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.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
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.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Heat
Copyright © 2007 by Crystal Barela.
Open windows and oscillating fans had not stopped summer from taking residence in our Upper East Side apartment. Humidity draped over us like a wet blanket.
"The super said a week?" I asked again. The air conditioner had been dead the last two nights, making our weekend more than uncomfortable.
Knees spread wide; I sat on the kitchen floor in my panties with my back against the fridge. My fingers pulled the ribbed fabric of my white tank top repeatedly to create a slight, inefficient breeze between the shadows of my breasts.
"A part had to be ordered." Max turned his head to look at me. "Why don't you jump in the shower again?"
Like a cat, Max lie flat against the cool tile of the kitchen floor. His muscular chest and abdomen glistened with sweat. His legs were spread wide, boxers clinging to him in the creases of his legs and accentuating his impressive cock.
I rose onto my hands and knees and crawled over to him. The weight of my breasts created a wet suction sound as they swung toward him and I had to fight not to giggle. Max couldn't stop the twitch of his lips as his hand came to rest on the back of my neck.
"Give your sexy, sweaty, woman a reason to shower," I whispered. My words hovered in the air's humidity between our lips.
Our tongues met and moved in a slow dance. We tasted the salt that caught on lip and chin. My hand slid over his chest, the soft hair tickling my palm. My pussy began to pulse and wet with anticipation. I found his left nipple, circled it with a finger.
"No!" Max protested against my mouth. This was his sensitive nipple and I thrilled at teasing it.
"No?" I asked my eyes on his. Deliberately, I leaned over and set my tongue against the tight nubbin. I swirled a circle around the hard bit of flesh, my eyes never leaving his. He squirmed, but my hand skimmed his abdomen and my fingers tugged the trail of hair that led to his cock, causing the turgid flesh to twitch.
His erection was searching for my hand. Protests turned into groans as I rubbed him through the thin fabric and sucked his chest. Max's nipple was as hard as his dick in his boxers.
I crawled between his thighs and bent close to his underwear, letting my tongue wet the fabric.
We were salt and condensation, juices forming on every millimeter of skin, inside and outside of our bodies. I licked and rubbed until his cock was following my hand, ass rising off the floor.
I could stand it no longer; I wanted to taste skin.
I reached through the hole in the front of his boxers and found his dick. The massive hard-on flopped out of the opening sweaty and thick with need. I licked him from one end to the next, taking in as much as I could. Max groaned as his cock slipped into the dark wetness of my throat. I pumped my mouth, my lips stretched wide. I loved the salty taste. My hand joined my mouth, finding the rhythm he liked until I tasted the bittersweet pre-come.
With an order to be still, which he fought with his eyes, I pushed the crotch of my panties aside and knelt over his big boy. My juicy cunt lips kissed his knob before I aimed my hole and swallowed his length with a juicy slurp.
"You're so tight," Max whispered. He tried to move, but I held firm, wanting control. My walls clung to his dick, loving the hardness inside me; how he reached the other side of my womb. It almost hurt. I clenched my muscles and he cursed. My pussy slowly left his cock, and the scent of musky sex filled the kitchen.
I pumped slowly. Max's face was a picture of agony. He wanted to fuck me hard. I could see it in the strained lines of his features. I wondered how long he would last before he cracked.
I took off my tank top and flung it over my shoulder. I worked myself on him leisurely, one of my hands coming down to play with my clit. His eyes watched my fingers as they toyed with my folds. It was too hot to move faster. I was floating on his hardness. My nerve endings cried out to move, but the heat held me steady.
"Let me," Max insisted. He replaced my hand with his. His thumb circled and pushed the way he knew I liked it. My calves clenched and my toes curled as I used him as my personal dildo. I twisted my nipples. I sucked my fingers slick with my sticky wet. He swirled and flicked my heated clit until I couldn't sit upright, my insides melted and everything around me went white with pleasure.
I collapsed flat on top of him, pressing my breasts to his chest. My lips met his. Max gave me a per functionary kiss before he rolled me off of him. The hard tile was a cool slap of gratification to my breasts and stomach when I hit the floor. Max ripped the flimsy fabric of my panties from my body and his arm snaked around my waist and pulled me back against him. He shoved his dick in me without preamble or finesse. He fucked me on the kitchen floor like a dog; hard and fast. My hands found the wall, and Max grunted in satisfaction as I pushed back against him. I was so wet that his dick felt like it was in my stomach.
Max rubbed something slick along my ass crack. A can of Crisco rolled by my head and hit the wall. My giggle turned into a groan as he pushed the soft grease against my asshole, lubing me up as his dick continued to fuck my pussy. One hand grabbed my ponytail in his fist.
"Ready?" he asked. Not waiting for an answer Max left my cunt and forced his dick against my tight rosebud. I wiggled away, the pain always a protest before he forces through. I scream and the burn turns to pleasure while he pumps. Max yanks my hair, slamming into my receptive hole. Every pore of my skin seemed to burst with perspiration. Every hair on end is he rammed into me harder and harder.
Would we melt together? Become one? The heat was intense.
His free hand found my clit and tugged roughly. There was no gentleness and none wanted. Max worked a couple of fingers in my pussy. He mopped my clit with my wetness. His dick seemed to grow even larger. He was growling, cursing and calling me his whore. Max pulled out of my ass, and hot sprays of come flew across my back, over my shoulder blades and into my hair.
His hand found my clit. His seed and the kitchen oils tossed me over the edge again.
We collapsed on the floor. Max lay on my back his weight pressing me against the tile. He kissed my neck, nuzzled my sensitive skin.
I shivered, smiling. "Now, I need a shower," I whispered.
Max chuckled against my ear. "Me too."
Open windows and oscillating fans had not stopped summer from taking residence in our Upper East Side apartment. Humidity draped over us like a wet blanket.
"The super said a week?" I asked again. The air conditioner had been dead the last two nights, making our weekend more than uncomfortable.
Knees spread wide; I sat on the kitchen floor in my panties with my back against the fridge. My fingers pulled the ribbed fabric of my white tank top repeatedly to create a slight, inefficient breeze between the shadows of my breasts.
"A part had to be ordered." Max turned his head to look at me. "Why don't you jump in the shower again?"
Like a cat, Max lie flat against the cool tile of the kitchen floor. His muscular chest and abdomen glistened with sweat. His legs were spread wide, boxers clinging to him in the creases of his legs and accentuating his impressive cock.
I rose onto my hands and knees and crawled over to him. The weight of my breasts created a wet suction sound as they swung toward him and I had to fight not to giggle. Max couldn't stop the twitch of his lips as his hand came to rest on the back of my neck.
"Give your sexy, sweaty, woman a reason to shower," I whispered. My words hovered in the air's humidity between our lips.
Our tongues met and moved in a slow dance. We tasted the salt that caught on lip and chin. My hand slid over his chest, the soft hair tickling my palm. My pussy began to pulse and wet with anticipation. I found his left nipple, circled it with a finger.
"No!" Max protested against my mouth. This was his sensitive nipple and I thrilled at teasing it.
"No?" I asked my eyes on his. Deliberately, I leaned over and set my tongue against the tight nubbin. I swirled a circle around the hard bit of flesh, my eyes never leaving his. He squirmed, but my hand skimmed his abdomen and my fingers tugged the trail of hair that led to his cock, causing the turgid flesh to twitch.
His erection was searching for my hand. Protests turned into groans as I rubbed him through the thin fabric and sucked his chest. Max's nipple was as hard as his dick in his boxers.
I crawled between his thighs and bent close to his underwear, letting my tongue wet the fabric.
We were salt and condensation, juices forming on every millimeter of skin, inside and outside of our bodies. I licked and rubbed until his cock was following my hand, ass rising off the floor.
I could stand it no longer; I wanted to taste skin.
I reached through the hole in the front of his boxers and found his dick. The massive hard-on flopped out of the opening sweaty and thick with need. I licked him from one end to the next, taking in as much as I could. Max groaned as his cock slipped into the dark wetness of my throat. I pumped my mouth, my lips stretched wide. I loved the salty taste. My hand joined my mouth, finding the rhythm he liked until I tasted the bittersweet pre-come.
With an order to be still, which he fought with his eyes, I pushed the crotch of my panties aside and knelt over his big boy. My juicy cunt lips kissed his knob before I aimed my hole and swallowed his length with a juicy slurp.
"You're so tight," Max whispered. He tried to move, but I held firm, wanting control. My walls clung to his dick, loving the hardness inside me; how he reached the other side of my womb. It almost hurt. I clenched my muscles and he cursed. My pussy slowly left his cock, and the scent of musky sex filled the kitchen.
I pumped slowly. Max's face was a picture of agony. He wanted to fuck me hard. I could see it in the strained lines of his features. I wondered how long he would last before he cracked.
I took off my tank top and flung it over my shoulder. I worked myself on him leisurely, one of my hands coming down to play with my clit. His eyes watched my fingers as they toyed with my folds. It was too hot to move faster. I was floating on his hardness. My nerve endings cried out to move, but the heat held me steady.
"Let me," Max insisted. He replaced my hand with his. His thumb circled and pushed the way he knew I liked it. My calves clenched and my toes curled as I used him as my personal dildo. I twisted my nipples. I sucked my fingers slick with my sticky wet. He swirled and flicked my heated clit until I couldn't sit upright, my insides melted and everything around me went white with pleasure.
I collapsed flat on top of him, pressing my breasts to his chest. My lips met his. Max gave me a per functionary kiss before he rolled me off of him. The hard tile was a cool slap of gratification to my breasts and stomach when I hit the floor. Max ripped the flimsy fabric of my panties from my body and his arm snaked around my waist and pulled me back against him. He shoved his dick in me without preamble or finesse. He fucked me on the kitchen floor like a dog; hard and fast. My hands found the wall, and Max grunted in satisfaction as I pushed back against him. I was so wet that his dick felt like it was in my stomach.
Max rubbed something slick along my ass crack. A can of Crisco rolled by my head and hit the wall. My giggle turned into a groan as he pushed the soft grease against my asshole, lubing me up as his dick continued to fuck my pussy. One hand grabbed my ponytail in his fist.
"Ready?" he asked. Not waiting for an answer Max left my cunt and forced his dick against my tight rosebud. I wiggled away, the pain always a protest before he forces through. I scream and the burn turns to pleasure while he pumps. Max yanks my hair, slamming into my receptive hole. Every pore of my skin seemed to burst with perspiration. Every hair on end is he rammed into me harder and harder.
Would we melt together? Become one? The heat was intense.
His free hand found my clit and tugged roughly. There was no gentleness and none wanted. Max worked a couple of fingers in my pussy. He mopped my clit with my wetness. His dick seemed to grow even larger. He was growling, cursing and calling me his whore. Max pulled out of my ass, and hot sprays of come flew across my back, over my shoulder blades and into my hair.
His hand found my clit. His seed and the kitchen oils tossed me over the edge again.
We collapsed on the floor. Max lay on my back his weight pressing me against the tile. He kissed my neck, nuzzled my sensitive skin.
I shivered, smiling. "Now, I need a shower," I whispered.
Max chuckled against my ear. "Me too."
Thursday, April 12, 2007
What Was Wrong With Mrs. Thompson?
Copyright © 2007 by Crystal Barela
In the two weeks I’ve been working as Mrs. Thompson’s live-in nanny, she almost always wears high heels. High heels and nothing else.
***
We were late. Benny had to be at his Mommy and Me class at 5:30 and it was quarter after. We still had to ride up the elevator, get into the apartment and change him into the gym outfit Mrs. Thompson had lain out for him that morning. After which, we had to hop in a taxi and pray there was no rush hour traffic on the Upper East Side.
“Run!” I ordered as I opened the door pushing Benny’s little hiney toward his bedroom.
“Cindy, darling!”
I froze. It was Mrs. Thompson. She was naked. Again! I wasn’t sure how to handle this. I had never lived with a nudist before. She finished sorting the bills, letters and ads into neat piles, and turned to face me.
“What are you doing here?”
She raised a brow at my tone, settling her hands on her full hips.
“I mean, I thought we were meeting at class?”
“I was able to leave the office early,” she told me. “I thought I’d ride with you two.” She knelt and held out her arms. Benny came tearing down the hall and into her hug with a giggle. How she didn’t topple over in those heels, I’ll never know.
“Gives me a few extra minutes, with Peanut, here.” Mrs. Thompson wrinkled her nose at him, and he wrinkled back. She stood with him in her arms.
“Well, Peanut has dressed himself,” I said reaching for her child. “You on the other hand, need to scoot!”
I tried not to watch as she turned to go, but watching her go was one of the best parts of my day.
***
I leaned back against the redwood paneling of the elevator wall and closed my eyes. The ding of the elevator car passing each floor accompanied my thoughts on the ride to the penthouse. What would it be like to have this much money? I laughed at myself. Dina, whom I had just had one too many cocktails with, thought it was appalling. All of that money for one family.
Personally, I was impressed. All of those hours at the office.
I put my key in the lock. It wasn’t like it was given to her.
My mouth went dry and my pussy nearly wet itself. Mrs. Thompson was on the couch. One leg tossed casually over the arm, the other pulled up, heel hooked on the edge of the seat. She was leaning over her knee squinting at her toes as she applied a bright red lacquer. Her bush was open and winking at me from across the room.
“Cindy, thank God you’re here!” She gestured for me to come over. I set my bag on the side table and did so hesitantly. I couldn’t take my drunken eyes away from her snatch.
“Cindy?”
The heat of embarrassment climbing my neck and cheeks. I met her knowing eyes.
“Yes, Mrs. Thompson?”
“Could you be a dear and paint my toes for me? I can’t see a damn thing.”
“I’ve had a couple of drinks. I’m not so sure…”
“You can’t be any worse than me!” she laughed, patting the sofa next to her. “I really need to stop fighting vanity and get glasses.”
“Women with glasses are sexy.” I could have cut off my tongue, but her delighted laughter warmed me. I took off my jacket and took a seat on the plush red leather couch at her feet.
Mrs. Thompson set her feet in my lap and felt my pulse jump. I licked my lips trying to think of a good topic of conversation; something that wouldn’t remind me of her beautiful pussy a legs length away from me.
“When is Mr. Thompson due home?”
She frowned, her face tightening.
“Two weeks, darling.”
I picked up the bottle of polish. Wicked Heat was the color. I swallowed hard and removed the brush.
“This will go nice with your heels,” I told her dragging the brush along her big toenail, then the next.
“Thank you, Cindy. It’s so important to look pretty,” she whispered.
I kept my eyes on her toes. Her feet were smooth and soft. Why, with all her gobs of money, didn’t she go to a manicurist? I wasn’t hired to do her nails! I wasn’t supposed to sit on her coach with her naked ass sliding against the leather. I was supposed to care for Benny!
“Did Benny go down easy?”
She smiled, her face softening.
“Yeah. We went to the Circus today to see the elephants.”
I moved to the next foot.
“He was all tuckered out.”
“He does love the animals,” I smiled, remembering his attachment to the neighbor’s black lab.
“Could you massage my calves, darling?”
Massage! She had to be kidding. I put the cap on the polish and stared at her feet.
“Isn’t it fun to have a girlfriend?” she said.
I took the bottle of lotion from her hands and poured out the floral fantasy into my hands.
Girlfriend.
My fingers circled her ankles and slid up the gentle swell of her legs. Her eyes shut, her lips
widened into a satisfied smile. I pulled my fingers down the back of her calves, sinking my fingers into the taught muscles. She moaned low in her throat and I froze.
Mrs. Thompson’s eyes opened dark with need.
“Is Dina your lover, Cindy?”
I dropped her feet onto the sofa and stood up, clearing my throat.
“Good night, Mrs. Thompson.”
“Call me Joanna!” she called as I hurried to my room.
***
The sound of my vibrator sounded incredibly loud in the quiet of my bedroom.
I heard the sound of Mrs. Thompson’s heels and my eyes flew to door.
I slammed my eight incher into my pussy. I didn’t care if she heard me. Go ahead and listen!
I imagined her standing just outside the oak door, ear pressed against the hard wood.
“Darling!” she cooed, putting a finger in her mouth. She licked it from end to end, then the second, wetting them so that she could pump them into her pussy while she listened.
I dug my heels into the mattress and grabbed my breast in my hand, twisting the nipple. It was her fault. She was so fucking hot. I bit my lip, fighting back moans. I could see her Wicked Heat nails covered in her juices.
“You make me so wet, darling!”
I began to chant her name under my breath. I brought my hand still scented with the flowers of her lotion up to my nose and came in a gush, my muscles clamping down on my vibrator, her eyes above me in my mind.
***
“She was on the toilet!”
“No way!” Dina giggled, leaning back in her chair.
“Yes, the door was open and she was reading the comics!” I could still see Mrs. Thompson sitting on the pot. At least there had been no heels.
“What are you gonna do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well she’s obviously into you.”
I snorted and waived at the waiter for the check.
“She’s married, Dina!”
“That doesn’t mean anything!” She took my hand in hers and met my eyes. “He’s never home.”
“Well, not after today.” I said tossing her hand away. Mrs. Thompson had been nearly dancing around the apartment this morning with the thought of her husband’s return. She was making a very private dinner and that was why I had the night off and Benny was at Gran’s.
***
I opened the door cautiously and listened. I was met by silence and the heady scent of lemon and beeswax. The housekeepers had been scrubbing like mad for Mr. Thompson’s arrival.
I shut the door carefully behind me and tip-toed down the hall toward my room.
“Cindy!”
Mrs. Thompson called from the opposite direction. Shit! I turned around cursing.
A light was coming from under the office door.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Thompson,” I said coming into her office. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything.” I glanced around the room. There was no sign of her husband.
“No, darling,” she was sitting at her desk, papers strewn out in front of her. Her long blond hair was twisted on top of her head, a pencil holding it in place. Red framed glasses with a rhinestone at each corner were perched on the end of her nose.
“Jason couldn’t make it home this week.”
I didn’t know what to say. This morning, there had been florists decorating and chefs cooking. It had been like the next coming.
“Your glasses look pretty, Mrs. Thompson.”
She smiled, her eyes turning up at the corners. My knees went weak.
“Can I speak with you?” I asked, taking a seat in the wingback chair in front of the desk.
“Cindy,” she scolded. “I’ve asked you to call me Joanna.”
Yes, she had asked, but I had tried to keep our relationship professional with the use of her formal name. It also reminded me that she was married and straight.
“Would you like a drink?” Not waiting for an answer, she walked over to the sideboard and the decanter, pouring scotch into two glasses. The curve of her spine was an elegant S leading straight to her ass. From photos I had seen, her curves had been accented by her pregnancy with Benjamin; her ass a full round globe, begging to be caressed.
I cleared my throat and shifted on the chair. “Mrs. Thompson?”
“Yes, darling?” She handed me the drink and sat down on the edge of the desk in front of me.
“Mrs. Thompson, could I ask you a favor?” Heat colored my cheeks. I took a sip of my drink, welcoming the burn.
“Anything, sweetie,” she said putting her hand on my knee. She gave it a soft squeeze.
“Could you please wear a robe when you walk around the house?”
She looked hurt.
“I thought you liked my body?” she pouted. She leaned close enough for me to see the specks of green in the brown of her eyes. I closed my eyes. Her hand slid between my legs and parted them. She leaned her body between my knees.
“I thought you enjoyed watching me?” she whispered huskily.
I was at a loss for words. My mind went fuzzy with desire as she crawled up on the chair with me, straddling my lap, her bush rubbing against the zipper of my jeans. It felt like I was beneath my sheets, living out one of my masturbation fantasies. She pulled the pencil from her hair and tossed it to the floor with a shake of her head. Soft golden hair fell around us in a cloud.
“Please, darling,” Mrs. Thompson begged softly. “Touch me.” She offered her breast to me like a piece of fruit. It was firm and ripe, her nipple a dark circle of desire needing attention. She was grinding herself against the denim covering my pussy.
My panties were soaked with my need. I am sure she could smell my sex, engorged with want, but I hesitated; I needed this job.
“Do you want me to fire you?” she asked, as if reading my mind. I laughed softly to myself, my hands itching to feel her skin. My tongue was salivating, wanting to take in the hard nub.
“This is sexual harassment.” I said, but found myself leaning into her body.
“Is it?” Mrs. Thompson took my head in her hands and leading me to her nipple. I took the taut cherry between my lips and let my tongue play with its rough hardness. Her skin smelled of Chanel No. 5 and the cigarettes she smoked when she thought we weren’t looking. She moaned. I suckled greedily, my fingers kneading her full hips. She twisted my dark hair into her hands and used it as a rein, directing my lips from one tit to the other.
Her other hand was busy pulling at the snap of my jeans and dragging down my zipper. “Cindy, darling,” she crooned, her well-manicured fingers sliding beneath my panties. “Do you know how often I have thought of fucking you?” Her fingers slipped into my folds finding my sex dripping. She stroked softly as I moaned, paralyzed by the thought that I might wake up.
Mrs. Thompson smiled and brought her sticky fingers to her mouth. She made a show of licking them, sucking every drop of my cunt juice from her fingertips.
“Mrs. Thompson, I…”
“Call me Joanna,” she suggested, leaning into me and nuzzling my neck. Her long golden hair brushed against my cheek as her tongue traced the circumference of my ear. My breathing was harsh to my ears. This was crazy.
“Joanna…your son…”
“Is at my mom’s.” She found the hem of my T-shirt and tugged at it impatiently. She leaned back so that I could lift my arms, and pulled the shirt over my head. She smiled in delight as my love buds came into view.
“Perfect,” she whispered tracing their shape with her fingers. Joanna circled my nubs, watching them harden to tight little knots. She laughed, tracing where her hands hand been.
“So small and firm,” she mumbled, tugging them with her teeth. My hips jumped and my pussy rose from the chair seeking hers.
“That’s right, sweetie.” She slid down my thighs, kissing the trembling muscles of my belly and settled on the floor. She knelt between my legs, her eyes greedy with need. “Lift your hips, darling.”
“But Mr. Thompson…”
“Is out of town. Now lift your hips!” she ordered.
I did, and she yanked my jeans and panties down in one deft movement. Her hands caressed the top of my thighs and she pushed against my knees with her shoulders.
“Spread your legs, love.”
My knees fell open, my hot fuck hole looking her in the face. Her hands explored the smooth skin, rubbing and stroking, my juices dribbling onto the fine leather of the chair. She laughed, caught my wetness and rubbed it into my clit in sweeping circles. I cursed in pleasure, my eyes closing as the hard little button of my clit rose from under its hood.
“Beautiful, darling.” Joanna’s fingers slid into my hole, massaging my walls as her thumb played with my wet pearl. “Tell me what you want, darling. Tell mommy what turns you on.”
“Lick me…” I moaned.
My toes were first to be sampled. Joanna licked between them and around them, pulling each one into her mouth in turn. I writhed on the chair, gasping and giggling uncontrollably. She massaged my calves, and her tongue found the crease behind my knee. I shuddered. She stole up to my thighs, nibbling and biting before kissing away the sting.
Joanna pillaged my asshole; her tongue bouncing against the entrance like it was a trampoline. She licked from one hole to the other, her tongue wide and flat. She lapped at the skin surrounding my clit and blew on it gently, watching it quiver and my thighs tense. My eager hands pushed her head towards my clit, my hips rising to meet her face. She threw my legs over her shoulders and latched onto me.
My air was cut off as her hand covered my mouth to muffle my scream. She ate greedily. She was at the banquet of my ripe orchard, sampling all. She swirled and swam until my come poured down her throat like a fine wine.
***
The next morning I woke in my small bedroom and stared at the ceiling, convinced I had dreamed the entire incident. I put on my robe, walked down the hall to the bathroom, and hung the robe on the back of the door as always. When I faced myself in the mirror I noticed little bite marks dotted my thighs. I turned and looked over my shoulder. Scratches reddened my ass.
It had been real. I stepped beneath the spray and smiled.
I walked out of the shower and straight into Ben, who was sitting outside the door flipping through a book.
“Heya, sweetie.” I knelt down and picked him up, bringing the book with me. “When did you get home?” I could hear Joanna’s mother talking with her in the dining room. There voices were raised.
“We’ve gotta get you ready for the zoo.”
Benny bounced excitedly in my arms.
***
“I’m going to tag along,” Joanna said.
I was filling the backpack in the kitchen. I looked over my shoulder and nearly rolled my eyes. She had dressed for the occasion in what I liked to call her hooker outfit; a black mini-skirt so short that it could have been a belt, and a red sequined tube top.
Strangely enough, she sometimes wore this little number to the office. Joanna owned her own business. These trashy little ensembles were quite popular with the folks in the East Village. Not to mention Piccadilly in London and St. Germaine in Paris.
“Sure, Mrs. Thompson,” I said, putting the backpack over my shoulder.
I spent the ride down in the elevator holding Ben’s hand and trying to focus on the floor numbers. I would not stare at her cleavage. This wasn’t so for the doorman in the lobby whose eyes never rose to eye level.
Admittedly, getting a taxi was pretty easy with Joanna along. Most days I would fight with my fellow New Yorkers for the streaks of yellow shooting down the street. Having a toddler and backpack in tow made it difficult to move quickly. But scantly clad, now that got the cabbies’ attention.
We arrived at Central Park in a few minutes. As soon as we were through the gates of the zoo, Ben ran for the seal exhibit in the park’s central courtyard. We were there just in time for the seal feeding.
“You look hot.” Joanna observed. It was a typical August day in NY – humid and sticky. “Why don’t you wear some of the clothing I gave you?”
As a member of her “family,” I was given a bag full of her clothing line. I just didn’t like to show as much skin as she did.
“I’ve told you before, Mrs. Thompson, they are a little too revealing for me.”
We had reached the black wrought iron fence surrounding the seal exhibit. Ben was beside himself with excitement, jumping up and down and pointing at the silky black creatures as they glided through the water.
“No they aren’t!” Joanna protested from just behind me. “They cover everything that needs to be covered, while still making you feel like you are wearing nothing. You would look beautiful.”
I shrugged, happy with my uniform of tank top, jean skirt, and flip-flops.
One of the park workers came out onto the island in the center of the exhibit, two huge tan buckets in hand. I bent over to pick up Ben, so he could get a better view of the feeding and felt Joanna pressing close in the crush of the crowd. I did my best to ignore her as she settled her pelvis against my ass. I put Ben’s feet over the fence so he was sitting on top. He clapped and cheered as the seals jumped into the air, taking hold of their lunch.
Ben pulled at our hands impatiently as the crowd dispersed. Next stop, polar bears. The polar bears had a huge tank in which to swim in. Visitors of the zoo could walk through a cave that had a viewing tank, and you could watch the playful white bears swim through the thick glass.
The cave was dark and cool after the heat of the sun. Ben ran to the front of the room and pressed his nose and hands firmly to the glass. Joanna and I stood behind the railing at the back. Benny raced back and fourth, following the bears as they swam. Joanna moved up behind me.
“I can’t wait until tonight.” She whispered, breathing against my neck. The hairs rose on end. I felt her hand tugging at my skirt hem and my eyes darted around the exhibit franticly.
Her fingers slipped beneath the leg of my panties.
Benny was talking to a little boy to the left of us, about ten feet away.
They slid through my crack and into my wet sex.
A woman pushing a stroller walked in front of us.
Two fingers surrounded my pulsing clit.
“I’ve arranged for Benny to have a sleepover at Toby McMillan’s house.”
Benny was on his knees laughing, his new friend on the floor beside him.
Joanna used her nails hardness to press and squeeze my bud of desire.
“Mommy!” Benny squealed as the polar bear somersaulted through the water. My come wet my thighs.
“Yes, Peanut?”
What had I gotten myself into?
***
Benny was beyond himself at the prospect of a sleepover. He walked around his room at a loss as to what toy he should bring with him. He was only allowed one toy.
“How about Spongebob?” I asked, picking up the stuffed yellow sponge from where I knelt next to his toy chest.
“But Patrick will be lonely.” He clutched them both to his chest and looked at me expectantly.
“Welllll…I suppose Toby will need one to play with too.”
He cheered and jumped into my arms, squishing his two plush friends between us. We laughed as I rolled him to the floor and tickled him.
“Time to go,” Joanna called from the doorway and Benny jumped up from the floor. He grabbed his toys and dragged his backpack behind him.
***
I was dizzy and couldn’t breathe. Joanna slid up my body and found my lips, urging them apart. The taste of me on her full pout ignited me.
My tongue stole into her mouth exploring franticly, my hands caressing the length of her back. Her skin was smooth and warm. We were mound to mound, our pussy hairs tangling in a gentle friction, our breasts slick with sweat.
Nipples rode each others skin and I brought my knee in between her legs. Joanna’s bush was wet with want and my cunt tightened as my knee slid through the rough wetness.
“Harder!” she moaned into my mouth.
I pressed into her, grinding my knee, nibbling my way around her neck.
“You make me so wet, Mrs. Thompson,” I whispered against her ear. My tongue darted in and she jumped, her thighs tightening around my leg. I traced the outside lobe, and let my tongue find the crease, following its line behind her ear. Her breathing quickened.
“I leave a wet trail around the apartment,” I admitted.
Joanna moaned, jerking her sensitive ear away from my tongue.
My hand traveled down her body, massaging her full breasts. I circled the round firmness of her belly with my hand, and let my fingers tangle in the hairs of her cunt. I tugged and pulled, my tongue darting in and out of her ear. She was begging me to…so I let me hand sink home, diving in and out of her pussy with ease.
Thumb wet with her juices, I circled her clit in a slow sweet circle.
Joanna’s hips followed my hand’s movements.
Like a piston, my fingers slid deeper and deeper into her wet hole.
My lips covered her breasts in wet kisses and nibbled their way to her belly button. I licked the gentle indention and her hands took hold of my head, urging me lower. I journeyed down, letting my hair trail across her skin until my mouth joined my hand.
Tongue and fingers met and Joanna took a fist full of hair in her hand. I winced and my pussy twitched.
I pushed and prodded the ravenous opening, my knuckles, sliding and turning. There was a loud sucking sound and my hand slid all the way up into her cunt. My eyes sought hers. “Mrs.
Thompson?”
I paused, letting her adjust. I blew against her clit and began to move my hand.
“Mrs. Thompson?”
Slowly turning, watching her face as she struggled to accept the fullness.
Joanna’s eyes were squeezed shut.
“Please…” she pleaded.
I twisted slowly. Her cunt grasped my hand I sucked in my breath.
My pussy liquefied.
“Please what?” I continued moving slowly.
“Call me Joanna!”
My hand began to move in a slow rhythm, until she was widened enough for me to move in and
out easily. Her hips followed my lead, seeking fullness while my tongue played with her clit.
Indefinable noises echoed in the room, mingling with the sound of my hand entering and leaving her body.
My body was burning, blood swimming rapidly through my veins. Pleasure was near to bursting my heart. Suddenly, she cried out my name, her cunt taking hold of my hand in a bruising grip. I cursed, my free hand find my clit, and I was with her.
***
I let me head rest on her belly and she stroked my hair softly.
“Cindy?”
“Yes, Joanna?”
Sweat had matted her hair to the sides of her head, and her lipstick was smeared across her cheek. Her soft brown eyes were soft, her lids heavy.
“Thank you.”
I crawled up beside Joanna and pulled her into my arms. She relaxed against me, and my eyes found the picture on the bedside table.
Benny, Joanna, and Mr. Thompson…
In the two weeks I’ve been working as Mrs. Thompson’s live-in nanny, she almost always wears high heels. High heels and nothing else.
***
We were late. Benny had to be at his Mommy and Me class at 5:30 and it was quarter after. We still had to ride up the elevator, get into the apartment and change him into the gym outfit Mrs. Thompson had lain out for him that morning. After which, we had to hop in a taxi and pray there was no rush hour traffic on the Upper East Side.
“Run!” I ordered as I opened the door pushing Benny’s little hiney toward his bedroom.
“Cindy, darling!”
I froze. It was Mrs. Thompson. She was naked. Again! I wasn’t sure how to handle this. I had never lived with a nudist before. She finished sorting the bills, letters and ads into neat piles, and turned to face me.
“What are you doing here?”
She raised a brow at my tone, settling her hands on her full hips.
“I mean, I thought we were meeting at class?”
“I was able to leave the office early,” she told me. “I thought I’d ride with you two.” She knelt and held out her arms. Benny came tearing down the hall and into her hug with a giggle. How she didn’t topple over in those heels, I’ll never know.
“Gives me a few extra minutes, with Peanut, here.” Mrs. Thompson wrinkled her nose at him, and he wrinkled back. She stood with him in her arms.
“Well, Peanut has dressed himself,” I said reaching for her child. “You on the other hand, need to scoot!”
I tried not to watch as she turned to go, but watching her go was one of the best parts of my day.
***
I leaned back against the redwood paneling of the elevator wall and closed my eyes. The ding of the elevator car passing each floor accompanied my thoughts on the ride to the penthouse. What would it be like to have this much money? I laughed at myself. Dina, whom I had just had one too many cocktails with, thought it was appalling. All of that money for one family.
Personally, I was impressed. All of those hours at the office.
I put my key in the lock. It wasn’t like it was given to her.
My mouth went dry and my pussy nearly wet itself. Mrs. Thompson was on the couch. One leg tossed casually over the arm, the other pulled up, heel hooked on the edge of the seat. She was leaning over her knee squinting at her toes as she applied a bright red lacquer. Her bush was open and winking at me from across the room.
“Cindy, thank God you’re here!” She gestured for me to come over. I set my bag on the side table and did so hesitantly. I couldn’t take my drunken eyes away from her snatch.
“Cindy?”
The heat of embarrassment climbing my neck and cheeks. I met her knowing eyes.
“Yes, Mrs. Thompson?”
“Could you be a dear and paint my toes for me? I can’t see a damn thing.”
“I’ve had a couple of drinks. I’m not so sure…”
“You can’t be any worse than me!” she laughed, patting the sofa next to her. “I really need to stop fighting vanity and get glasses.”
“Women with glasses are sexy.” I could have cut off my tongue, but her delighted laughter warmed me. I took off my jacket and took a seat on the plush red leather couch at her feet.
Mrs. Thompson set her feet in my lap and felt my pulse jump. I licked my lips trying to think of a good topic of conversation; something that wouldn’t remind me of her beautiful pussy a legs length away from me.
“When is Mr. Thompson due home?”
She frowned, her face tightening.
“Two weeks, darling.”
I picked up the bottle of polish. Wicked Heat was the color. I swallowed hard and removed the brush.
“This will go nice with your heels,” I told her dragging the brush along her big toenail, then the next.
“Thank you, Cindy. It’s so important to look pretty,” she whispered.
I kept my eyes on her toes. Her feet were smooth and soft. Why, with all her gobs of money, didn’t she go to a manicurist? I wasn’t hired to do her nails! I wasn’t supposed to sit on her coach with her naked ass sliding against the leather. I was supposed to care for Benny!
“Did Benny go down easy?”
She smiled, her face softening.
“Yeah. We went to the Circus today to see the elephants.”
I moved to the next foot.
“He was all tuckered out.”
“He does love the animals,” I smiled, remembering his attachment to the neighbor’s black lab.
“Could you massage my calves, darling?”
Massage! She had to be kidding. I put the cap on the polish and stared at her feet.
“Isn’t it fun to have a girlfriend?” she said.
I took the bottle of lotion from her hands and poured out the floral fantasy into my hands.
Girlfriend.
My fingers circled her ankles and slid up the gentle swell of her legs. Her eyes shut, her lips
widened into a satisfied smile. I pulled my fingers down the back of her calves, sinking my fingers into the taught muscles. She moaned low in her throat and I froze.
Mrs. Thompson’s eyes opened dark with need.
“Is Dina your lover, Cindy?”
I dropped her feet onto the sofa and stood up, clearing my throat.
“Good night, Mrs. Thompson.”
“Call me Joanna!” she called as I hurried to my room.
***
The sound of my vibrator sounded incredibly loud in the quiet of my bedroom.
I heard the sound of Mrs. Thompson’s heels and my eyes flew to door.
I slammed my eight incher into my pussy. I didn’t care if she heard me. Go ahead and listen!
I imagined her standing just outside the oak door, ear pressed against the hard wood.
“Darling!” she cooed, putting a finger in her mouth. She licked it from end to end, then the second, wetting them so that she could pump them into her pussy while she listened.
I dug my heels into the mattress and grabbed my breast in my hand, twisting the nipple. It was her fault. She was so fucking hot. I bit my lip, fighting back moans. I could see her Wicked Heat nails covered in her juices.
“You make me so wet, darling!”
I began to chant her name under my breath. I brought my hand still scented with the flowers of her lotion up to my nose and came in a gush, my muscles clamping down on my vibrator, her eyes above me in my mind.
***
“She was on the toilet!”
“No way!” Dina giggled, leaning back in her chair.
“Yes, the door was open and she was reading the comics!” I could still see Mrs. Thompson sitting on the pot. At least there had been no heels.
“What are you gonna do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well she’s obviously into you.”
I snorted and waived at the waiter for the check.
“She’s married, Dina!”
“That doesn’t mean anything!” She took my hand in hers and met my eyes. “He’s never home.”
“Well, not after today.” I said tossing her hand away. Mrs. Thompson had been nearly dancing around the apartment this morning with the thought of her husband’s return. She was making a very private dinner and that was why I had the night off and Benny was at Gran’s.
***
I opened the door cautiously and listened. I was met by silence and the heady scent of lemon and beeswax. The housekeepers had been scrubbing like mad for Mr. Thompson’s arrival.
I shut the door carefully behind me and tip-toed down the hall toward my room.
“Cindy!”
Mrs. Thompson called from the opposite direction. Shit! I turned around cursing.
A light was coming from under the office door.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Thompson,” I said coming into her office. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything.” I glanced around the room. There was no sign of her husband.
“No, darling,” she was sitting at her desk, papers strewn out in front of her. Her long blond hair was twisted on top of her head, a pencil holding it in place. Red framed glasses with a rhinestone at each corner were perched on the end of her nose.
“Jason couldn’t make it home this week.”
I didn’t know what to say. This morning, there had been florists decorating and chefs cooking. It had been like the next coming.
“Your glasses look pretty, Mrs. Thompson.”
She smiled, her eyes turning up at the corners. My knees went weak.
“Can I speak with you?” I asked, taking a seat in the wingback chair in front of the desk.
“Cindy,” she scolded. “I’ve asked you to call me Joanna.”
Yes, she had asked, but I had tried to keep our relationship professional with the use of her formal name. It also reminded me that she was married and straight.
“Would you like a drink?” Not waiting for an answer, she walked over to the sideboard and the decanter, pouring scotch into two glasses. The curve of her spine was an elegant S leading straight to her ass. From photos I had seen, her curves had been accented by her pregnancy with Benjamin; her ass a full round globe, begging to be caressed.
I cleared my throat and shifted on the chair. “Mrs. Thompson?”
“Yes, darling?” She handed me the drink and sat down on the edge of the desk in front of me.
“Mrs. Thompson, could I ask you a favor?” Heat colored my cheeks. I took a sip of my drink, welcoming the burn.
“Anything, sweetie,” she said putting her hand on my knee. She gave it a soft squeeze.
“Could you please wear a robe when you walk around the house?”
She looked hurt.
“I thought you liked my body?” she pouted. She leaned close enough for me to see the specks of green in the brown of her eyes. I closed my eyes. Her hand slid between my legs and parted them. She leaned her body between my knees.
“I thought you enjoyed watching me?” she whispered huskily.
I was at a loss for words. My mind went fuzzy with desire as she crawled up on the chair with me, straddling my lap, her bush rubbing against the zipper of my jeans. It felt like I was beneath my sheets, living out one of my masturbation fantasies. She pulled the pencil from her hair and tossed it to the floor with a shake of her head. Soft golden hair fell around us in a cloud.
“Please, darling,” Mrs. Thompson begged softly. “Touch me.” She offered her breast to me like a piece of fruit. It was firm and ripe, her nipple a dark circle of desire needing attention. She was grinding herself against the denim covering my pussy.
My panties were soaked with my need. I am sure she could smell my sex, engorged with want, but I hesitated; I needed this job.
“Do you want me to fire you?” she asked, as if reading my mind. I laughed softly to myself, my hands itching to feel her skin. My tongue was salivating, wanting to take in the hard nub.
“This is sexual harassment.” I said, but found myself leaning into her body.
“Is it?” Mrs. Thompson took my head in her hands and leading me to her nipple. I took the taut cherry between my lips and let my tongue play with its rough hardness. Her skin smelled of Chanel No. 5 and the cigarettes she smoked when she thought we weren’t looking. She moaned. I suckled greedily, my fingers kneading her full hips. She twisted my dark hair into her hands and used it as a rein, directing my lips from one tit to the other.
Her other hand was busy pulling at the snap of my jeans and dragging down my zipper. “Cindy, darling,” she crooned, her well-manicured fingers sliding beneath my panties. “Do you know how often I have thought of fucking you?” Her fingers slipped into my folds finding my sex dripping. She stroked softly as I moaned, paralyzed by the thought that I might wake up.
Mrs. Thompson smiled and brought her sticky fingers to her mouth. She made a show of licking them, sucking every drop of my cunt juice from her fingertips.
“Mrs. Thompson, I…”
“Call me Joanna,” she suggested, leaning into me and nuzzling my neck. Her long golden hair brushed against my cheek as her tongue traced the circumference of my ear. My breathing was harsh to my ears. This was crazy.
“Joanna…your son…”
“Is at my mom’s.” She found the hem of my T-shirt and tugged at it impatiently. She leaned back so that I could lift my arms, and pulled the shirt over my head. She smiled in delight as my love buds came into view.
“Perfect,” she whispered tracing their shape with her fingers. Joanna circled my nubs, watching them harden to tight little knots. She laughed, tracing where her hands hand been.
“So small and firm,” she mumbled, tugging them with her teeth. My hips jumped and my pussy rose from the chair seeking hers.
“That’s right, sweetie.” She slid down my thighs, kissing the trembling muscles of my belly and settled on the floor. She knelt between my legs, her eyes greedy with need. “Lift your hips, darling.”
“But Mr. Thompson…”
“Is out of town. Now lift your hips!” she ordered.
I did, and she yanked my jeans and panties down in one deft movement. Her hands caressed the top of my thighs and she pushed against my knees with her shoulders.
“Spread your legs, love.”
My knees fell open, my hot fuck hole looking her in the face. Her hands explored the smooth skin, rubbing and stroking, my juices dribbling onto the fine leather of the chair. She laughed, caught my wetness and rubbed it into my clit in sweeping circles. I cursed in pleasure, my eyes closing as the hard little button of my clit rose from under its hood.
“Beautiful, darling.” Joanna’s fingers slid into my hole, massaging my walls as her thumb played with my wet pearl. “Tell me what you want, darling. Tell mommy what turns you on.”
“Lick me…” I moaned.
My toes were first to be sampled. Joanna licked between them and around them, pulling each one into her mouth in turn. I writhed on the chair, gasping and giggling uncontrollably. She massaged my calves, and her tongue found the crease behind my knee. I shuddered. She stole up to my thighs, nibbling and biting before kissing away the sting.
Joanna pillaged my asshole; her tongue bouncing against the entrance like it was a trampoline. She licked from one hole to the other, her tongue wide and flat. She lapped at the skin surrounding my clit and blew on it gently, watching it quiver and my thighs tense. My eager hands pushed her head towards my clit, my hips rising to meet her face. She threw my legs over her shoulders and latched onto me.
My air was cut off as her hand covered my mouth to muffle my scream. She ate greedily. She was at the banquet of my ripe orchard, sampling all. She swirled and swam until my come poured down her throat like a fine wine.
***
The next morning I woke in my small bedroom and stared at the ceiling, convinced I had dreamed the entire incident. I put on my robe, walked down the hall to the bathroom, and hung the robe on the back of the door as always. When I faced myself in the mirror I noticed little bite marks dotted my thighs. I turned and looked over my shoulder. Scratches reddened my ass.
It had been real. I stepped beneath the spray and smiled.
I walked out of the shower and straight into Ben, who was sitting outside the door flipping through a book.
“Heya, sweetie.” I knelt down and picked him up, bringing the book with me. “When did you get home?” I could hear Joanna’s mother talking with her in the dining room. There voices were raised.
“We’ve gotta get you ready for the zoo.”
Benny bounced excitedly in my arms.
***
“I’m going to tag along,” Joanna said.
I was filling the backpack in the kitchen. I looked over my shoulder and nearly rolled my eyes. She had dressed for the occasion in what I liked to call her hooker outfit; a black mini-skirt so short that it could have been a belt, and a red sequined tube top.
Strangely enough, she sometimes wore this little number to the office. Joanna owned her own business. These trashy little ensembles were quite popular with the folks in the East Village. Not to mention Piccadilly in London and St. Germaine in Paris.
“Sure, Mrs. Thompson,” I said, putting the backpack over my shoulder.
I spent the ride down in the elevator holding Ben’s hand and trying to focus on the floor numbers. I would not stare at her cleavage. This wasn’t so for the doorman in the lobby whose eyes never rose to eye level.
Admittedly, getting a taxi was pretty easy with Joanna along. Most days I would fight with my fellow New Yorkers for the streaks of yellow shooting down the street. Having a toddler and backpack in tow made it difficult to move quickly. But scantly clad, now that got the cabbies’ attention.
We arrived at Central Park in a few minutes. As soon as we were through the gates of the zoo, Ben ran for the seal exhibit in the park’s central courtyard. We were there just in time for the seal feeding.
“You look hot.” Joanna observed. It was a typical August day in NY – humid and sticky. “Why don’t you wear some of the clothing I gave you?”
As a member of her “family,” I was given a bag full of her clothing line. I just didn’t like to show as much skin as she did.
“I’ve told you before, Mrs. Thompson, they are a little too revealing for me.”
We had reached the black wrought iron fence surrounding the seal exhibit. Ben was beside himself with excitement, jumping up and down and pointing at the silky black creatures as they glided through the water.
“No they aren’t!” Joanna protested from just behind me. “They cover everything that needs to be covered, while still making you feel like you are wearing nothing. You would look beautiful.”
I shrugged, happy with my uniform of tank top, jean skirt, and flip-flops.
One of the park workers came out onto the island in the center of the exhibit, two huge tan buckets in hand. I bent over to pick up Ben, so he could get a better view of the feeding and felt Joanna pressing close in the crush of the crowd. I did my best to ignore her as she settled her pelvis against my ass. I put Ben’s feet over the fence so he was sitting on top. He clapped and cheered as the seals jumped into the air, taking hold of their lunch.
Ben pulled at our hands impatiently as the crowd dispersed. Next stop, polar bears. The polar bears had a huge tank in which to swim in. Visitors of the zoo could walk through a cave that had a viewing tank, and you could watch the playful white bears swim through the thick glass.
The cave was dark and cool after the heat of the sun. Ben ran to the front of the room and pressed his nose and hands firmly to the glass. Joanna and I stood behind the railing at the back. Benny raced back and fourth, following the bears as they swam. Joanna moved up behind me.
“I can’t wait until tonight.” She whispered, breathing against my neck. The hairs rose on end. I felt her hand tugging at my skirt hem and my eyes darted around the exhibit franticly.
Her fingers slipped beneath the leg of my panties.
Benny was talking to a little boy to the left of us, about ten feet away.
They slid through my crack and into my wet sex.
A woman pushing a stroller walked in front of us.
Two fingers surrounded my pulsing clit.
“I’ve arranged for Benny to have a sleepover at Toby McMillan’s house.”
Benny was on his knees laughing, his new friend on the floor beside him.
Joanna used her nails hardness to press and squeeze my bud of desire.
“Mommy!” Benny squealed as the polar bear somersaulted through the water. My come wet my thighs.
“Yes, Peanut?”
What had I gotten myself into?
***
Benny was beyond himself at the prospect of a sleepover. He walked around his room at a loss as to what toy he should bring with him. He was only allowed one toy.
“How about Spongebob?” I asked, picking up the stuffed yellow sponge from where I knelt next to his toy chest.
“But Patrick will be lonely.” He clutched them both to his chest and looked at me expectantly.
“Welllll…I suppose Toby will need one to play with too.”
He cheered and jumped into my arms, squishing his two plush friends between us. We laughed as I rolled him to the floor and tickled him.
“Time to go,” Joanna called from the doorway and Benny jumped up from the floor. He grabbed his toys and dragged his backpack behind him.
***
I was dizzy and couldn’t breathe. Joanna slid up my body and found my lips, urging them apart. The taste of me on her full pout ignited me.
My tongue stole into her mouth exploring franticly, my hands caressing the length of her back. Her skin was smooth and warm. We were mound to mound, our pussy hairs tangling in a gentle friction, our breasts slick with sweat.
Nipples rode each others skin and I brought my knee in between her legs. Joanna’s bush was wet with want and my cunt tightened as my knee slid through the rough wetness.
“Harder!” she moaned into my mouth.
I pressed into her, grinding my knee, nibbling my way around her neck.
“You make me so wet, Mrs. Thompson,” I whispered against her ear. My tongue darted in and she jumped, her thighs tightening around my leg. I traced the outside lobe, and let my tongue find the crease, following its line behind her ear. Her breathing quickened.
“I leave a wet trail around the apartment,” I admitted.
Joanna moaned, jerking her sensitive ear away from my tongue.
My hand traveled down her body, massaging her full breasts. I circled the round firmness of her belly with my hand, and let my fingers tangle in the hairs of her cunt. I tugged and pulled, my tongue darting in and out of her ear. She was begging me to…so I let me hand sink home, diving in and out of her pussy with ease.
Thumb wet with her juices, I circled her clit in a slow sweet circle.
Joanna’s hips followed my hand’s movements.
Like a piston, my fingers slid deeper and deeper into her wet hole.
My lips covered her breasts in wet kisses and nibbled their way to her belly button. I licked the gentle indention and her hands took hold of my head, urging me lower. I journeyed down, letting my hair trail across her skin until my mouth joined my hand.
Tongue and fingers met and Joanna took a fist full of hair in her hand. I winced and my pussy twitched.
I pushed and prodded the ravenous opening, my knuckles, sliding and turning. There was a loud sucking sound and my hand slid all the way up into her cunt. My eyes sought hers. “Mrs.
Thompson?”
I paused, letting her adjust. I blew against her clit and began to move my hand.
“Mrs. Thompson?”
Slowly turning, watching her face as she struggled to accept the fullness.
Joanna’s eyes were squeezed shut.
“Please…” she pleaded.
I twisted slowly. Her cunt grasped my hand I sucked in my breath.
My pussy liquefied.
“Please what?” I continued moving slowly.
“Call me Joanna!”
My hand began to move in a slow rhythm, until she was widened enough for me to move in and
out easily. Her hips followed my lead, seeking fullness while my tongue played with her clit.
Indefinable noises echoed in the room, mingling with the sound of my hand entering and leaving her body.
My body was burning, blood swimming rapidly through my veins. Pleasure was near to bursting my heart. Suddenly, she cried out my name, her cunt taking hold of my hand in a bruising grip. I cursed, my free hand find my clit, and I was with her.
***
I let me head rest on her belly and she stroked my hair softly.
“Cindy?”
“Yes, Joanna?”
Sweat had matted her hair to the sides of her head, and her lipstick was smeared across her cheek. Her soft brown eyes were soft, her lids heavy.
“Thank you.”
I crawled up beside Joanna and pulled her into my arms. She relaxed against me, and my eyes found the picture on the bedside table.
Benny, Joanna, and Mr. Thompson…
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