked out of the fitting room and down the dark hall backstage, pulling on her gloves as she went. She’d never even met Tatiana, and quite frankly, after the past eight weeks of pre-production, she had no desire to.
Every last ounce of admiration for that angel’s voice had evaporated after months of fittings and sewing without her showing up. Apparently, everything but looking fabulous on stage was important to Ms. Marci. Christina tightened her scarf around her neck and she picked up her pace.
Time Square was busy, the theater crowd having just been wowed by Broadway’s stage talent. The billboards stared down at her selling underwear and booze, while taxi’s whizzed by, splashing slush on her boots. Still, in the bitter cold, card tables decorated the corners selling “I Love NY” t-shirts and socks by the dozen. Christina was stopped half a dozen times by guys selling Rolex knock-offs, pirated DVDs, Rayban sunglasses, Yves St. Laurent bags, and designer perfumes.
Christina only lived three blocks from the theater district, in a forth floor walk up. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, looked up at the steps with a sigh, and began to climb. This was getting old, real old and she just did not feel like putting up with this anymore. The stairs, the stage, the pace. Go, go, go!
It’s true what they say, with success comes a fucking headache. Christina took the last few stairs, rounded the corner, when someone stepped from the shadows of the hall.
“Mr. Dillon, said you’d be here.”
“Christ! Fuck!” Christina said, stumbling against the stair rail.
There she was, the stage diva herself--dressed entirely in white. The woman was definitely mad. White and New York winters did not go well together.
“What do you want?” Christina walked past her and put her key in the lock.
“My fitting.”
Christina snorted and shouldered her way through the door, attempting to shut it behind her, but Ms. Marci wedged her Gucci clutch purse in the door jam.
“The fitting was an hour ago.”
“I was tied up…”
“And held for ransom?”
Tatiana’s mouth hung open.
“Because that is the only way I’m going to work with you on this project.”
“Miss Reynolds, you are being…”
“A tired annoyed bitch?” She tossed her sewing box onto the small red loveseat in the living room and pulled off her hat.
“But there are only two weeks…”
“You should have thought of that before you wasted hours of my time.” Christina threw her coat on the couch and then bent over to remove her wet boots. “We have made more than a dozen appointments, all to your specifications, and you have not managed to show up for one of them.”
She stood and unzipped her jeans. “Nor have you felt in necessary to call and reschedule after numerous phone calls.”
“I’ve been…”
“Yeah, busy…I get it.” Christina pulled her turtleneck over her head. “I’m busy too and you don’t give a fuck.”
“Christina…”
“You know the way out.” Christina turned and walked down the hall, shimmying out of her jeans as she went.
“You can’t do this!” Tatiana cried, her voice muffled by the black turtleneck being pulled over
Christina’s head. The actress grabbed Christina’s arm as she whipped the sweater across the space of her bedroom.
“Check my contract!” Christina said shrugging off her hand.
Tatiana was breathing heavy, the stole hugging her shoulders sliding to one side. Her eyes were ice blue and staring. The expression on the actresses face would have been exciting under different circumstances.
Lust. The bloom of color in the actress’s cheeks, the swipe of her tongue on her full pout.
Christina laughed, looking down at her non-existent breasts, long john covered legs and wool toe socks. She removed the scrunchy from her hair and let it fall around her shoulders in a cascade of rich chocolate.
The actress removed her stole and began to undo the line of tiny pearl buttons running down the front of her shirt, revealing a white lace camisole.
“I promise to make it worth your while,” Tatiana breathed.
Confident. Beautiful.
The actress took the two steps separating them, close enough for Christina to smell White Diamonds on the other woman’s skin and the cocktail on her breath.
“Fuck off!” Christina turned and slammed the bedroom door behind her.
***
When Christina walked into the theatre dressing room the next day she was greeted by the largest bouquet of red roses she had ever seen.
“Who’d you fuck?” her assistant Jackie asked, accompanied by the whiz of the sewing machine.
“As if I have time for a sex life,” Christina said, setting her sewing kit on the vanity table and searching for the card amongst the dozens of blooms. She loved flowers. Even when she had been broke she would manage to scrape together enough money to purchase a bouquet once a week.
Beauty before food had been her motto in college.
“I’d be your fuck buddy if you let me,” Jackie said, batting her eyes. She came up behind Christina and wrapped her arms around the costumer’s waist. “That’s my favorite kind of sex.”
Jackie’s hands slid up Christina’s rib cage and gave her breasts a soft massage.
“Hmmmm, and you could teach me a thing or two,” Christina said her nipples hardening into tight little knots as she pulled the card from the envelope.
“It’s the least I could do,” Jackie said, pushing aside Christina’s pony-tail to nibble on her neck.
“After all you’ve taught me about sewing.”
“Fuck!”
“With pleasure,” Jackie said, one of her hands sliding down to the waistband of Christina’s pants.
“No,” Christina laughed pulling away. “The flowers are from Tatiana.” She took a seat at the
vanity and put her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hands. She could feel a migraine coming on.
“ ‘Let me make up for last night. Dinner at six. T.,’” Jackie read. “What happened last night?”
“I told the star of the show to fuck herself.”
Jackie snorted. “Let me guess. You have no measurements for me?”
“Just go with the numbers her manager gave us,” Christina said. “I’ve already made the patterns. Cut, sew, and we’ll pin her up as she heads out onto stage. Screw perfection!”
“You called?” Tatiana said from the doorway, her white ensemble replaced by an equally rich fire engine red faux fur and ass hugging slacks. Jean Paul Guatier had a hand in this look. Straight from the pages of the December issue of Vogue on newsstands now. “You had your chance last night, but I’m flexible Ms. Reynolds.” Tatiana winked. “Champagne and strawberries can be arranged.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Christina wanted to scream, to hit something.
“I’m here darling,” Tatina said removing her fur reveal a matching sheer blouse and no bra. She picked up a yellow measuring tape from the sewing table. “Measure me.”
“I’ll do that!” Jackie said taking the tape from the actress’s hand. “Why don’t you run down and get some coffee, Christina.”
***
The coffee burned its way down Christina’s throat and gurgled in her stomach. Christina chased the hot liquid with a couple of Tums. The frigid air whipped around the corner of the theater, but she refused to return to the dressing room. It was childish, she knew, but that damn woman was driving her mad. She took another strengthening sip.
“I really am sorry,” Tatiana said from behind Christina.
The brunette cursed and dropped her cup onto the pavement. “Will you stop fucking doing that!”
“You like that word don’t you?” Tatiana picked up the cup and walked to the corner, depositing in the waste basket. She would be short if it weren’t for her heels.
“Fits most situations.”
“Look, Christina,” Tatiana said, taking hold of the bill of Christina’s cap and lifting it so their eyes could meet. “Measurements are taken and I promise to be at the fitting Tuesday next.” She really was beautiful, her brows arching over her eyes like graceful wings above her sunglasses.
“Please let me apologize with dinner.”
Christina shook her head. “I really have too much to do with the opening only…”
“You have to eat right?”
“Really, I…”
“Any place you want to go.” Tatiana took her lipstick from her clutch and applied the color
without a mirror, the bottom lip blooming under the gloss.
“I don’t like to go out.”
“Well then, I’ll cook.”
“You cook?”
“Yes, darling. I can do more than act and sing.” She leaned in close, rubbing her hands together
briskly. “Once upon a time, even I was just like anyone else.”
“Okay, why not.” Christina had to admit she was curious.
“Fabulous!” Tatiana said, the dimpled smile she was famous for climbing to her eyes.
A limo pulled up to the curb beside them. “I’ll have the car come round your place at 5:30 then?”
Tatiana hopped into the back seat and her driver shut the door behind her before Christina could answer.
Christina wondered if she had lost her mind. She hated the woman. But Christina was pretty sure she could hate and fuck at the same time.
***
Prior to this project, Christina had spent more than one occasion riding her vibrator with thoughts of Tatiana in her head and that was why she ran home to shower and dressed carefully for the evening. She was nothing if not practical.
The car arrived promptly at 5:30 and even with uptown rush hour traffic, she was deposited at the curb of Tatiana’s building within half an hour.
“Good evening Ms. Reynolds,” said the doorman with a tip of his rust colored top hat. “We were expecting you.” He opened the door with a gloved hand and Christina was led into a marble foyer and over to the elevator on the right. Once inside she saw that this car bypassed floors one through forty, taking the rider straight to the pent house. The cedar interior invaded her nostrils reminding her of her last visit home to northern California.
The reminder didn’t end here. When Tatiana opened the door to her condo Christina was shocked. Not just by the food spattered apron her hostess was wearing, but the condo. It was not what she had expected. Exposed wood beams stretched across the ceiling and rustic furniture, seemingly made for a cabin in the Cascades, was placed about the living room in casual invitation.
“You can close your mouth,” Tatiana said with a grin, pulling Christina’s immobile form into her home.
“Fuck. This is totally unexpected.”
“Usually is.”
“Where’s the chrome? The glass?” Christina asked, removing her coat. Her plans for a quick fuck evaporating.
“I was raised in Oregon and inherited my father’s taste in decorating,” Tatiana said, taking Christina’s jacket.
“And born with a name like Tatiana Marci?”
“Stage name, darling.”
They followed the aroma of food cooking to the kitchen. Tatiana walked through to a closet around the corner, while Christina went over to the stove and pulled back the range door.
“Hey!” Tatiana said, bumping Christina’s hip with her own. “No peeking!”
“Is that meatloaf?”
“My grandmother’s recipe."
Christina fought the urge to laugh. She would have sworn Tatiana was playing the role of down to earth temptress if it weren’t for the décor. The warm earth colors were as inviting as the home cooked aroma wafting from the oven. And nearly as enticing as the women behind the apron.
“Is wine alright?” Tatiana asked, pouring a glass of red before Christina could respond. “This is a favorite of mine. Bold and strong.” Their eyes met. “From a California vineyard I visited last summer.”
Christina brought the cup to her nose and sniffed. She really wasn’t a wine drinker and when she did imbibe the brew normally came from a box. The liquid was rich and flavorful.
Tatiana smiled. “I knew you would like it. ‘Screaming Eagle’ fits your personality.” She turned to the oven and pulled a large pot to the front burner.
“My personality?”
Tatiana added butter, milk and sour cream then went at it with the hand masher.
“Focused, to the point.”
Christina couldn’t disagree with that. “Potatoes too?”
“And green beans,” Tatiana said. “I’m no gourmet, darling. Just know what my mother taught me.”
“You say your parents live out West?”
“Portland. Dad’s a park ranger and mom runs a little flower shop.”
“How’d you end up in show business?” Christina asked taking a seat on one of the wooden stools butting up to the island at the center of the kitchen.
“We’re theatre people.”
The timer went off and Tataina bent to remove the meatloaf, denim hugging her ass in ways that
had made teenage boys discover puberty. Christina shifted on her stool with an itch of her own.
“Mom and Dad love being on stage, so I caught the bug early.” Tatiana set the meatloaf on the island.
“I hate to be rude, but can we do this after?” Christina asked.
“What was that?”
“Eat. After.”
“After?”
“We fuck.”
Christina didn’t think she could have shocked the actress more. The look on Tatiana’s face was comical.
“Last night you were eager enough,” Christina said. “I just prefer to work up an appetite.”
Not waiting for an answer, Christina stood and walked in the direction she assumed the bedroom
was in, kicking off her loafers as she went.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Tatiana said.
Christina turned to face the actress walking backward, her hand at the fly of her slacks. “I should hope not.”
Tatiana laughed as her guest backed into the hallway.
“Let me get that for you,” the actress said, catching up with Christina and pressing her against the wall. She breathed against Christina’s lips, her hand taking hold of the zipper and opening the fly in one deft motion. Long tapered fingers slid into the slit white cotton boxer briefs and tangled in the thick hair of the brunette’s muff.
“You’ve been anticipating your visit.” Tatiana brought her hand up to her lips and licked her wet fingers in slow motion.
“Not as much as you have,” Christina said watching her tongue play. “I could smell your cunt from the moment I walked through the door.”
“Nasty bitch!”
“On your knees!” Christina demanded and Tatiana dropped with a graceful sway. The cashmere sweater came over her head and landed next to the slacks at Christina’s feet. Tatiana’s glacier blue eyes peered up at Christina, wet and wanting.
“Say you’re sorry,” Christina whispered.
Tatiana’s hands found the elastic at her waist and pulled the cotton down over hips and thigh. Her face disappeared into Christina’s aching pussy, nose and lips butting against her hairy mound with passionate hunger. Tatiana’s shoulders widened Christina’s legs, a small sharp tongue circling her little hard-on with rapid strokes.
Christina’s clit was on over-drive and her hand twisted into the actress’s neat chignon, causing Tatiana’s hair to fall around her shoulders in a hypnotic wave. The silky strands rubbed her inner thighs as Tatiana ate her honey.
Down the hall Christina could see the kitchen, steam rising from the meatloaf sitting on the island. She could smell garlic and herbs, her own hot pussy and Tatiana’s begging to be fucked. The fresh flowers on the dining table mingled with her new lover’s perfume. The loud slurping sounds of Tatiana’s lips sucking her labia made her knees weak. The long aquiline nose pressing her clit made her moan.
“Apologize!”
And Tatiana’s tempo quickened, her fingers squeezing Christina’s inner thighs. Christina’s legs began to tremble and she pushed Tatiana away, pulling the other woman to her feet. Tatiana’s face was flushed, her lips and cheeks sticky.
Christina took her through first open door she found, and pushed the actress across the foot of the bed, her hand diving beneath the denim skirt and panties. She lay over Tatiana’s back, her fingers sliding into her wet cunt with a satisfied grunt.
The blonde was soft and needy, her ass pressing against her mound as Christina fucked her from behind. Christina sucked on her neck, feeling her own pussy tremble as the soft skin of Tatiana’s ass pulled at her short hairs, pushing them against her clit.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Tatiana was gasping under her breath. Her pussy lips locked onto
Christina’s fingers when she came, tossing Christina over the edge with her.
They lay in silence; a half undressed pile of skin and clothing, and caught their breath.
“Fuck,” Christina said, enjoying the slowing of her heart and the warmth of Tatiana’s body pressed beside her. The ceiling came into focus above them as Tatiana hooked her foot around the edge of the blanket that had slid toward the foot of the bed during their mad tumble into the room.
Tatiana brought her arm across Christina’s torso and settled her palm on her turgid nipple. She looked down at her with that dimpled smile and Christina felt something soften.
“You hungry yet?” Tatiana purred.
“For pussy or dinner?”
“Either.” Tatiana leaned over and pulled the other nipple into her mouth, her eyes never leaving Christina’s. She rolled the puckered flesh under her tongue and sucked it deep into her mouth, sending waves of desire swimming from nipple to Christina’s hot center.
“Dessert would be nice,” Christina said, rolling Tatiana onto her back.
“I made apple pie.”
“With your busy schedule?” Christina feathered kissed over the actress’s torso and crawled
down her golden skinned body. Tatiana’s pussy was smooth, the skin wet with her juices, hot like a pie just from the oven. The spicy scent teased Christina’s nostrils as she breathed against the ripe flesh.
Tongue wide and flat, she licked from taint to clit in slow motion.
Tatiana cried out, her hands flying to Christina’s hair.
The blonde was sweet and tart, like a granny smith.
Another swipe of tongue and Christina’s hair was yanked. The pain shot straight to the costume designer’s cunt.
The folds of Tatiana’s pussy pulled Christina’s tongue close. Slow, languid drags of flesh on flesh. Christina slurped the tiny ball of desire between her lips and sucked. She nursed the excited nubbin until the heat of the actress’s thighs grabbed hold of her ears and her name was an echo in the room.
***
Before Christina left, she assembled a meatloaf sandwich to eat in the ride down the elevator. A new doorman was on duty, but he greeted her by name and hailed her a taxi.
This was fucked up. She was screwing a woman who she didn’t particularly like, but made phenomenal meatloaf. A woman whose face was plastered on billboards, but missed her family enough to make her home a reflection of her roots. Whose public image was the opposite of her private one. Christina was sure her fans would be shocked that their diva could eat pussy and eat it well.
The taxi stopped in front of the theatre and Christina got out, key at the ready as she approached the stage door. The hall was dark and silent as she made her way toward the dressing room. She was familiar with the route, easily walking around boxes and props until she was in her haven.
Christina flipped the switch and was embraced in the familiar cacophony of color. Bolts of fabric, racks of costumes, sewing machines and rolled patterns. She shrugged off her jacket.
It looked like Jackie had already cut the design for Tatiana’s formal number. She cursed, wishing she had noticed the true color of Tatiana’s eyes before tonight. The ice-blue shantung would be better than the green. The dress, in this color and with proper make-up, would have the audience in the back row catching a glimpse of Tatiana’s eyes.
The cutting table was cleared in moments and Christina laid out the fabric, smoothing it across the flat expanse. She pinned the pattern pieces to the material, time passing in slow motion as the familiar beat of sewing matched the cadence of her heart.
The sound of scissors cutting through fabric held a particular fondness for Christina, reminding her of the summer dresses and Halloween costumes of her childhood. Her mother had been a wonderful seamstress, and up until Christina was in junior high, had made most of her daughter’s clothes. Then Christina took over.
Soon the whirr of the sewing machine accompanied the sound of the fabric sliding beneath the needle. The dress came together in tandem with her yawns.
“You’re crazy.”
Chistina snapped awake, her neck stiff from sleeping on her arm scrunched up on a sofa too short for her body.
“Crazy.” Jackie was squatting beside Christina, her face inches away.
With a groan, Christina sat up, her hand trying to rub out the kinks. “What time is it?”
“Close to noon,” Jackie said taking a seat beside her on the couch. “As always, we’re the first one’s here.” Her assistant walked over to the gown hanging on Tatiana’s rack and examined it closely, taking in the fine stitching. “Good date I take it?”
An experimental sniff had Chistina smiling.
Meatloaf and a slice of pie.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
An Artist's Eye
Copyright © 2007 by Crystal Barela
First to come off was my knit hat, which I am sure put my hair on end, static and curls at odds with each other. But I was late for Brigette. I always was, and I didn’t want to lose one more second with her. I didn’t bother to remove my mittens, just folded back the knit fingers and buttoned them open so my fingers were free. I gave my fingers a loosening wiggle. My hands were always cold anyway.
The back of the room was good for my warm up sketch. I took an easel from the corner and drug it between two other artists so I could get a good view of the Brigette’s back. There was a shush from one of the students. I glared and apologized at the same time while somehow tossing my sketch pad onto the easel.
I opened my art bin and pulled out my charcoal. My Brigette was soft. I cursed under my breath and placed the charcoal against the newsprint. She wasn’t mine. I traced the curve of her hip, where it met the gentle fold at her waist. Shadows hid in the indents of the dimples above her ass. Beautiful skin. It looked smooth and soft. Golden, the color of caramel.
Brown hair. No, earth-colored hair, darker than brown, but not black. Softer than black. Straight, sleek. I wish she’d put it up so I could see the nape of her neck. Brigette had a lovely neck made for kisses.
Backs were my favorite, the elegance, the beauty of the spinal column. And hers…I sighed.
Brigette moved her head slightly and the shadow between her shoulder blades wavered. Time meant change, not necessarily good for capturing a pose. I could see nothing of her left arm, but her head rest on her right hand, her elbow supporting her.
“Fifteen minute break,” the teacher called out. Ms. Looann Reed. From Texas. She was a genius and the reason I started taking this class. But it was Brigette that had me coming back for the second semester.
Not enough time. I closed my eyes and expelled a long breath. Why did work always have to interfere with my art? Why were bits of charcoal so expensive? Why—
“You’re late, Carla,”
“I know,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. You’d think Looann would be used to this by now. Just accept that I got here when I could.
“Third time this week.”
“Sorry. Work.” I said reaching into my backpack for a snack.
Looann sighed and patted me on the shoulder before moving on to the other students. I knew she liked me, if she didn’t I—
I froze, mid-rip of my bag of jerky, taking Brigette in. Her back was to me as she slipped her arms through the sleeves of the pale pink silk kimono. Next she lifted her hands to put up her hair. She wrapped the long strands around a chopstick and twisted the strands atop her head. I smiled. Hair off her neck, just as I wanted. Sometimes it was as if she could read my mind.
She stepped off the platform to walk the perimeter of the classroom and take in her likenesses. My belly flopped. Brigette had been the first pregnant woman I had ever seen without her clothes on. I mean live and in person. When I had started the class you would never have known there was a life growing inside her. A flat sleek belly had greeted my eyes the day I first saw her, but now she was round, her breasts at least a cup size fuller. Watching her bloom was—
She approached to the guy beside me and I quickly shut my sketchpad. Not good enough yet. Not for Brigette.
Brigette’s big brown eyes peeked over my easel at my closed sketchpad. Those lashes. Thick and long. When she blinked they moved in slow motion. You could drown in those eyes. The flecks of caramel surrounded by dark chocolate a tempting treat.
“Why do you never let me see?” she asked. Brigette had an accent. French? ‘See’ sounded more like ‘Zee’.
I shrugged my shoulders, but I knew why.
Brigette blinked rapidly and frowned. She leaned back and crossed her arms over top her belly. The curve looked hard and smooth. Beautiful. The charcoal pulled at my fingers. Draw. Capture.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to show you.”
Brigette reached for my pad her dangly earrings swinging against her neck. “That’s silly, let me—”
“We are going to do an hour long pose, class, so get comfortable,” Looann said.
With a stomp, quite ineffective in her bare feet, Brigette returned to the risers in the center of the room. Because of the length of the pose, she chose a position lying down. Again she was on her side, but this time facing me.
Sketchpad under my arm I weaved in-between the other students, forcing them to move if they were to get a good view. I wanted that face, those eyes and I couldn’t see them from the frickin’ back row. I sat on the floor so that I was eye level with my subject and found that the eyes I admired were glaring at me.
Brigette’s cheek was flush with her bicep; her arm was extended over her head and off the platform, her fingers relaxed in the air. Wisps of hair fell across her neck. One full hip was in the air, her other hand resting protectively over her round belly. Brigette’s nipples were hard and long, and I didn’t think from the cold, but with impending motherhood. Her skin had a golden translucence as if she were a piece of fruit ready to fall from the vine. Ripe. Sweet. She had one leg crossed over the other so that her knee rested on the floor, but I could still see the nest of hair between her legs. Darker than the hair on her head. I would say this was black.
There was a cough and my eyes shot to Brigette’s face. It was red.
Had I been staring? I cleared my throat and looked down at my pad. I mean at her mound?
“Very nice,” Maryloo said from behind me. It was. Simple lines. I believed less was more. Hour long poses always turned into two half hours for me. And there was nothing pornographic about it. Thank the maker.
What was wrong with me? What was my obsession with wanting straight girls? You couldn’t get straighter than carrying a man’s child.
I flipped the page on my pad and scooted along the floor, closer to Brigette’s feet. I was looking up her body, from an odd angle. The bottom of her foot was facing me, and the back of her knee. Her ass and the bit of hair that spread from between her legs thinning onto her thighs took up my line of vision. One of my favorite parts of the woman’s body. I liked taking a woman from behind. Sliding my fingers between their pussy lips. Tugging those hairs. Nipping—
I looked down at my sketchpad then shut it at once. My face burning. Christ.
***
Class was over and I was standing outside having a smoke. Went well today. Aside from the distraction of Brigette’s nether bits. I giggled and expelled a stream of smoke. She really was a beautiful woman. A sexy woman.
“You are rude you know.” Brigette said from behind me. I turned, dropped my cigarette and stamped it out. She should really avoid smokers. She wore a red turtleneck that was stretched taught over her stomach, a tan line of skin just below her belly button exposing the bottom half of her belly. I wasn’t sure how her jeans were staying up.
“Christ, aren’t you cold?” I pulled off my scarf and threw it around her shoulders. It was December and Manhattan was stuck in a permanent frost.
“How gallant,” she said, wrapping the scarf around her neck. “But I am always hot now,” she said with a gesture to her belly. Brigette wrapped her arms around the mound protectively, coving the bare skin.
“Would you like something hot to drink?” I picked up my portfolio and walked to the corner. “I know a good coffee shop.”
“I do not drink coffee,” she said following me.
“Well, tea then?”
“Only if you show me your sketches.”
I stopped at the corner and looked down at her. She looked determined.
“You live near here?” she asked. The light changed.
“Why?” I asked continuing my walk.
“Private pose for you,” she said, taking my elbow as we weaved in out of the crowd. “If you show me your sketches.”
“Brigette—”
“You say my name.” And she smiled up at me. Her teeth were white and her cheeks dimpled.
My mouth went dry.
***
I am not sure how we ended up in my studio apartment, or how Brigette could possibly be on my bed, naked. Nor, could I understand how my mind, always caught in light in shadow, even when faced with Brigette’s beauty, was now focused on lips and lashes; eyes and nipples.
Now my interest was in texture and smell. I wanted to be a part of my drawing. To touch her skin with my hands, not capture it on paper. Did she know how erotic she was? Kneeling on my bed like the goddess of fertility, her hands clasped atop her stomach. I felt wrong to want her like I did. She was eight months pregnant.
“Can I see?” she asked. But there was nothing to show her. I had spent the last twenty minutes doodling. My desire growing.
“No,” I said. Standing from where I sat cross-legged on the floor. There was no other furniture in my apartment. Just the bed.
Brigette pouted, her bottom lip a succulent—I cursed. Why did I let her talk me into this? My heart was beating too fast, too hard. My body was warm, my insides liquid. Goo. I turned and leaned against the kitchen counter than ran the length of the room. There was a sink, a hot plate, a half fridge, and the worn Formica supporting my weakened knees.
“Don’t be mad, Carla,” she said. I turned and Brigette extending her hand to me.
“I’m not mad. I’m…” I didn’t know how to finish. What was I?
Brigette rose off her calves and took my finger-tips in her hand. With a soft tug I swayed against her body. The firm ball of her unborn child between us.
“Feel,” she said.
She set my palm flat against the side of her belly, the warm taught skin solid and real under my fingers. Brigette slid my hand down the gentle slope and my eyes flew to her brown ones. She stopped just above her mound, the hairs touching the tips of my fingers.
“Do you want me, Carla?”
My throat felt tight, but I nodded, my fingers making tentative circles on her skin.
She leaned forward, her lips touching mine in the softest of kisses. My eyes were open and hers were shut, those great long lashes casting soft shadows beneath her lids.
“Why are you afraid?” she whispered.
Is that what I was? Was it fear that made me hesitate?
A trail of nibbling kisses dotted my jaw line from mouth to ear. “I will not brake,” she breathed in my ear.
Brigette took hold of my wrist and pressed my fingers between her thighs. Her nether lips were damp, the hair long and curling around my knuckles, her stomach unmovable on my forearm.
She didn’t feel fragile. She felt hard and soft all at the same time.
I slipped a finger inside her and she moaned. I moved a second into place and she bit her lip, moving against me. Gently I pushed her back onto my bed. This was real. Not a dream, not a fantasy. I took a step back and brought my wet fingers to my lips tasting Brigette. I closed my eyes savoring the—
“Do you know how hot that is?”
I pulled my t-shirt over my head. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” I unzipped my jeans and let them fall to the floor.
She smiled and said, “I feel beautiful when you look at me.”
I climbed up onto the foot of the bed and used my shoulders to spread her knees apart.
“Sexy when you look at me.”
I knelt between her legs. “Do you know if the baby is a boy or a girl?” I asked. Life was in front of me and I let my hands circle the mound.
“I will call her Zoe,” Brigette said as I spread my fingers and trailed them over her stomach.
“Zoe,” I whispered and leaned forward to kiss her belly. One kiss led to two, then three, then four, and my mouth traveled over the taught skin to be caressed by the hairs covering Brigette’s desire. Her clit was hard and extended, the pearl a wet pink candy that I drew into my mouth.
Brigette’s heels dug into bed, her painted toenails curled. Her hips lifted and her clit kissed me back; over and over, until her sweet juices painted my chin. The hair guarding her womb tickled my nose and I sneezed.
She giggled, a hand lifting to my head, and sifting through my hair. Had she known I wanted this? Had she seen it in my eyes as I drew her every week? I had been careful not to show her my drawings, to keep my secret desire.
I sat back. The length of her body was like a painting by a master. Golden skin, gently rounded limbs. My hands traced her skin from knee to inner thigh. I left a trail of goose bumps. With a finger I traced the rim of Brigette’s wet hole in a slow circle, my eyes on her face. Her skin held a sheen of perspiration and the color was rising like the sun in the morning. A passionate pink, except where she bit her lip, the skin there golden, her teeth white. Her lashes bent against her cheeks, eyes shut tight.
She moaned my name and I smiled. For eight months I’d watched Brigette blossom. I’d seen her grow more and more beautiful. Watched her body change, her skin brake and stretch.
I shut my eyes, her grace in my mind. My mouth slurped and fingers dipped. Her skin was hot and wet beneath me.
And Brigette came, crying out my name. The muscles in her legs tightened, her knees gripped my shoulders. My nose was clogged with earthy desire.
I rest my cheek against her thigh and breathed deep. That smell. That was Brigette. That was her scent. Dark, rich, like the scent of my oils. Like paint. I lifted sticky finger to Brigette’s belly.
“What do you draw?” She said, unable to see the underside of her stomach.
I had spelt, “love,” but I did not tell her that.
“Come here,” she said and I crawled up the bed to lie beside my love. Brigette took my face in her hands and licked her wetness from my lips and cheeks. She sucked my tongue deep into her mouth and kissed me in slow motion. Soft warmth grew until my body was nothing but heat. Silky strands of her hair caressed my face and neck, brushed my breasts. Her hand pressed between us and tweaked my clit through my panties, moving my nubbin, pushing, tugging through the fabric.
My eyes were open and so were hers, each lick of her tongue against mine like a touch of my clit.
Each blink of her eyes stroking my desire. She tongued my teeth, gaining entrance again.
Brigette’s knee came between my thighs under her hand, and pressed my hole, digging my panties into me while her fingers massaged my clit. I came, hard and wet, her mouth swallowing my cries.
Brigette rest her head against mine and I caught my breath, my arms encircling her. I kissed her cheek and she rest her had on my shoulder.
“Feel,” she said, resting my hand against her stomach.
The baby moved. “Zoe,” I gasped and she kicked my palm. “Wow. Does that hurt?”
“More uncomfortable than painful,” Brigette said with a grimace.
“Thank you,” I said, meeting her eyes.
“For?”
“For sharing you.”
She laughed and I stretched out my arm for my sketchpad.
Brigette took hold of my arm. “You do not have to show me.”
“Yes I do.”
Brigette opened the pad of paper to the first sketch. It was from last semester and at the time there was no sign of Zoe. She flipped through page after page and each careful rendering showed the progression of her pregnancy. Each stroke of chalk the growth of my love. My feelings were obvious and I wished for the first time since I joined her on my bed that I were somewhere else. I wanted a cigarette, I wanted space.
“Carla,” Brigette said and I closed my eyes. Her hand took hold of my chin. “Don’t be afraid.”
Was that what I was?
“You are safe with us.”
I opened my eyes and saw the truth in her eyes.
First to come off was my knit hat, which I am sure put my hair on end, static and curls at odds with each other. But I was late for Brigette. I always was, and I didn’t want to lose one more second with her. I didn’t bother to remove my mittens, just folded back the knit fingers and buttoned them open so my fingers were free. I gave my fingers a loosening wiggle. My hands were always cold anyway.
The back of the room was good for my warm up sketch. I took an easel from the corner and drug it between two other artists so I could get a good view of the Brigette’s back. There was a shush from one of the students. I glared and apologized at the same time while somehow tossing my sketch pad onto the easel.
I opened my art bin and pulled out my charcoal. My Brigette was soft. I cursed under my breath and placed the charcoal against the newsprint. She wasn’t mine. I traced the curve of her hip, where it met the gentle fold at her waist. Shadows hid in the indents of the dimples above her ass. Beautiful skin. It looked smooth and soft. Golden, the color of caramel.
Brown hair. No, earth-colored hair, darker than brown, but not black. Softer than black. Straight, sleek. I wish she’d put it up so I could see the nape of her neck. Brigette had a lovely neck made for kisses.
Backs were my favorite, the elegance, the beauty of the spinal column. And hers…I sighed.
Brigette moved her head slightly and the shadow between her shoulder blades wavered. Time meant change, not necessarily good for capturing a pose. I could see nothing of her left arm, but her head rest on her right hand, her elbow supporting her.
“Fifteen minute break,” the teacher called out. Ms. Looann Reed. From Texas. She was a genius and the reason I started taking this class. But it was Brigette that had me coming back for the second semester.
Not enough time. I closed my eyes and expelled a long breath. Why did work always have to interfere with my art? Why were bits of charcoal so expensive? Why—
“You’re late, Carla,”
“I know,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. You’d think Looann would be used to this by now. Just accept that I got here when I could.
“Third time this week.”
“Sorry. Work.” I said reaching into my backpack for a snack.
Looann sighed and patted me on the shoulder before moving on to the other students. I knew she liked me, if she didn’t I—
I froze, mid-rip of my bag of jerky, taking Brigette in. Her back was to me as she slipped her arms through the sleeves of the pale pink silk kimono. Next she lifted her hands to put up her hair. She wrapped the long strands around a chopstick and twisted the strands atop her head. I smiled. Hair off her neck, just as I wanted. Sometimes it was as if she could read my mind.
She stepped off the platform to walk the perimeter of the classroom and take in her likenesses. My belly flopped. Brigette had been the first pregnant woman I had ever seen without her clothes on. I mean live and in person. When I had started the class you would never have known there was a life growing inside her. A flat sleek belly had greeted my eyes the day I first saw her, but now she was round, her breasts at least a cup size fuller. Watching her bloom was—
She approached to the guy beside me and I quickly shut my sketchpad. Not good enough yet. Not for Brigette.
Brigette’s big brown eyes peeked over my easel at my closed sketchpad. Those lashes. Thick and long. When she blinked they moved in slow motion. You could drown in those eyes. The flecks of caramel surrounded by dark chocolate a tempting treat.
“Why do you never let me see?” she asked. Brigette had an accent. French? ‘See’ sounded more like ‘Zee’.
I shrugged my shoulders, but I knew why.
Brigette blinked rapidly and frowned. She leaned back and crossed her arms over top her belly. The curve looked hard and smooth. Beautiful. The charcoal pulled at my fingers. Draw. Capture.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to show you.”
Brigette reached for my pad her dangly earrings swinging against her neck. “That’s silly, let me—”
“We are going to do an hour long pose, class, so get comfortable,” Looann said.
With a stomp, quite ineffective in her bare feet, Brigette returned to the risers in the center of the room. Because of the length of the pose, she chose a position lying down. Again she was on her side, but this time facing me.
Sketchpad under my arm I weaved in-between the other students, forcing them to move if they were to get a good view. I wanted that face, those eyes and I couldn’t see them from the frickin’ back row. I sat on the floor so that I was eye level with my subject and found that the eyes I admired were glaring at me.
Brigette’s cheek was flush with her bicep; her arm was extended over her head and off the platform, her fingers relaxed in the air. Wisps of hair fell across her neck. One full hip was in the air, her other hand resting protectively over her round belly. Brigette’s nipples were hard and long, and I didn’t think from the cold, but with impending motherhood. Her skin had a golden translucence as if she were a piece of fruit ready to fall from the vine. Ripe. Sweet. She had one leg crossed over the other so that her knee rested on the floor, but I could still see the nest of hair between her legs. Darker than the hair on her head. I would say this was black.
There was a cough and my eyes shot to Brigette’s face. It was red.
Had I been staring? I cleared my throat and looked down at my pad. I mean at her mound?
“Very nice,” Maryloo said from behind me. It was. Simple lines. I believed less was more. Hour long poses always turned into two half hours for me. And there was nothing pornographic about it. Thank the maker.
What was wrong with me? What was my obsession with wanting straight girls? You couldn’t get straighter than carrying a man’s child.
I flipped the page on my pad and scooted along the floor, closer to Brigette’s feet. I was looking up her body, from an odd angle. The bottom of her foot was facing me, and the back of her knee. Her ass and the bit of hair that spread from between her legs thinning onto her thighs took up my line of vision. One of my favorite parts of the woman’s body. I liked taking a woman from behind. Sliding my fingers between their pussy lips. Tugging those hairs. Nipping—
I looked down at my sketchpad then shut it at once. My face burning. Christ.
***
Class was over and I was standing outside having a smoke. Went well today. Aside from the distraction of Brigette’s nether bits. I giggled and expelled a stream of smoke. She really was a beautiful woman. A sexy woman.
“You are rude you know.” Brigette said from behind me. I turned, dropped my cigarette and stamped it out. She should really avoid smokers. She wore a red turtleneck that was stretched taught over her stomach, a tan line of skin just below her belly button exposing the bottom half of her belly. I wasn’t sure how her jeans were staying up.
“Christ, aren’t you cold?” I pulled off my scarf and threw it around her shoulders. It was December and Manhattan was stuck in a permanent frost.
“How gallant,” she said, wrapping the scarf around her neck. “But I am always hot now,” she said with a gesture to her belly. Brigette wrapped her arms around the mound protectively, coving the bare skin.
“Would you like something hot to drink?” I picked up my portfolio and walked to the corner. “I know a good coffee shop.”
“I do not drink coffee,” she said following me.
“Well, tea then?”
“Only if you show me your sketches.”
I stopped at the corner and looked down at her. She looked determined.
“You live near here?” she asked. The light changed.
“Why?” I asked continuing my walk.
“Private pose for you,” she said, taking my elbow as we weaved in out of the crowd. “If you show me your sketches.”
“Brigette—”
“You say my name.” And she smiled up at me. Her teeth were white and her cheeks dimpled.
My mouth went dry.
***
I am not sure how we ended up in my studio apartment, or how Brigette could possibly be on my bed, naked. Nor, could I understand how my mind, always caught in light in shadow, even when faced with Brigette’s beauty, was now focused on lips and lashes; eyes and nipples.
Now my interest was in texture and smell. I wanted to be a part of my drawing. To touch her skin with my hands, not capture it on paper. Did she know how erotic she was? Kneeling on my bed like the goddess of fertility, her hands clasped atop her stomach. I felt wrong to want her like I did. She was eight months pregnant.
“Can I see?” she asked. But there was nothing to show her. I had spent the last twenty minutes doodling. My desire growing.
“No,” I said. Standing from where I sat cross-legged on the floor. There was no other furniture in my apartment. Just the bed.
Brigette pouted, her bottom lip a succulent—I cursed. Why did I let her talk me into this? My heart was beating too fast, too hard. My body was warm, my insides liquid. Goo. I turned and leaned against the kitchen counter than ran the length of the room. There was a sink, a hot plate, a half fridge, and the worn Formica supporting my weakened knees.
“Don’t be mad, Carla,” she said. I turned and Brigette extending her hand to me.
“I’m not mad. I’m…” I didn’t know how to finish. What was I?
Brigette rose off her calves and took my finger-tips in her hand. With a soft tug I swayed against her body. The firm ball of her unborn child between us.
“Feel,” she said.
She set my palm flat against the side of her belly, the warm taught skin solid and real under my fingers. Brigette slid my hand down the gentle slope and my eyes flew to her brown ones. She stopped just above her mound, the hairs touching the tips of my fingers.
“Do you want me, Carla?”
My throat felt tight, but I nodded, my fingers making tentative circles on her skin.
She leaned forward, her lips touching mine in the softest of kisses. My eyes were open and hers were shut, those great long lashes casting soft shadows beneath her lids.
“Why are you afraid?” she whispered.
Is that what I was? Was it fear that made me hesitate?
A trail of nibbling kisses dotted my jaw line from mouth to ear. “I will not brake,” she breathed in my ear.
Brigette took hold of my wrist and pressed my fingers between her thighs. Her nether lips were damp, the hair long and curling around my knuckles, her stomach unmovable on my forearm.
She didn’t feel fragile. She felt hard and soft all at the same time.
I slipped a finger inside her and she moaned. I moved a second into place and she bit her lip, moving against me. Gently I pushed her back onto my bed. This was real. Not a dream, not a fantasy. I took a step back and brought my wet fingers to my lips tasting Brigette. I closed my eyes savoring the—
“Do you know how hot that is?”
I pulled my t-shirt over my head. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” I unzipped my jeans and let them fall to the floor.
She smiled and said, “I feel beautiful when you look at me.”
I climbed up onto the foot of the bed and used my shoulders to spread her knees apart.
“Sexy when you look at me.”
I knelt between her legs. “Do you know if the baby is a boy or a girl?” I asked. Life was in front of me and I let my hands circle the mound.
“I will call her Zoe,” Brigette said as I spread my fingers and trailed them over her stomach.
“Zoe,” I whispered and leaned forward to kiss her belly. One kiss led to two, then three, then four, and my mouth traveled over the taught skin to be caressed by the hairs covering Brigette’s desire. Her clit was hard and extended, the pearl a wet pink candy that I drew into my mouth.
Brigette’s heels dug into bed, her painted toenails curled. Her hips lifted and her clit kissed me back; over and over, until her sweet juices painted my chin. The hair guarding her womb tickled my nose and I sneezed.
She giggled, a hand lifting to my head, and sifting through my hair. Had she known I wanted this? Had she seen it in my eyes as I drew her every week? I had been careful not to show her my drawings, to keep my secret desire.
I sat back. The length of her body was like a painting by a master. Golden skin, gently rounded limbs. My hands traced her skin from knee to inner thigh. I left a trail of goose bumps. With a finger I traced the rim of Brigette’s wet hole in a slow circle, my eyes on her face. Her skin held a sheen of perspiration and the color was rising like the sun in the morning. A passionate pink, except where she bit her lip, the skin there golden, her teeth white. Her lashes bent against her cheeks, eyes shut tight.
She moaned my name and I smiled. For eight months I’d watched Brigette blossom. I’d seen her grow more and more beautiful. Watched her body change, her skin brake and stretch.
I shut my eyes, her grace in my mind. My mouth slurped and fingers dipped. Her skin was hot and wet beneath me.
And Brigette came, crying out my name. The muscles in her legs tightened, her knees gripped my shoulders. My nose was clogged with earthy desire.
I rest my cheek against her thigh and breathed deep. That smell. That was Brigette. That was her scent. Dark, rich, like the scent of my oils. Like paint. I lifted sticky finger to Brigette’s belly.
“What do you draw?” She said, unable to see the underside of her stomach.
I had spelt, “love,” but I did not tell her that.
“Come here,” she said and I crawled up the bed to lie beside my love. Brigette took my face in her hands and licked her wetness from my lips and cheeks. She sucked my tongue deep into her mouth and kissed me in slow motion. Soft warmth grew until my body was nothing but heat. Silky strands of her hair caressed my face and neck, brushed my breasts. Her hand pressed between us and tweaked my clit through my panties, moving my nubbin, pushing, tugging through the fabric.
My eyes were open and so were hers, each lick of her tongue against mine like a touch of my clit.
Each blink of her eyes stroking my desire. She tongued my teeth, gaining entrance again.
Brigette’s knee came between my thighs under her hand, and pressed my hole, digging my panties into me while her fingers massaged my clit. I came, hard and wet, her mouth swallowing my cries.
Brigette rest her head against mine and I caught my breath, my arms encircling her. I kissed her cheek and she rest her had on my shoulder.
“Feel,” she said, resting my hand against her stomach.
The baby moved. “Zoe,” I gasped and she kicked my palm. “Wow. Does that hurt?”
“More uncomfortable than painful,” Brigette said with a grimace.
“Thank you,” I said, meeting her eyes.
“For?”
“For sharing you.”
She laughed and I stretched out my arm for my sketchpad.
Brigette took hold of my arm. “You do not have to show me.”
“Yes I do.”
Brigette opened the pad of paper to the first sketch. It was from last semester and at the time there was no sign of Zoe. She flipped through page after page and each careful rendering showed the progression of her pregnancy. Each stroke of chalk the growth of my love. My feelings were obvious and I wished for the first time since I joined her on my bed that I were somewhere else. I wanted a cigarette, I wanted space.
“Carla,” Brigette said and I closed my eyes. Her hand took hold of my chin. “Don’t be afraid.”
Was that what I was?
“You are safe with us.”
I opened my eyes and saw the truth in her eyes.
The Buzz
Copyright © 2006 by Crystal Barela
The tickle and burn of the pigment-filled needle scratched my lower back.
“Don’t move," the tattooist said. Her dark eyes in the mirror reflected back at me in warning. She laid a steady hand on my spine and bent to her work.
Buzz, pause, wipe. Buzz.
Six months had been put into the applying ink to my skin. The design covered three quarters of my back. My only request had been stilettos.
The likeness of a Goth hellcat astride a Harley lounged across my shoulder blades. The stiletto heel of one thigh-high boot grew from the crack of my ass, the other propped on the handlebars. Knees spread wide, the hellcat’s lace covered pussy a shadow between her legs.
The tattoo artist’s cinnamon breath burned my skin as she leaned closer to add the finishing touches.
Buzz, pause, wipe. Buzz.
In the mirror, I could see the dark sheen of her hair piled on top of her head, and the glint of the silver bar in her eyebrow. The tattoos on her shoulders and biceps danced while she worked.
My pussy twitched.
Buzz, pause, wipe. Buzz.
An hour crept by, my heart racing with every swipe of the needle. Six months of work. Me lying ass in the air, panties barely covering my dripping pussy and my nipples hard beneath my tee. Pain and pleasure became one.
She squeezed my hip - a warning to be still - but my hips were connected to my pussy, and with every nick of ink my excited flesh pulsed. The casual touch of her talented fingers were driving me mad.
A long sigh, like a woman satisfied, blew from between her lips. My thighs pressed tight as my imagination ignited. The wet sound of lotion between her palms added fuel to my fire.
“Done.”
"How's it look?" I asked, twisting round.
Over my shoulder, her black painted fingernails were dark against my pale skin.
"I had a beautiful canvas." Her plump lips lowered and I watched, transfixed, as they connected with my sensitive flesh.
Our eyes caught.
My pussy buzzed.
"Go ahead," she said, standing.
I slid my hand beneath me.
With a quick move my fingers were in, tangled in my short curls.
My eyes closed and I pressed my cheek into the table, biting my lip.
Her heels clicked as she walked past me.
“Open your eyes.”
Skirt lifted, her thigh high stilettos drew my eyes to her clean-shaven pussy. Flowered tattoos framed the gleaming skin in a riot of color. A ring pierced her labia.
Wetness soaked my palm.
Bracing one hand against the wall she lifted her leg so that the six inch heel was beside my cheek.
I nuzzled against the patent leather.
“Lick it!”
The heel was hard beneath my tongue.
My breath caught, thighs stiffened, clit on end.
Pussy buzzzzzz.
Pause.
Wipe.
The tickle and burn of the pigment-filled needle scratched my lower back.
“Don’t move," the tattooist said. Her dark eyes in the mirror reflected back at me in warning. She laid a steady hand on my spine and bent to her work.
Buzz, pause, wipe. Buzz.
Six months had been put into the applying ink to my skin. The design covered three quarters of my back. My only request had been stilettos.
The likeness of a Goth hellcat astride a Harley lounged across my shoulder blades. The stiletto heel of one thigh-high boot grew from the crack of my ass, the other propped on the handlebars. Knees spread wide, the hellcat’s lace covered pussy a shadow between her legs.
The tattoo artist’s cinnamon breath burned my skin as she leaned closer to add the finishing touches.
Buzz, pause, wipe. Buzz.
In the mirror, I could see the dark sheen of her hair piled on top of her head, and the glint of the silver bar in her eyebrow. The tattoos on her shoulders and biceps danced while she worked.
My pussy twitched.
Buzz, pause, wipe. Buzz.
An hour crept by, my heart racing with every swipe of the needle. Six months of work. Me lying ass in the air, panties barely covering my dripping pussy and my nipples hard beneath my tee. Pain and pleasure became one.
She squeezed my hip - a warning to be still - but my hips were connected to my pussy, and with every nick of ink my excited flesh pulsed. The casual touch of her talented fingers were driving me mad.
A long sigh, like a woman satisfied, blew from between her lips. My thighs pressed tight as my imagination ignited. The wet sound of lotion between her palms added fuel to my fire.
“Done.”
"How's it look?" I asked, twisting round.
Over my shoulder, her black painted fingernails were dark against my pale skin.
"I had a beautiful canvas." Her plump lips lowered and I watched, transfixed, as they connected with my sensitive flesh.
Our eyes caught.
My pussy buzzed.
"Go ahead," she said, standing.
I slid my hand beneath me.
With a quick move my fingers were in, tangled in my short curls.
My eyes closed and I pressed my cheek into the table, biting my lip.
Her heels clicked as she walked past me.
“Open your eyes.”
Skirt lifted, her thigh high stilettos drew my eyes to her clean-shaven pussy. Flowered tattoos framed the gleaming skin in a riot of color. A ring pierced her labia.
Wetness soaked my palm.
Bracing one hand against the wall she lifted her leg so that the six inch heel was beside my cheek.
I nuzzled against the patent leather.
“Lick it!”
The heel was hard beneath my tongue.
My breath caught, thighs stiffened, clit on end.
Pussy buzzzzzz.
Pause.
Wipe.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Out of Fashion
Copyright ©2006 by Crystal Barela
On the dance floor Danielle moved as if she had no bones, like a jellyfish. She was the music, all movement and loose limbs. I first saw her at a club in the Village, under flashing colored lights and an outdated disco ball. Ivory skin glowed with perspiration and I felt its heat as I moved with her.
We didn’t speak, we danced. The beat entered our blood and chased us across the drink splattered floor in unison. Her hands on my hips had been a welcome surprise. My pussy became liquid as the music took hold, swimming from song to song until last call.
Then she had left without saying a word.
Now she stood in front of me in nothing but a leotard, her long limbs seeming to stretch to her silver-grey eyes. Her arms were extended above her head, fingers twisted in a casual clasp. All her weight was on her right foot, hip jutting out in the exaggerated pose of a mannequin in a window at Saks.
I set my stick of charcoal down on my easel and rubbed my hands nervously on my jeans-covered thighs. I drew deliberate breaths, trying to slow my heartbeat. Our usual fashion illustration model had broken her leg and the semester would finish with Danielle standing in front of me for five hours a day, two days a week.
Danielle changed position, turning so that her ass faced me. She was looking over her shoulder in my direction. Our eyes met and she winked. So she did remember.
When not occupied by classes, my mind had been on her and that one night downtown. I dropped her gaze and picked up my charcoal again. Just because Danielle had been a fire in my system since that night at the club did not mean I wasn’t going to concentrate.
The charcoal became an extension of my hand as I traced the shape of her body. With each clothing change my eyes found the curve of hip and gentle rise of breast beneath the fabric. Figure and form leaped off the newsprint. I caressed her skin with my eyes, imagining running my fingers through her dark hair and then─
‘Break,’ our instructor called from behind me.
I let out the breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. This was the best work I’d ever done.
‘Feeling inspired today, Layla?’
I gave my teacher a grin and took out my can of fixative. I held the drawing away from me and gave it a spray so the charcoal wouldn’t smudge.
With Danielle our model for the rest of the semester, I was my work was going to have real strength. Danielle would be my muse. I watched her climb down off the podium in the center of the room, grab a threadbare kimono from her bag and wrap the silk around her body. Like royalty she toured the classroom, walking behind easels, taking in the likenesses of herself.
I took a swig of water and sat back on my stool, waiting for her to reach me.
As she approached, she shook the scrunchy that had been around her wrist and lifted her arms to pull her dark hair up in a pony-tail. The long wings of fabric slid to her elbows revealing the toned muscles of her forearms. I swallowed.
‘You catch movement well,’ Danielle said, reaching over my shoulder to run a finger along the newsprint. Her nails were short, bitten down, the home done French manicure chipped.
‘You move well,’ I replied.
The heat of her pressed near my back.
She chuckled, her breasts brushing my shoulder blades. Again, only two layers of clothing separated us.
‘What are you doing for supper?’ Danielle asked.
***
Danielle met me in front of the school in the courtyard. She was sitting on the metal park bench, a bag next to her stuffed full with clothing changes for her fashion model work. Sunglasses, big and round like Jackie O’s sat upon her small upturned nose. A red hand-knit scarf with specks of silver was wrapped around her neck and shoulders.
‘I never thought I’d see you again,’ Danielle said, rising to give me a hug.
‘Which would have been your fault, not mine.’
‘Don’t hold that against me.’ She took my hand in hers and hope rose in my chest. Her thumb brushed across my knuckles.
‘It’s better this way,’ she said. Danielle pulled me down the two steps in front of the school building and onto the sidewalk. ‘People who meet in clubs are just there for a fuck.’
New Yorkers rushed around us as we stood at the curb. Danielle extended her arm in the air and with a graceful wave she magically summoned a yellow cab. This was a feat that usually took me close to ten minutes, and even then, I had to nearly throw myself in front of the speeding cars to just get them to stop. A portfolio and art box always proved a deterrent when there was a quicker fare just up the block.
Danielle opened the door for me. ‘We don’t just want to fuck. We want more than that.’ She tugged the edge of my knit cap down my forehead and tapped my nose with her gloved finger. Something squeezed my heart.
‘What else do we want?’ I asked.
‘Dinner.’ Danielle laughed.
I hopped into the cab and slid across the seat, dragging my gear with me. Danielle pressed in after me, her big bag between us. She sat sideways so that her knees touched my leg.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
‘I just love Indian food, don’t you? There’s a place near my apartment that has awesome mango lhassas.’
Three hours later, our bellies were full of food and we were in Danielle’s small East Village studio apartment. It was cold. Wind howled against the windows causing the candles to flicker.
Magazine clippings of supermodels wallpapered the apartment. I wasn’t sure if their made up stares were creepy or exciting.
The only place to sit in the room was her Norwegian Wood, and we snuggled under the layers of blankets..
‘Why do you want to be a model?’
‘Travel, fame, money…’ she pulled the blankets up around our shoulders. ‘…heat.’
‘I can help you with that.’ I slipped my arm under her neck, then around her shoulders. Our bodies tilted together.
Danielle purred and wrapped her arm around my waist. She slipped her hands under my shirt and I yelped. ‘You’re freezing!’
She giggled against my cheek as her cold fingers found my breasts. My nipples were painfully tight, not only from her icicle-like fingers, but from her knees bumping mine and her breath on my lips.
‘Not where it counts.’ Danielle took my hand and slipped it beneath the waistband of her pants. My fingers slid through her soft curls and were enveloped by the humid heat of her pussy. She moaned against my neck, her breath warming my skin, and spreading goose bumps.
I pressed softly, her pussy swallowing my index finger with a smooth sigh. With soft slow movements her hips began to move, following my palm.
Our lips brushed.
I leaned over and traced Danielle’s lower lip, gently pulling it between my teeth. Her breath caught and her hips pressed harder. My knee slid across her thigh and between her legs.
Danielle’s thighs squeezed mine. I nibbled my way from her lips to her neck, sucking and biting a trail down to her nipples while keeping the pressure on her pussy. Lying on her back, she was flat-chested and nothing but nipple. They were raspberry in color and drawn tight together. I sucked them deep, rolling their puckered hardness under my tongue.
My fingers were in her, sliding in her juices, her hips undulating. I licked my way over her ribs to the hollow of her belly button. I tongued the rounded bit of flesh and her stomach trembled beneath me.
‘Don’t!’ she said and I smiled against her. Her giggles weren’t what I was searching for.
Danielle moaned when I skimmed lower and found her candy. Her hard little clit was on end and slipped between my lips. An insistent push from her hips and a yank of my hair had me picking up the pace. I was happy to lap up her sweetness and took her ass in my hands to suck her dry.
***
The apartment I shared with three other girls soon became too crowded with Danielle and our need to be together. I was spending most of my free time at her place anyhow. Within a month I was living in her studio and life became one of school and Danielle. They were what I lived for.
For eight months we played house and I believed that my move to New York had been fate. I would be a successful fashion designer and my love would be my muse. I would create my designs for her and we would live out our life in the world of happily ever after.
***
‘Fifteen minutes girls!’ Vivian, the stage manager, shouted from stage right. She could have been a model as well with her swept up blonde hair and smooth skin. The clipboard in her hand took the brunt of her tension with angry scribbles before she set her pencil behind her ear.
I was Danielle’s dresser, working the Versace show for school credit. It had been two years since
I had seen Danielle in person and not from a billboard in Times Square. One day she had left me, with nothing but a hastily written note. Within a month was on the cover of Vogue.
My life had been consumed with fashion. Her departure had renewed my commitment to my work and nothing else mattered. My life was fashion.
It wasn’t a hardship to be around such beautiful clothes. The rich textures and colors surrounding me were like an aphrodisiac. My blood was hot in my veins and picking up speed as the models shimmied into the latest looks. It would be an intense half hour.
I glanced at my watch. Late as always. There were ten minutes until curtain and Danielle had yet to arrive. My impatience was beginning to match Vivian’s.
This was to be my last show. Only a month until graduation and two weeks until the school fashion show.
To ease my tension I double-checked my rack again and the Polaroid’s of the designer’s styles.
The clothes were hung in sequential order. Corresponding shoes were laid out in a neat row at my feet, and I had already taken a razor to their soles to give Danielle more traction on the runway. Jewelry was laid out on the table by the runway entrance.
Backstage was crowded with models in various stages of undress with the harried dressers chasing after them. Some were completely clothed from head to toe, their make-up the perfect mask of beauty. The model at the rack to the left of mine paced nervously, twisting her manicured hands.
To the right, a brunette stood in nothing but trousers and smoked a cigarette. The seam down the front of the slacks was pressed to a hard point and broke at her ankle in a flattering crease. I could see the barest quarter inch of heel beneath the hemmed cuff. Her dresser stood anxiously, clutching a poppy colored top and whenever she offered the blouse, her model would tell her to fuck off, and then take another drag of her cigarette.
Others were nude, their thin bodies twisting into the current fashions Versace had to offer.
‘At last, she makes an entrance!’ Vivian said. ‘Be quick about it,’ Vivian moved on, meeting my eyes as Danielle’s long limbs carried her across the room.
‘Layla.’ Danielle whispered, her step faltering. A black leather jacket hung limply from her fingers. I took the soft leather and threw it under the rack. My hands went to the buttons at the top of Danielle’s shirt and I slipped them from their holes, knuckles brushing breast and stomach while she stepped out of her skirt.
I would remain calm, professional.
‘Danielle,’ I said. I hooked my thumbs in the strings of her thong and pulled the fabric down her slim hips and legs. I knelt to remove her shoes, breathing in the familiar odor of her pussy, and saw a startling new bare mound. Maintain composure.
My fingers made quick work of her shoe buckles as she clutched my head for support.
‘Traffic was a nightmare,’ she said.
I stood, and pulled the chartreuse top from the rack. It was lighter than air and fell around Danielle’s torso with a flutter, the deep cowl neck giving me a healthy glimpse of breast and the halter leaving nearly all of her back bare. I handed her the bone colored slacks threaded with gold and helped her secure the waistband at her hip.
‘Five minutes!’
Danielle dashed off to the make-up tables, and I followed, gold pumps in hand. The make-up artist swept over her face, blotting shine and heightening color while I sat at my model’s feet, buckling her heels.
‘Danielle!’ the stage manager called and Danielle shot off her seat. She would be the first to launch the line.
The music picked up a catwalk rhythm, the sound like a heartbeat.
Near the curtain entrance, Danielle crouched down so I could secure her necklace while she slipped the large gold loops through her ears.
She stood; her hands smoothed the fabric at her hips.
‘Perfect,’ I breathed. My throat closed up. This wasn’t going to work.
Danielle smiled down at me.
My heart beat in time with the music.
The stage manager held up ten fingers, folding one down at a time.
Danielle bent and brushed her lips against mine. ‘For luck.’
For a moment I was transported back to the curb outside our old apartment. Before I took off for class and she made the rounds at the agencies we would kiss and say…I shook my head and stepped into the background as the curtain was pulled back.
Flashbulbs salted my vision enveloping Danielle in a halo of light.
Danielle was straight and proud; her strides carrying her down the stretch of stage like she was a part of the runway. She was one with her environment. Sleek. Not like the figure drawing model of our past, but a confident face known around the world.
The next model followed and I hurried back to my rack. There were less than five minutes between changes. I took the red summer dress in my hands and fingered the thin fabric. It was as smooth as Danielle’s skin.
Danielle stood over me and I lay between her feet. My hands skimmed from ankle to calf, to the sensitive spot behind her knees. She bit her lower lip and my fingers made small little circles.
Her knees began to tremble and with a little pressure she dropped, her smooth ass sliding against my stomach and her pussy hairs swimming in my belly button.
I shook my head. Damn!
The skirt was layers of sheer silk chiffon. When worn, the fabric would dance around her thighs, teasing the audience with the silhouette of the long legs underneath.
Danielle burst through the curtain, raced toward me, and pulled her top over her head as she went.
The halter fell to the floor and I held up the dress for Danielle to step into. We got the dress over her head and I knelt to remove her shoes, her pants falling on my arms while I worked.
‘Sling backs, thank God!’ she whispered, kicking the slacks to the side.
I held the shoes out for her and she slipped her feet in with a twist of her ankle. I stood.
‘How’s my face?’ Danielle asked. She pursed her lips and closed her gold and rust dusted lids, the fake lashes leaving shadows on her cheeks. The make-up artist hadn’t needed to add much to her flawless skin or plump lips.
I took a tube of lipstick from my apron pocket, the same shade as her dress.
‘Wait,’ she said. She pushed me into the rack, the clothes a cushion between me and the wall as she kissed me hard. Her tongue plunged between my lips and my knees went weak. I nearly hated her for it.
‘Danielle!’ was shouted from stage right.
She pulled back, took the tube from my hands and applied the lipstick in two quick strokes before running across stage.
My heart was beating overtime. I picked up the old outfit from the floor and stuffed it under the
rack so others wouldn’t trip on it. Was I going to let her do this to me?
‘I can’t believe she kissed you!’ One of my classmates exclaimed. It was Nina. ‘She didn’t even ask if you were into girls!’ She threw a dress over her model’s head. The white fabric settled around the chocolate skinned calves and Nina pulled the belt tight at the waist. The contrast of skin and fabric was stunning.
‘They had a thing,’ one of the other dressers called out from across the aisle. ‘A couple of years ago.’
I didn’t have time to respond because Danielle was back, shimmying her hips so the dress was a puddle at her feet.
The next outfit was an evening ensemble. Black linen tuxedo slacks. Instead of the usual shiny tuxedo seam, Versace had inserted a nude stripe of fabric than ran from hip to ankle. A sheer white ruffled front shirt with dramatic French cuffs would finish the look.
‘Why did you leave?’ I asked, keeping my voice level and holding the slacks for her to step into.
Danielle placed her hands on my shoulders, her small boy breasts at lip level. Her nipples were hard and butted my cheek when she twisted her hips so that I could pull the pants up her legs. My hands went to the clasp at her waist and her hand pressed my palm against her through the fine fabric.
‘I had a flight to Milan at four in the morning,’ she said. Danielle tucked the tails of her thin voile shirt into her slacks, leaving the front buttons undone. A long vee of skin was exposed.
‘A flight to─? Oh, for fucks sake!’ I slipped my fingers between the teeth of the zipper, cupping smooth damp skin. Her clit pulsed against my palm.
She met my eyes and I slipped a finger in. Her smile faltered. ‘I didn’t have the heart to tell you I was leaving.’
‘Danielle!’ Vivian called from center stage.
I pulled my hand free and she stepped into her black loafers, zipping her slacks as she ran toward the stage.
Nina’s eyes were wide, but they widened even further when I brought my fingers to my mouth for a taste of Danielle. Familiar. Heavy and rich like crème brulee’. God, I’d missed her. My body ached with it and so did my heart.
I hung up the dress. Danielle had close to ten minutes for the next change. It was the finale, and she was to wear a formal gown. It took a little more getting into. The models’ stage order was reversed, leaving Danielle to finish off the show.
Donatella had gone all out with this dress, black feathers being the prominent covering. They had been painstakingly sewn into the nude mesh of the bodice and torso of the garment. Long black feathers fanned out over the hips. The greens and blues would be picked up in the stage lights. There was also a headpiece with this ensemble. I took it from the box and fell into the wall as weight tumbled into my back.
The clothes billowed around us and Danielle pressed into me, pussy against my ass. Her hands slipped around my waist and unbuttoned my Levis with a flick of her wrist and a drag of zipper.
My heart was racing and I could barely breathe, fabric against my face, around my head. Danielle’s breath hot on my neck.
Eyes shut tight, colorful flecks danced on my lids, in time with her fingers in my pussy. I tried to ask her to stop, tell her to dress, but instead I moaned, my hips flying with her fingers to the beat of the music.
My body turned inward, heat flushing my face and limbs.
Danielle stepped away from me and laughed, the sexy timbre sliding along my spine. I straightened; the headpiece had been crushed between me and the wall. I cursed and she laughed again as I worked at fixing the feathers and sequins.
‘We’ll finish this after,’ she said, pulling the dress around her. Danielle took the headpiece from me and secured it in her hair while my trembling fingers managed to do the dozens of hooks that stretched from ass to shoulder blade. I buckled her shoes, running on auto pilot and Danielle was gone in a swirl of taffeta.
‘You guys should really get a room,’ Nina said.
‘Oh, I plan on it.’
***
We couldn’t wait for the room. The taxi driver was getting a little girl on girl action as our lips locked. Four hands raced over fabric, pulling at buttons, wanting to touch skin, searching for memories and finding them.
Danielle was on my leg, her bare thighs squeezing when the driver stopped the car at the light. My eyes caught his in the rearview mirror and he winked from under his cap.
‘Danielle, please─’
‘I’m trying,’ she breathed. ‘Your zipper’s caught.’
My hand was under her skirt and I slipped her thong aside. She tilted her hips and my fingers slipped home. Danielle rocked against me and I curved my hand so that I could hit that spot she liked.
Her moans dropped low in her throat.
We were stuck in traffic. The taxi was stop and go.
Danielle’s breast was free and I took her nipple in my mouth and sucked hard, my thumb pressing her clit. She collapsed against me and groaned, sobbing my name.
***
We lay on her bed in her uptown apartment. Danielle was asleep, her long hair spread out around her in a silky disarray. Our legs were entwined and as much as I wanted to hate her for leaving me, I couldn’t.
I slipped my leg from between hers and she frowned, her arm stretching across the space between us to pull me close. For a moment I lay there, home. But it wasn’t the same. Not really.
I rolled out of the bed with a sigh.
With our mad tumble into her place I hadn’t seen anything but white sheets and creamy skin. It was as if our time apart had left us starved for each other. The elevator ride up to her apartment was spent with my back pressed against the wall and her hand in my pants. We were through the door and ripping off our clothes before it shut behind us.
Danielle had bent me over the couch, her nipples like rocks against my back. Her hand was between my thighs, her thumb crawling along my ass crack. I shook my head and walked into the living room.
Gone was the magazine clip wallpaper. In its place were the cool, clean lines of a professional interior designer. But the modern edged space was nothing compared to the view awaiting me at the floor to ceiling windows. Central Park stretched out in front of me in the setting sun, the lawns and trees green with the bounty of spring. A far cry from the studio I was still living in downtown.
My stomach gave a rumble and I realized it was near time for dinner. In the drawer beside the dishwasher, just like in our old place, I found a stack of take-out menus. Some things didn’t change, but I had.
I shut the drawer and gathered my clothes from the living room floor. From where I was shimmying into my jeans I could see Danielle’s hair hanging in a silky curtain to the floor. I pulled my shirt over my head. She shifted and the strands waved at me, called to me. Touch me, breathe me. I took a step closer to her…and I’ll break your heart. I shook my head and leaned back against the white leather sofa bringing my knee up to slip on my sneaker. Not again.
***
Tonight was the night I celebrated my hard earned BFA from Parsons in fashion design. I sat in the balcony of one of the many ballrooms at the Marriot in Times Square, a glass of champagne in hand, and wearing an evening gown I had made myself. The sapphire blue brought out the reds in my brown hair and brightened my eyes to the same color as the fabric. The empire waistline was flattering for my figure, hiding the fact that I was a little broad in the hips with the long draped lines reaching the floor.
The rehearsal went well, my model carrying my clothes with smooth grace. I took another sip of my champagne and the music began to rock. My designs would be numbers twelve and thirty-seven. One after the other, the models began their dance; their movements on the narrow strip of stage frenetic.
There was nothing more exciting than seeing my designs on a runway.
My heart froze, and then picked up a rapid ta-too.
Except seeing my clothes on Danielle.
Strutting towards me in high-healed glory was Danielle in my pain-stakingly sewn pantsuit. At the end of the runway she tossed her hair and sent me a sassy smile. The poplin hem on the belted jacked made her waist seem even smaller than it was. The crisp seam down the front of the slacks gave her an extra couple of inches in height. It looked as though the suit were made for her.
It was.
Danielle blew me a kiss and turned in a circle before heading back down the runway.
My skirt in hand, I hurried across the balcony and out the door into the lobby area. I had to get backstage. I ran down the circular staircase and through the double doors on the auditorium floor. The tables were a maze, and I had guests giving me annoyed looks. I suppose I would be annoyed too if I had paid four hundred dollars for my seat and my view was obstructed, but I finally made it to the stage doors.
‘Danielle!’ I called. Both hands held up my dress as I made my way around discarded outfits. It was warm and crowded and I felt moisture gather on my upper lip. ‘Dan─’
There she was. Her back was to me, but the fire engine gown was mine. The beads I had spent countless hours sewing on shimmered in the dim light, accentuating the delicate curve of her slim hips. The open back cut low enough to see the dimples of her ass.
Danielle looked over her shoulder and caught my eye. The smile on her face was only for me. This time we will work, the curve of her lips told me. This time is forever.
***
None of them were right! Frustrated, I flipped through the pile of 8X10 glossies and then turned to the form in my bed. My newest lover’s name was Victoria and if I were to stand her next to Danielle they could have been sisters—or mother and daughter. Victoria was just nineteen, the age I had been when I met Danielle for the first time.
And now Danielle had left me again. Not interested in my design house. Not interested in the years we had spent building up to this moment. I took another sip of my drink.
I tried not to be bitter. Now Danielle would be a star. Not just a familiar face on a magazine cover, but a supermodel turned actress. Steven Spielburg himself had called her, asked her to be a part of his movie. How could I ask her to stay? But she had never even discussed it with me. Another note had left me alone with my first line of sportswear to fit and no one to fit it on.
‘Fuck!’I tossed my pen across my desk.
Victoria shifted in her sleep and the sheet slid down to reveal the crack of her ass. I got up from my desk and let my robe fall to the floor as I walked over to the bed. I trailed a finger from her knee to thigh, and thigh to ass. Such soft skin.
If Danielle refused to be my fit model then Victoria would do. In general I didn’t combine business and pleasure but I would make an exception this time. She was perfect.
I took the bottle of lube from the nightstand and poured a generous amount into my hands then rubbed it along the length of my harnessed dildo. Sheet aside, I crawled onto the bed and moved Victoria’s thighs further apart. She shifted, her mouth falling open, the wet tip of her pink tongue glistening.
With one hand I took hold of her hip and the other my rubber dick. I leaned forward, my dildo sliding against her pussy lips. Victoria moaned softly but didn’t wake.
I felt the toy catch hold and twisted it against her hole.
‘Lay— ‘
I sank into her slowly, her pussy making sucking noises as it took in inch after inch. Victoria moaned, her fingers clutching the sheets. I was flush against her, harness against her ass, pinning her to the mattress. She tried to move her hips and I slapped my hand against her hip.
‘Be still!’ I pulled out and slammed into her. Victoria cried out, unprepared, but I rammed her again. I began to pump and her hands shot out to the wall, pushing back against me as I fucked her hard. I slid my hand in between our bodies and smeared her juices along the crack of her ass and pressed against her tight little rosebud with my thumb.
Victoria sobbed my name when the tip of my finger slipped in, her hole tightening around the digit. I began to move in her cunt again, my finger twisting in her anus, slipping deeper and deeper. She was begging me and I pulled my dildo free and pressed it against the tighter hole.
‘No!’ she protested, but pressed her ass back against my dick.
I held the cock in my hand. The rubber was slippery and with a hard nudge the head went in. I slid my free hand around to her pussy and rubbed her clit in slow circles. I pulled her up and the dildo slipped deeper and deeper, until she was squatting on my lap.
Victoria began to move on the dick, her ass slamming against my thighs. I massaged her clit and it pulsed against my fingers. I tweaked her nipple and she began to tremble.
Breathing hard I pushed her back onto the bed again and fucked her ass.
Danielle’s smile was in my head. Her laughter rang in my ears. I fucked her harder and Victoria screamed, her orgasm racking her body as she collapsed against the bed. I continued to ram her ass until my body joined hers, quaking against her.
***
It had been years, three at least since Danielle had spoken to me, and the first thing she said was, ‘It’s time.’
I froze at the sound of her voice, safety pin pressed between my lips and chalk between my fingers. My other hand was on Victoria’s hip, holding the fabric taut for the pinning. Danielle shut the door behind her, drowning out the whispering of the curious behind her.
Danielle wore a long buff colored leather trench coat that skimmed her chocolate brown boots.
The sunglasses were similar in shape to the ones she wore on that first afternoon together in college. I took the safety pin from my mouth and set it carefully in the holder on the table, my heart picking up speed. Why did she do this too me?
‘Do you have an appointment?’ asked Patricia, my pattern maker.
Victoria looked over her shoulder and shrieked out from under my hands. ‘Danielle! Danielle
Donahue!’ She raced over and threw her arms around Danielle who had frozen in the doorway when faced with her biggest fan. ‘This is amazing! I can’t believe you’re here!’
Danielle held Victoria away from her and tilted her sunglasses down her nose so that she could peek over the frames. Her sassy eyes took in the long limbs and similar bone structure, then met my own. ‘You do have an eye, don’t you?’
‘All in a days work.’ I answered.
‘Excuse me, Miss Donahue. We are in the middle of a fitting,’ Patricia said, all business. Patricia stuck her pencil behind her ear and crossed her arms across her chest. Victoria was paid by the hour.
‘My apologies,’ Danielle said. She turned Victoria in our direction and gave her a little scoot with a pat on the ass. ‘Back to work.’
Danielle sat herself in the chair at the end of the table and crossed her legs. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her remove her glasses and leather gloves, while I pinned the trousers.
‘I have been studying your work, Miss Donahue,’ Victoria said. ‘Ever since I was twelve!’
Danielle raised a brow and said, ‘That’s not very long.’
‘Long enough to know I want to be just like you!’
‘We’re done, Vee,’ I said. ‘Go ahead and change.’
Patricia looked at her watch, then the clock on the wall and frowned.
Victoria ran behind the changing screen. ‘You were on the cover of Cosmo,’ she continued. ‘April ’97, in a black Dolce & Gabbana bathing suit and this amazingly wide brimmed straw sunhat.’
I remembered that cover. The ground had been lemon yellow and Danielle’s hair had been long,
half-way down her back, not the page boy cut she had now.
‘I still have the magazine.’
I did too.
‘Okay, Victoria,’ Patricia said. ‘Can you come back in Monday for an hour?’
‘How about two o’clock?’ Victoria answered.
Patricia nodded and rose to leave.
‘Will you please leave a copy of your notes on Jone’s desk?’ I asked. Jone was my assistant.
‘Of course.’ Patricia said, gathering her notebooks and the hangers heavy with fit samples.
Victoria ran out from behind the screen, magazine held between her lips and tucking her shirt into her low-slung jeans. She tossed the glossy periodical on the table and it slid to a stop in front of Danielle. ‘Can I get your autograph?’
Danielle took a black marker from her clutch purse. Her eyes met mine as she signed.
‘Isn’t this amazing, Layla?’ Victoria ran over and gave me a hug. She planted a kiss on my lips, forgetting my rule of keeping work and our private life separate.
‘Vee,’ I said with a hint of warning.
‘Sorry,’ Victoria whispered, then kissed me again, her hands holding my head to keep me still.
‘I’m just so tickled.’ She snatched up her coat, then the magazine and skipped out of the office.
The room was silent.
‘A bit young for you, don’t you think?’
‘None of your business.’
There was silence again.
‘I want to accept your business proposition.’
‘That offer expired three years ago.’
‘Not as a fit model, your private business.’
I met her eyes. ‘I’m taken.’
‘Fuck, Layla…hasn’t enough time passed?’
‘For you to break my heart a third time?’
‘My heart hurt too…’
‘Not enough for you to stay.’ I picked up the stray safety pins from the table and threw them into the tin with a repetitive ping. ‘Not enough for you to work with me.’ I gathered my flat sketches together. ‘Not enough for you to return my calls!’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry! For more than ten years you’ve been leaving me hot and cold and all you can offer me is sorry!’ I couldn’t hold back the rage and that made me even angrier.
‘I’m ready,’ Danielle said, standing. She came toward me and I backed away, hitting the mannequin behind me. ‘Ready to settle down, Layla.’
‘Settle down? You have some balls!’
‘I thought that was one of the things you liked about me.’ She pressed forward, her body inches from mine.
Heat crawled up under my skin unbidden.
‘Love about me.’ Her breath tickled my ear as she spoke. When I didn’t answer, she moved in for the kill, sliding her body against mine, nibbling her way from my ear to my lips.
My insides were on fire.
‘Loved,’ I whispered.
She froze.
‘Past tense.’
‘Layla, I…’
‘I need to think Danielle.’ I slid out from under her and gathered my sketch books. ‘You always move in too fast and I can’t think straight.’ I walked past her to the doorway and turned. Her hair had fallen across her cheek, and her lipstick was smeared onto her upper lip. She had never looked more beautiful.
I turned and walked down the hall.
When I arrived home, the aroma of dinner cooking drifted toward me in a tempting wave. Victoria was a wiz in the kitchen. I tossed my briefcase on the table by the door and I hurried toward the smell.
‘Is that you, Sweetie?’ Victoria called out from the kitchen.
‘Who else?’ I rounded the corner just as Victoria came through the kitchen doorway, apron on and glass of wine hand. She offered me the glass before pulling me close for a warm hug.
‘Dinner smells fantastic,’ I said, kissing her forehead. Sugar clung to her skin.
Victoria’s hair was piled up on her head, soft dark curls falling down to frame her face in wispy waves. Tight little ringlets had formed around her neck from her efforts in front of the stove.
‘Your favorite,’ she said and I followed her in. ‘Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and…’ She bent to take something from the oven, her small round ass putting to mind something other than food. ‘Peach cobbler.’
I set my glass on the granite counter and came up behind her. My hands slipped between her and the apron and she gasped in surprise as I pulled her back against me. She set the cobbler on the stovetop and leaned her head back against my shoulder.
‘What’s the occasion?’ I nibbled my way from neck to ear.
‘Since you asked─’ she moaned as I gave her nipple a tweak. ‘We’re having company.’
The doorbell rang.
My eyes shot to the dining room table. There were three place settings.
‘Danielle called─’
‘Fuck!’ I stepped away quickly and Victoria stumbled against the counter. I turned the opposite direction.
‘What’s wrong?’ Victoria asked, placing a tentative hand on my shoulder.
I took the glass of wine from the counter and tossed the contents back in a single gulp, then poured another glass. ‘Nothing.’ I should have told Victoria about Danielle. We’d been together more than two years and I loved her.
I met Victoria’s eyes and saw the confusion, the worry. The doorbell rang again. ‘Answer the door, Vee. I’m fine.’
She didn’t look like she believed me, but with the third ring of the bell, she took off her apron.
With a quick glance in the hall mirror she made her way to the door.
All Danielle and I had was history, I told myself as Victoria greeted Danielle with star struck awe. I took another gulp of wine and refilled my glass. Victoria and I were committed to each other.
‘Layla, look,’ Victoria said and I turned with what I hoped was a confident smile. ‘Danielle brought us flowers. Isn’t that sweet?’
Sweet was something Danielle had never been.
They sat beside each other, the loves of my life. Both dark-haired, both with peaches-and-cream skin, and high defined cheekbones. But where Danielle’s eyes were a cold grey, Victoria’s were a warm brown.
‘You two look like a couple of bookends,’ I said and giggled. Too much wine for me. The evening had gone well. Victoria and Danielle got along like long lost pals.
Victoria stood and came around to my side of the table. ‘Sweetie you’ve had too much wine.’
How does she read my mind? That’s why I loved Vee. She had an uncanny ability of knowing what I wanted.
Danielle took my other elbow and the two of them steered me down the hall to the bedroom. Victoria was right. I had drunk too much and sleep would definitely put things in perspective. I sat down on the fuscia-colored comforter and Victoria pulled my sweater over my head. Danielle was at my feet unbuckling my heels.
I blinked, remembering that day with Versace.
Danielle’s hands went to the waistband of my slacks and I felt Victoria behind me unhooking my bra.
Then the heat of her breasts pressed against my shoulder blades and her palms replaced my bra cups.
I looked down at her fingers massaging my breasts. Just past her knuckles in the background was Danielle’s face looking up at me.
How much wine had I drunk?
I didn’t move as Danielle pushed my knees wide with her shoulders and dipped her head close to my pussy. In slow motion she tugged the delicate fabric of my panties aside and nudged me with her nose, and then her tongue.
‘Vee?’ Confusion washed over me as the heat flushed my insides.
Victoria shushed me, kissing my neck while Danielle’s tongue slid between my lower lips and began a rhythm that I remembered from years previous. Danielle’s fingers joined her lips, one, two, three. Spreading, widening, as Victoria kissed me and whispered love words. Held me safe.
The pressure was building in my lower body, Danielle knuckles finding resistance as she pushed against my hole. She twisted her hand left, then right and I cried out as she popped through. Danielle met my eyes and began to move, slow at first, and then picking up pace. She was fucking me hard, as if making up for lost time, her hand sliding in and out of me, sloshing in my juices─
I woke from sleep, my heart racing. Sweat coated my skin and an ache was pulsing between my legs.
Victoria’s head was on my stomach, her soft hair spread across me. Her long body was lying diagonal across the bed, her feet hanging off the side. I ran my fingers through her hair softly and took a deep breath.
Victoria’s damp breath wet my belly button. She deserved to know about Danielle.
I should tell her.
I let my fingers tangle in her hair and tugged softly.
‘Vee?’
She made a sound of questioning ascent in her sleep.
‘I need to talk, Vee.’
Victoria turned over onto her other side, her eyes blinking up at me. ‘Y’ okay?’
***
The table was set for three, just like it had been in my dream, but this time when the doorbell rang I answered the door.
Danielle pulled me into her perfumed embrace, then came into the apartment.
‘This is lovely,’ she said, handing me a bottle of wine.
I was going to stay away from that.
‘Did you cook?’ she asked. Danielle sniffed the air as she took off her jacket.
‘No, Vee did.’
Danielle froze.
‘You know I don’t have much of a hand in the kitchen,’ I said.
Just then, Victoria ran out from the kitchen, apron splattered with food and hair up in a lop-sided ponytail. She wore no make-up, which made her look even younger. Her smooth skin glowed.
‘Welcome,’ she said. ‘Layla told me you were a vegetarian, but that you eat fish.’
‘Yes,’ Danielle said, handing me her jacket.
I took the jacket down the hall to the spare bedroom and when I came back, Danielle was in front the free floating shelves in the living room. Her arms were crossed over her stomach. She held a picture of me and Victoria in Ireland from last summer. It was a favorite of mine, though not for its photographic genius. There was none, but for the obvious happiness in our eyes. We had taken it by holding the camera up over our heads and praying that we were both in the shot.
‘How long have you been together?’ She asked. Her voice flat.
‘More than two years,’ I said.
‘Two years, three months and sixteen days,’ Victoria said from behind us.
Danielle and I turned and she held out wine glasses for the two of us.
‘Layla interviewed me for the fit model position.’
The one Danielle hadn’t wanted.
‘I knew she was the one from the moment I walked into the interview,’ Vee said wrapping her arm around my waist. ‘But it took a while to convince Layla of the same thing.’
The hurt this last time had been nearly unbearable.
‘A year later we moved in together.’ Vee took my hand in hers and gave it a squeeze, before lifting my fingers for Danielle to admire. ‘Last month we had our commitment ceremony.’
The light of the diamonds on my index finger twinkled and the light that shone from Danielle’s eyes faded. Perhaps now she understood.
On the dance floor Danielle moved as if she had no bones, like a jellyfish. She was the music, all movement and loose limbs. I first saw her at a club in the Village, under flashing colored lights and an outdated disco ball. Ivory skin glowed with perspiration and I felt its heat as I moved with her.
We didn’t speak, we danced. The beat entered our blood and chased us across the drink splattered floor in unison. Her hands on my hips had been a welcome surprise. My pussy became liquid as the music took hold, swimming from song to song until last call.
Then she had left without saying a word.
Now she stood in front of me in nothing but a leotard, her long limbs seeming to stretch to her silver-grey eyes. Her arms were extended above her head, fingers twisted in a casual clasp. All her weight was on her right foot, hip jutting out in the exaggerated pose of a mannequin in a window at Saks.
I set my stick of charcoal down on my easel and rubbed my hands nervously on my jeans-covered thighs. I drew deliberate breaths, trying to slow my heartbeat. Our usual fashion illustration model had broken her leg and the semester would finish with Danielle standing in front of me for five hours a day, two days a week.
Danielle changed position, turning so that her ass faced me. She was looking over her shoulder in my direction. Our eyes met and she winked. So she did remember.
When not occupied by classes, my mind had been on her and that one night downtown. I dropped her gaze and picked up my charcoal again. Just because Danielle had been a fire in my system since that night at the club did not mean I wasn’t going to concentrate.
The charcoal became an extension of my hand as I traced the shape of her body. With each clothing change my eyes found the curve of hip and gentle rise of breast beneath the fabric. Figure and form leaped off the newsprint. I caressed her skin with my eyes, imagining running my fingers through her dark hair and then─
‘Break,’ our instructor called from behind me.
I let out the breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. This was the best work I’d ever done.
‘Feeling inspired today, Layla?’
I gave my teacher a grin and took out my can of fixative. I held the drawing away from me and gave it a spray so the charcoal wouldn’t smudge.
With Danielle our model for the rest of the semester, I was my work was going to have real strength. Danielle would be my muse. I watched her climb down off the podium in the center of the room, grab a threadbare kimono from her bag and wrap the silk around her body. Like royalty she toured the classroom, walking behind easels, taking in the likenesses of herself.
I took a swig of water and sat back on my stool, waiting for her to reach me.
As she approached, she shook the scrunchy that had been around her wrist and lifted her arms to pull her dark hair up in a pony-tail. The long wings of fabric slid to her elbows revealing the toned muscles of her forearms. I swallowed.
‘You catch movement well,’ Danielle said, reaching over my shoulder to run a finger along the newsprint. Her nails were short, bitten down, the home done French manicure chipped.
‘You move well,’ I replied.
The heat of her pressed near my back.
She chuckled, her breasts brushing my shoulder blades. Again, only two layers of clothing separated us.
‘What are you doing for supper?’ Danielle asked.
***
Danielle met me in front of the school in the courtyard. She was sitting on the metal park bench, a bag next to her stuffed full with clothing changes for her fashion model work. Sunglasses, big and round like Jackie O’s sat upon her small upturned nose. A red hand-knit scarf with specks of silver was wrapped around her neck and shoulders.
‘I never thought I’d see you again,’ Danielle said, rising to give me a hug.
‘Which would have been your fault, not mine.’
‘Don’t hold that against me.’ She took my hand in hers and hope rose in my chest. Her thumb brushed across my knuckles.
‘It’s better this way,’ she said. Danielle pulled me down the two steps in front of the school building and onto the sidewalk. ‘People who meet in clubs are just there for a fuck.’
New Yorkers rushed around us as we stood at the curb. Danielle extended her arm in the air and with a graceful wave she magically summoned a yellow cab. This was a feat that usually took me close to ten minutes, and even then, I had to nearly throw myself in front of the speeding cars to just get them to stop. A portfolio and art box always proved a deterrent when there was a quicker fare just up the block.
Danielle opened the door for me. ‘We don’t just want to fuck. We want more than that.’ She tugged the edge of my knit cap down my forehead and tapped my nose with her gloved finger. Something squeezed my heart.
‘What else do we want?’ I asked.
‘Dinner.’ Danielle laughed.
I hopped into the cab and slid across the seat, dragging my gear with me. Danielle pressed in after me, her big bag between us. She sat sideways so that her knees touched my leg.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
‘I just love Indian food, don’t you? There’s a place near my apartment that has awesome mango lhassas.’
Three hours later, our bellies were full of food and we were in Danielle’s small East Village studio apartment. It was cold. Wind howled against the windows causing the candles to flicker.
Magazine clippings of supermodels wallpapered the apartment. I wasn’t sure if their made up stares were creepy or exciting.
The only place to sit in the room was her Norwegian Wood, and we snuggled under the layers of blankets..
‘Why do you want to be a model?’
‘Travel, fame, money…’ she pulled the blankets up around our shoulders. ‘…heat.’
‘I can help you with that.’ I slipped my arm under her neck, then around her shoulders. Our bodies tilted together.
Danielle purred and wrapped her arm around my waist. She slipped her hands under my shirt and I yelped. ‘You’re freezing!’
She giggled against my cheek as her cold fingers found my breasts. My nipples were painfully tight, not only from her icicle-like fingers, but from her knees bumping mine and her breath on my lips.
‘Not where it counts.’ Danielle took my hand and slipped it beneath the waistband of her pants. My fingers slid through her soft curls and were enveloped by the humid heat of her pussy. She moaned against my neck, her breath warming my skin, and spreading goose bumps.
I pressed softly, her pussy swallowing my index finger with a smooth sigh. With soft slow movements her hips began to move, following my palm.
Our lips brushed.
I leaned over and traced Danielle’s lower lip, gently pulling it between my teeth. Her breath caught and her hips pressed harder. My knee slid across her thigh and between her legs.
Danielle’s thighs squeezed mine. I nibbled my way from her lips to her neck, sucking and biting a trail down to her nipples while keeping the pressure on her pussy. Lying on her back, she was flat-chested and nothing but nipple. They were raspberry in color and drawn tight together. I sucked them deep, rolling their puckered hardness under my tongue.
My fingers were in her, sliding in her juices, her hips undulating. I licked my way over her ribs to the hollow of her belly button. I tongued the rounded bit of flesh and her stomach trembled beneath me.
‘Don’t!’ she said and I smiled against her. Her giggles weren’t what I was searching for.
Danielle moaned when I skimmed lower and found her candy. Her hard little clit was on end and slipped between my lips. An insistent push from her hips and a yank of my hair had me picking up the pace. I was happy to lap up her sweetness and took her ass in my hands to suck her dry.
***
The apartment I shared with three other girls soon became too crowded with Danielle and our need to be together. I was spending most of my free time at her place anyhow. Within a month I was living in her studio and life became one of school and Danielle. They were what I lived for.
For eight months we played house and I believed that my move to New York had been fate. I would be a successful fashion designer and my love would be my muse. I would create my designs for her and we would live out our life in the world of happily ever after.
***
‘Fifteen minutes girls!’ Vivian, the stage manager, shouted from stage right. She could have been a model as well with her swept up blonde hair and smooth skin. The clipboard in her hand took the brunt of her tension with angry scribbles before she set her pencil behind her ear.
I was Danielle’s dresser, working the Versace show for school credit. It had been two years since
I had seen Danielle in person and not from a billboard in Times Square. One day she had left me, with nothing but a hastily written note. Within a month was on the cover of Vogue.
My life had been consumed with fashion. Her departure had renewed my commitment to my work and nothing else mattered. My life was fashion.
It wasn’t a hardship to be around such beautiful clothes. The rich textures and colors surrounding me were like an aphrodisiac. My blood was hot in my veins and picking up speed as the models shimmied into the latest looks. It would be an intense half hour.
I glanced at my watch. Late as always. There were ten minutes until curtain and Danielle had yet to arrive. My impatience was beginning to match Vivian’s.
This was to be my last show. Only a month until graduation and two weeks until the school fashion show.
To ease my tension I double-checked my rack again and the Polaroid’s of the designer’s styles.
The clothes were hung in sequential order. Corresponding shoes were laid out in a neat row at my feet, and I had already taken a razor to their soles to give Danielle more traction on the runway. Jewelry was laid out on the table by the runway entrance.
Backstage was crowded with models in various stages of undress with the harried dressers chasing after them. Some were completely clothed from head to toe, their make-up the perfect mask of beauty. The model at the rack to the left of mine paced nervously, twisting her manicured hands.
To the right, a brunette stood in nothing but trousers and smoked a cigarette. The seam down the front of the slacks was pressed to a hard point and broke at her ankle in a flattering crease. I could see the barest quarter inch of heel beneath the hemmed cuff. Her dresser stood anxiously, clutching a poppy colored top and whenever she offered the blouse, her model would tell her to fuck off, and then take another drag of her cigarette.
Others were nude, their thin bodies twisting into the current fashions Versace had to offer.
‘At last, she makes an entrance!’ Vivian said. ‘Be quick about it,’ Vivian moved on, meeting my eyes as Danielle’s long limbs carried her across the room.
‘Layla.’ Danielle whispered, her step faltering. A black leather jacket hung limply from her fingers. I took the soft leather and threw it under the rack. My hands went to the buttons at the top of Danielle’s shirt and I slipped them from their holes, knuckles brushing breast and stomach while she stepped out of her skirt.
I would remain calm, professional.
‘Danielle,’ I said. I hooked my thumbs in the strings of her thong and pulled the fabric down her slim hips and legs. I knelt to remove her shoes, breathing in the familiar odor of her pussy, and saw a startling new bare mound. Maintain composure.
My fingers made quick work of her shoe buckles as she clutched my head for support.
‘Traffic was a nightmare,’ she said.
I stood, and pulled the chartreuse top from the rack. It was lighter than air and fell around Danielle’s torso with a flutter, the deep cowl neck giving me a healthy glimpse of breast and the halter leaving nearly all of her back bare. I handed her the bone colored slacks threaded with gold and helped her secure the waistband at her hip.
‘Five minutes!’
Danielle dashed off to the make-up tables, and I followed, gold pumps in hand. The make-up artist swept over her face, blotting shine and heightening color while I sat at my model’s feet, buckling her heels.
‘Danielle!’ the stage manager called and Danielle shot off her seat. She would be the first to launch the line.
The music picked up a catwalk rhythm, the sound like a heartbeat.
Near the curtain entrance, Danielle crouched down so I could secure her necklace while she slipped the large gold loops through her ears.
She stood; her hands smoothed the fabric at her hips.
‘Perfect,’ I breathed. My throat closed up. This wasn’t going to work.
Danielle smiled down at me.
My heart beat in time with the music.
The stage manager held up ten fingers, folding one down at a time.
Danielle bent and brushed her lips against mine. ‘For luck.’
For a moment I was transported back to the curb outside our old apartment. Before I took off for class and she made the rounds at the agencies we would kiss and say…I shook my head and stepped into the background as the curtain was pulled back.
Flashbulbs salted my vision enveloping Danielle in a halo of light.
Danielle was straight and proud; her strides carrying her down the stretch of stage like she was a part of the runway. She was one with her environment. Sleek. Not like the figure drawing model of our past, but a confident face known around the world.
The next model followed and I hurried back to my rack. There were less than five minutes between changes. I took the red summer dress in my hands and fingered the thin fabric. It was as smooth as Danielle’s skin.
Danielle stood over me and I lay between her feet. My hands skimmed from ankle to calf, to the sensitive spot behind her knees. She bit her lower lip and my fingers made small little circles.
Her knees began to tremble and with a little pressure she dropped, her smooth ass sliding against my stomach and her pussy hairs swimming in my belly button.
I shook my head. Damn!
The skirt was layers of sheer silk chiffon. When worn, the fabric would dance around her thighs, teasing the audience with the silhouette of the long legs underneath.
Danielle burst through the curtain, raced toward me, and pulled her top over her head as she went.
The halter fell to the floor and I held up the dress for Danielle to step into. We got the dress over her head and I knelt to remove her shoes, her pants falling on my arms while I worked.
‘Sling backs, thank God!’ she whispered, kicking the slacks to the side.
I held the shoes out for her and she slipped her feet in with a twist of her ankle. I stood.
‘How’s my face?’ Danielle asked. She pursed her lips and closed her gold and rust dusted lids, the fake lashes leaving shadows on her cheeks. The make-up artist hadn’t needed to add much to her flawless skin or plump lips.
I took a tube of lipstick from my apron pocket, the same shade as her dress.
‘Wait,’ she said. She pushed me into the rack, the clothes a cushion between me and the wall as she kissed me hard. Her tongue plunged between my lips and my knees went weak. I nearly hated her for it.
‘Danielle!’ was shouted from stage right.
She pulled back, took the tube from my hands and applied the lipstick in two quick strokes before running across stage.
My heart was beating overtime. I picked up the old outfit from the floor and stuffed it under the
rack so others wouldn’t trip on it. Was I going to let her do this to me?
‘I can’t believe she kissed you!’ One of my classmates exclaimed. It was Nina. ‘She didn’t even ask if you were into girls!’ She threw a dress over her model’s head. The white fabric settled around the chocolate skinned calves and Nina pulled the belt tight at the waist. The contrast of skin and fabric was stunning.
‘They had a thing,’ one of the other dressers called out from across the aisle. ‘A couple of years ago.’
I didn’t have time to respond because Danielle was back, shimmying her hips so the dress was a puddle at her feet.
The next outfit was an evening ensemble. Black linen tuxedo slacks. Instead of the usual shiny tuxedo seam, Versace had inserted a nude stripe of fabric than ran from hip to ankle. A sheer white ruffled front shirt with dramatic French cuffs would finish the look.
‘Why did you leave?’ I asked, keeping my voice level and holding the slacks for her to step into.
Danielle placed her hands on my shoulders, her small boy breasts at lip level. Her nipples were hard and butted my cheek when she twisted her hips so that I could pull the pants up her legs. My hands went to the clasp at her waist and her hand pressed my palm against her through the fine fabric.
‘I had a flight to Milan at four in the morning,’ she said. Danielle tucked the tails of her thin voile shirt into her slacks, leaving the front buttons undone. A long vee of skin was exposed.
‘A flight to─? Oh, for fucks sake!’ I slipped my fingers between the teeth of the zipper, cupping smooth damp skin. Her clit pulsed against my palm.
She met my eyes and I slipped a finger in. Her smile faltered. ‘I didn’t have the heart to tell you I was leaving.’
‘Danielle!’ Vivian called from center stage.
I pulled my hand free and she stepped into her black loafers, zipping her slacks as she ran toward the stage.
Nina’s eyes were wide, but they widened even further when I brought my fingers to my mouth for a taste of Danielle. Familiar. Heavy and rich like crème brulee’. God, I’d missed her. My body ached with it and so did my heart.
I hung up the dress. Danielle had close to ten minutes for the next change. It was the finale, and she was to wear a formal gown. It took a little more getting into. The models’ stage order was reversed, leaving Danielle to finish off the show.
Donatella had gone all out with this dress, black feathers being the prominent covering. They had been painstakingly sewn into the nude mesh of the bodice and torso of the garment. Long black feathers fanned out over the hips. The greens and blues would be picked up in the stage lights. There was also a headpiece with this ensemble. I took it from the box and fell into the wall as weight tumbled into my back.
The clothes billowed around us and Danielle pressed into me, pussy against my ass. Her hands slipped around my waist and unbuttoned my Levis with a flick of her wrist and a drag of zipper.
My heart was racing and I could barely breathe, fabric against my face, around my head. Danielle’s breath hot on my neck.
Eyes shut tight, colorful flecks danced on my lids, in time with her fingers in my pussy. I tried to ask her to stop, tell her to dress, but instead I moaned, my hips flying with her fingers to the beat of the music.
My body turned inward, heat flushing my face and limbs.
Danielle stepped away from me and laughed, the sexy timbre sliding along my spine. I straightened; the headpiece had been crushed between me and the wall. I cursed and she laughed again as I worked at fixing the feathers and sequins.
‘We’ll finish this after,’ she said, pulling the dress around her. Danielle took the headpiece from me and secured it in her hair while my trembling fingers managed to do the dozens of hooks that stretched from ass to shoulder blade. I buckled her shoes, running on auto pilot and Danielle was gone in a swirl of taffeta.
‘You guys should really get a room,’ Nina said.
‘Oh, I plan on it.’
***
We couldn’t wait for the room. The taxi driver was getting a little girl on girl action as our lips locked. Four hands raced over fabric, pulling at buttons, wanting to touch skin, searching for memories and finding them.
Danielle was on my leg, her bare thighs squeezing when the driver stopped the car at the light. My eyes caught his in the rearview mirror and he winked from under his cap.
‘Danielle, please─’
‘I’m trying,’ she breathed. ‘Your zipper’s caught.’
My hand was under her skirt and I slipped her thong aside. She tilted her hips and my fingers slipped home. Danielle rocked against me and I curved my hand so that I could hit that spot she liked.
Her moans dropped low in her throat.
We were stuck in traffic. The taxi was stop and go.
Danielle’s breast was free and I took her nipple in my mouth and sucked hard, my thumb pressing her clit. She collapsed against me and groaned, sobbing my name.
***
We lay on her bed in her uptown apartment. Danielle was asleep, her long hair spread out around her in a silky disarray. Our legs were entwined and as much as I wanted to hate her for leaving me, I couldn’t.
I slipped my leg from between hers and she frowned, her arm stretching across the space between us to pull me close. For a moment I lay there, home. But it wasn’t the same. Not really.
I rolled out of the bed with a sigh.
With our mad tumble into her place I hadn’t seen anything but white sheets and creamy skin. It was as if our time apart had left us starved for each other. The elevator ride up to her apartment was spent with my back pressed against the wall and her hand in my pants. We were through the door and ripping off our clothes before it shut behind us.
Danielle had bent me over the couch, her nipples like rocks against my back. Her hand was between my thighs, her thumb crawling along my ass crack. I shook my head and walked into the living room.
Gone was the magazine clip wallpaper. In its place were the cool, clean lines of a professional interior designer. But the modern edged space was nothing compared to the view awaiting me at the floor to ceiling windows. Central Park stretched out in front of me in the setting sun, the lawns and trees green with the bounty of spring. A far cry from the studio I was still living in downtown.
My stomach gave a rumble and I realized it was near time for dinner. In the drawer beside the dishwasher, just like in our old place, I found a stack of take-out menus. Some things didn’t change, but I had.
I shut the drawer and gathered my clothes from the living room floor. From where I was shimmying into my jeans I could see Danielle’s hair hanging in a silky curtain to the floor. I pulled my shirt over my head. She shifted and the strands waved at me, called to me. Touch me, breathe me. I took a step closer to her…and I’ll break your heart. I shook my head and leaned back against the white leather sofa bringing my knee up to slip on my sneaker. Not again.
***
Tonight was the night I celebrated my hard earned BFA from Parsons in fashion design. I sat in the balcony of one of the many ballrooms at the Marriot in Times Square, a glass of champagne in hand, and wearing an evening gown I had made myself. The sapphire blue brought out the reds in my brown hair and brightened my eyes to the same color as the fabric. The empire waistline was flattering for my figure, hiding the fact that I was a little broad in the hips with the long draped lines reaching the floor.
The rehearsal went well, my model carrying my clothes with smooth grace. I took another sip of my champagne and the music began to rock. My designs would be numbers twelve and thirty-seven. One after the other, the models began their dance; their movements on the narrow strip of stage frenetic.
There was nothing more exciting than seeing my designs on a runway.
My heart froze, and then picked up a rapid ta-too.
Except seeing my clothes on Danielle.
Strutting towards me in high-healed glory was Danielle in my pain-stakingly sewn pantsuit. At the end of the runway she tossed her hair and sent me a sassy smile. The poplin hem on the belted jacked made her waist seem even smaller than it was. The crisp seam down the front of the slacks gave her an extra couple of inches in height. It looked as though the suit were made for her.
It was.
Danielle blew me a kiss and turned in a circle before heading back down the runway.
My skirt in hand, I hurried across the balcony and out the door into the lobby area. I had to get backstage. I ran down the circular staircase and through the double doors on the auditorium floor. The tables were a maze, and I had guests giving me annoyed looks. I suppose I would be annoyed too if I had paid four hundred dollars for my seat and my view was obstructed, but I finally made it to the stage doors.
‘Danielle!’ I called. Both hands held up my dress as I made my way around discarded outfits. It was warm and crowded and I felt moisture gather on my upper lip. ‘Dan─’
There she was. Her back was to me, but the fire engine gown was mine. The beads I had spent countless hours sewing on shimmered in the dim light, accentuating the delicate curve of her slim hips. The open back cut low enough to see the dimples of her ass.
Danielle looked over her shoulder and caught my eye. The smile on her face was only for me. This time we will work, the curve of her lips told me. This time is forever.
***
None of them were right! Frustrated, I flipped through the pile of 8X10 glossies and then turned to the form in my bed. My newest lover’s name was Victoria and if I were to stand her next to Danielle they could have been sisters—or mother and daughter. Victoria was just nineteen, the age I had been when I met Danielle for the first time.
And now Danielle had left me again. Not interested in my design house. Not interested in the years we had spent building up to this moment. I took another sip of my drink.
I tried not to be bitter. Now Danielle would be a star. Not just a familiar face on a magazine cover, but a supermodel turned actress. Steven Spielburg himself had called her, asked her to be a part of his movie. How could I ask her to stay? But she had never even discussed it with me. Another note had left me alone with my first line of sportswear to fit and no one to fit it on.
‘Fuck!’I tossed my pen across my desk.
Victoria shifted in her sleep and the sheet slid down to reveal the crack of her ass. I got up from my desk and let my robe fall to the floor as I walked over to the bed. I trailed a finger from her knee to thigh, and thigh to ass. Such soft skin.
If Danielle refused to be my fit model then Victoria would do. In general I didn’t combine business and pleasure but I would make an exception this time. She was perfect.
I took the bottle of lube from the nightstand and poured a generous amount into my hands then rubbed it along the length of my harnessed dildo. Sheet aside, I crawled onto the bed and moved Victoria’s thighs further apart. She shifted, her mouth falling open, the wet tip of her pink tongue glistening.
With one hand I took hold of her hip and the other my rubber dick. I leaned forward, my dildo sliding against her pussy lips. Victoria moaned softly but didn’t wake.
I felt the toy catch hold and twisted it against her hole.
‘Lay— ‘
I sank into her slowly, her pussy making sucking noises as it took in inch after inch. Victoria moaned, her fingers clutching the sheets. I was flush against her, harness against her ass, pinning her to the mattress. She tried to move her hips and I slapped my hand against her hip.
‘Be still!’ I pulled out and slammed into her. Victoria cried out, unprepared, but I rammed her again. I began to pump and her hands shot out to the wall, pushing back against me as I fucked her hard. I slid my hand in between our bodies and smeared her juices along the crack of her ass and pressed against her tight little rosebud with my thumb.
Victoria sobbed my name when the tip of my finger slipped in, her hole tightening around the digit. I began to move in her cunt again, my finger twisting in her anus, slipping deeper and deeper. She was begging me and I pulled my dildo free and pressed it against the tighter hole.
‘No!’ she protested, but pressed her ass back against my dick.
I held the cock in my hand. The rubber was slippery and with a hard nudge the head went in. I slid my free hand around to her pussy and rubbed her clit in slow circles. I pulled her up and the dildo slipped deeper and deeper, until she was squatting on my lap.
Victoria began to move on the dick, her ass slamming against my thighs. I massaged her clit and it pulsed against my fingers. I tweaked her nipple and she began to tremble.
Breathing hard I pushed her back onto the bed again and fucked her ass.
Danielle’s smile was in my head. Her laughter rang in my ears. I fucked her harder and Victoria screamed, her orgasm racking her body as she collapsed against the bed. I continued to ram her ass until my body joined hers, quaking against her.
***
It had been years, three at least since Danielle had spoken to me, and the first thing she said was, ‘It’s time.’
I froze at the sound of her voice, safety pin pressed between my lips and chalk between my fingers. My other hand was on Victoria’s hip, holding the fabric taut for the pinning. Danielle shut the door behind her, drowning out the whispering of the curious behind her.
Danielle wore a long buff colored leather trench coat that skimmed her chocolate brown boots.
The sunglasses were similar in shape to the ones she wore on that first afternoon together in college. I took the safety pin from my mouth and set it carefully in the holder on the table, my heart picking up speed. Why did she do this too me?
‘Do you have an appointment?’ asked Patricia, my pattern maker.
Victoria looked over her shoulder and shrieked out from under my hands. ‘Danielle! Danielle
Donahue!’ She raced over and threw her arms around Danielle who had frozen in the doorway when faced with her biggest fan. ‘This is amazing! I can’t believe you’re here!’
Danielle held Victoria away from her and tilted her sunglasses down her nose so that she could peek over the frames. Her sassy eyes took in the long limbs and similar bone structure, then met my own. ‘You do have an eye, don’t you?’
‘All in a days work.’ I answered.
‘Excuse me, Miss Donahue. We are in the middle of a fitting,’ Patricia said, all business. Patricia stuck her pencil behind her ear and crossed her arms across her chest. Victoria was paid by the hour.
‘My apologies,’ Danielle said. She turned Victoria in our direction and gave her a little scoot with a pat on the ass. ‘Back to work.’
Danielle sat herself in the chair at the end of the table and crossed her legs. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her remove her glasses and leather gloves, while I pinned the trousers.
‘I have been studying your work, Miss Donahue,’ Victoria said. ‘Ever since I was twelve!’
Danielle raised a brow and said, ‘That’s not very long.’
‘Long enough to know I want to be just like you!’
‘We’re done, Vee,’ I said. ‘Go ahead and change.’
Patricia looked at her watch, then the clock on the wall and frowned.
Victoria ran behind the changing screen. ‘You were on the cover of Cosmo,’ she continued. ‘April ’97, in a black Dolce & Gabbana bathing suit and this amazingly wide brimmed straw sunhat.’
I remembered that cover. The ground had been lemon yellow and Danielle’s hair had been long,
half-way down her back, not the page boy cut she had now.
‘I still have the magazine.’
I did too.
‘Okay, Victoria,’ Patricia said. ‘Can you come back in Monday for an hour?’
‘How about two o’clock?’ Victoria answered.
Patricia nodded and rose to leave.
‘Will you please leave a copy of your notes on Jone’s desk?’ I asked. Jone was my assistant.
‘Of course.’ Patricia said, gathering her notebooks and the hangers heavy with fit samples.
Victoria ran out from behind the screen, magazine held between her lips and tucking her shirt into her low-slung jeans. She tossed the glossy periodical on the table and it slid to a stop in front of Danielle. ‘Can I get your autograph?’
Danielle took a black marker from her clutch purse. Her eyes met mine as she signed.
‘Isn’t this amazing, Layla?’ Victoria ran over and gave me a hug. She planted a kiss on my lips, forgetting my rule of keeping work and our private life separate.
‘Vee,’ I said with a hint of warning.
‘Sorry,’ Victoria whispered, then kissed me again, her hands holding my head to keep me still.
‘I’m just so tickled.’ She snatched up her coat, then the magazine and skipped out of the office.
The room was silent.
‘A bit young for you, don’t you think?’
‘None of your business.’
There was silence again.
‘I want to accept your business proposition.’
‘That offer expired three years ago.’
‘Not as a fit model, your private business.’
I met her eyes. ‘I’m taken.’
‘Fuck, Layla…hasn’t enough time passed?’
‘For you to break my heart a third time?’
‘My heart hurt too…’
‘Not enough for you to stay.’ I picked up the stray safety pins from the table and threw them into the tin with a repetitive ping. ‘Not enough for you to work with me.’ I gathered my flat sketches together. ‘Not enough for you to return my calls!’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry! For more than ten years you’ve been leaving me hot and cold and all you can offer me is sorry!’ I couldn’t hold back the rage and that made me even angrier.
‘I’m ready,’ Danielle said, standing. She came toward me and I backed away, hitting the mannequin behind me. ‘Ready to settle down, Layla.’
‘Settle down? You have some balls!’
‘I thought that was one of the things you liked about me.’ She pressed forward, her body inches from mine.
Heat crawled up under my skin unbidden.
‘Love about me.’ Her breath tickled my ear as she spoke. When I didn’t answer, she moved in for the kill, sliding her body against mine, nibbling her way from my ear to my lips.
My insides were on fire.
‘Loved,’ I whispered.
She froze.
‘Past tense.’
‘Layla, I…’
‘I need to think Danielle.’ I slid out from under her and gathered my sketch books. ‘You always move in too fast and I can’t think straight.’ I walked past her to the doorway and turned. Her hair had fallen across her cheek, and her lipstick was smeared onto her upper lip. She had never looked more beautiful.
I turned and walked down the hall.
When I arrived home, the aroma of dinner cooking drifted toward me in a tempting wave. Victoria was a wiz in the kitchen. I tossed my briefcase on the table by the door and I hurried toward the smell.
‘Is that you, Sweetie?’ Victoria called out from the kitchen.
‘Who else?’ I rounded the corner just as Victoria came through the kitchen doorway, apron on and glass of wine hand. She offered me the glass before pulling me close for a warm hug.
‘Dinner smells fantastic,’ I said, kissing her forehead. Sugar clung to her skin.
Victoria’s hair was piled up on her head, soft dark curls falling down to frame her face in wispy waves. Tight little ringlets had formed around her neck from her efforts in front of the stove.
‘Your favorite,’ she said and I followed her in. ‘Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and…’ She bent to take something from the oven, her small round ass putting to mind something other than food. ‘Peach cobbler.’
I set my glass on the granite counter and came up behind her. My hands slipped between her and the apron and she gasped in surprise as I pulled her back against me. She set the cobbler on the stovetop and leaned her head back against my shoulder.
‘What’s the occasion?’ I nibbled my way from neck to ear.
‘Since you asked─’ she moaned as I gave her nipple a tweak. ‘We’re having company.’
The doorbell rang.
My eyes shot to the dining room table. There were three place settings.
‘Danielle called─’
‘Fuck!’ I stepped away quickly and Victoria stumbled against the counter. I turned the opposite direction.
‘What’s wrong?’ Victoria asked, placing a tentative hand on my shoulder.
I took the glass of wine from the counter and tossed the contents back in a single gulp, then poured another glass. ‘Nothing.’ I should have told Victoria about Danielle. We’d been together more than two years and I loved her.
I met Victoria’s eyes and saw the confusion, the worry. The doorbell rang again. ‘Answer the door, Vee. I’m fine.’
She didn’t look like she believed me, but with the third ring of the bell, she took off her apron.
With a quick glance in the hall mirror she made her way to the door.
All Danielle and I had was history, I told myself as Victoria greeted Danielle with star struck awe. I took another gulp of wine and refilled my glass. Victoria and I were committed to each other.
‘Layla, look,’ Victoria said and I turned with what I hoped was a confident smile. ‘Danielle brought us flowers. Isn’t that sweet?’
Sweet was something Danielle had never been.
They sat beside each other, the loves of my life. Both dark-haired, both with peaches-and-cream skin, and high defined cheekbones. But where Danielle’s eyes were a cold grey, Victoria’s were a warm brown.
‘You two look like a couple of bookends,’ I said and giggled. Too much wine for me. The evening had gone well. Victoria and Danielle got along like long lost pals.
Victoria stood and came around to my side of the table. ‘Sweetie you’ve had too much wine.’
How does she read my mind? That’s why I loved Vee. She had an uncanny ability of knowing what I wanted.
Danielle took my other elbow and the two of them steered me down the hall to the bedroom. Victoria was right. I had drunk too much and sleep would definitely put things in perspective. I sat down on the fuscia-colored comforter and Victoria pulled my sweater over my head. Danielle was at my feet unbuckling my heels.
I blinked, remembering that day with Versace.
Danielle’s hands went to the waistband of my slacks and I felt Victoria behind me unhooking my bra.
Then the heat of her breasts pressed against my shoulder blades and her palms replaced my bra cups.
I looked down at her fingers massaging my breasts. Just past her knuckles in the background was Danielle’s face looking up at me.
How much wine had I drunk?
I didn’t move as Danielle pushed my knees wide with her shoulders and dipped her head close to my pussy. In slow motion she tugged the delicate fabric of my panties aside and nudged me with her nose, and then her tongue.
‘Vee?’ Confusion washed over me as the heat flushed my insides.
Victoria shushed me, kissing my neck while Danielle’s tongue slid between my lower lips and began a rhythm that I remembered from years previous. Danielle’s fingers joined her lips, one, two, three. Spreading, widening, as Victoria kissed me and whispered love words. Held me safe.
The pressure was building in my lower body, Danielle knuckles finding resistance as she pushed against my hole. She twisted her hand left, then right and I cried out as she popped through. Danielle met my eyes and began to move, slow at first, and then picking up pace. She was fucking me hard, as if making up for lost time, her hand sliding in and out of me, sloshing in my juices─
I woke from sleep, my heart racing. Sweat coated my skin and an ache was pulsing between my legs.
Victoria’s head was on my stomach, her soft hair spread across me. Her long body was lying diagonal across the bed, her feet hanging off the side. I ran my fingers through her hair softly and took a deep breath.
Victoria’s damp breath wet my belly button. She deserved to know about Danielle.
I should tell her.
I let my fingers tangle in her hair and tugged softly.
‘Vee?’
She made a sound of questioning ascent in her sleep.
‘I need to talk, Vee.’
Victoria turned over onto her other side, her eyes blinking up at me. ‘Y’ okay?’
***
The table was set for three, just like it had been in my dream, but this time when the doorbell rang I answered the door.
Danielle pulled me into her perfumed embrace, then came into the apartment.
‘This is lovely,’ she said, handing me a bottle of wine.
I was going to stay away from that.
‘Did you cook?’ she asked. Danielle sniffed the air as she took off her jacket.
‘No, Vee did.’
Danielle froze.
‘You know I don’t have much of a hand in the kitchen,’ I said.
Just then, Victoria ran out from the kitchen, apron splattered with food and hair up in a lop-sided ponytail. She wore no make-up, which made her look even younger. Her smooth skin glowed.
‘Welcome,’ she said. ‘Layla told me you were a vegetarian, but that you eat fish.’
‘Yes,’ Danielle said, handing me her jacket.
I took the jacket down the hall to the spare bedroom and when I came back, Danielle was in front the free floating shelves in the living room. Her arms were crossed over her stomach. She held a picture of me and Victoria in Ireland from last summer. It was a favorite of mine, though not for its photographic genius. There was none, but for the obvious happiness in our eyes. We had taken it by holding the camera up over our heads and praying that we were both in the shot.
‘How long have you been together?’ She asked. Her voice flat.
‘More than two years,’ I said.
‘Two years, three months and sixteen days,’ Victoria said from behind us.
Danielle and I turned and she held out wine glasses for the two of us.
‘Layla interviewed me for the fit model position.’
The one Danielle hadn’t wanted.
‘I knew she was the one from the moment I walked into the interview,’ Vee said wrapping her arm around my waist. ‘But it took a while to convince Layla of the same thing.’
The hurt this last time had been nearly unbearable.
‘A year later we moved in together.’ Vee took my hand in hers and gave it a squeeze, before lifting my fingers for Danielle to admire. ‘Last month we had our commitment ceremony.’
The light of the diamonds on my index finger twinkled and the light that shone from Danielle’s eyes faded. Perhaps now she understood.
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