Copyright © 2008 by Crystal Barela
Have you heard the world is flat? Mine was until Rachel. Until she heard me.
I sat alone at the crowded bar, drowning my secret desires in shots of tequila and Rachel’s voice.
Rachel.
In this bar, on this stool, a year ago today, I’d heard Rachel sing for the first time. Hand-cut hearts taped to the doorways vibrated to the timbre of her deep contralto. That Valentine’s Day changed my life.
My attraction to Rachel wasn’t brought on by her boy-cut do, or her creamy pale skin. It wasn’t her full thick body, all hips and thigh. It was the smoky booze that poured from her throat – smooth mellow jazz mixed with raw passion and rough words like uncut diamonds. Hearing her voice was like taking a shower in sex, hot come caressing my skin from head to toe.
This bar had been my home every Saturday night since.
In the pre-dawn of each Sunday morning, night slips into day with me scribbling words onto scraps of paper. Rachel, a fever in my system; an ache between my legs.
When I finish, I write the lyrics onto red sheets of paper and slide them into envelopes the same color.
Rachel lives twenty minutes from my apartment. Red curtains in her windows hug a red painted door. Red like the missives I slide under her door while she sleeps.
Sometimes I wait. I sit in my car, smoking my Marlboros, my eyes heavy and tired. Her porch light flickers as I imagine her beneath her sheets, the cool white cotton skimming her body.
Another shot burns my throat.
Did she read my little notes? Does she know that it’s me?
I’ve never spoken to Rachel, just watched from my corner of the bar. My heated eyes caressing her skin in ways my fingers envied.
A year had passed since that first night, and hand cut hearts were taped to the doorways again. Rachel wore red for the occasion, her curves hugged by deep burgundy velvet. Tight velvet.
With each high note she hit, her breasts trembled, nearly spilling from the bodice. “Another shot, Teddy?”
I looked up at Rob and nodded. He had tended bar at La Vida since before Rachel’s band started performing.
“You gonna talk to her?” he asked setting the booze in front of me.
I shook my head. Maybe if I had a couple more drinks I’d get up the nerve.
I knocked the tequila back, shaking my head at the burn.
“You gonna talk to me?” he teased. It was Saturday night, and Rob knew where my thoughts lie. Against Rachel.
“Hey y’all!” Rachel called. “This one’s for my valentine. You know who you are.” She adjusted the mike, bringing her ruby red lips close, and sang.
When you gonna open the door?
I sobered.
It’s cold outside.
My words! Rachel was singing my lyrics, the same ones I snuck under her door.
My heart’s been empty and sore, since I saw you under the lights.
My words were rubbing themselves on her tongue, licking her lips before nibbling my ear. They were traveling on the perspiration that dotted her skin, sliding along her body, before evaporating out to the audience. I was all over her. Fucking her with my poetry, and being fucked by her song.
We’d close those red curtains and fall in love in our own sweet time.
Her green eyes were shut tight, and mine closed in response. My heart found her rhythm beneath my breasts. The bar disappeared and we were alone in my mind. Voice and words married beneath the beer lights. My heart swelled and my pussy moistened.
Rachel was singing to my soul.
My eyes opened as Rachel thanked her band for tonight’s performance.
Fans weaved between the tables and crowded around her. A blonde put a hand on her forearm, leaning in close enough to feel Rachel’s breath on her cheek. Rachel took her lip gloss from her bag, and ran it over her pout, nodding at what the woman was saying to her.
I shifted on my stool, my eyes darting away. Rob wiped down the bar.
People called out to Rachel as they left, pieces of their conversations fluttering behind them.
A man pulled her into his arms, hugging her. His hands skimmed her ass.
Did you feel that?
Rachel aimed a kiss at his cheek; he turned his head meeting her lips.
The drummer stepped forward, glaring at the man. He apologized, and backed away with a nervous laugh.
I wonder if she tastes as good as she sounds?
The bar cleared and Rachel’s band packed up their equipment.
“You okay?” Rob asked, waving a hand in front of my face. Okay? My world was no longer off-key, but in tune or the first time.
I waited. As always, the last one to leave the bar. I watched her laugh and joke with the band from under my newsboy cap; eyes gritty from the smoke and the fourteen hour days my obsession had created. No, it wasn’t obsession. It was adoration. Love.
Rob cleared my tab and I zipped my biker jacket to my throat. With a wave, I walked out the door to the parking lot. The band’s laughter followed me out.
Leaning up against the rusty door of my beater, I lit a cigarette. I’d get one more glance of Rachel when the band loaded up the van.
A few minutes later they walked out of the bar, the drummer’s arm around Rachel’s shoulders. The two of them had an easy way about each other that made me grit my teeth.
Instead of walking to the van, Rachel sauntered towards me, leaving little white puffs of frigid air in her wake. She stopped a few feet away. I had never been this close.
I narrowed my eyes, breathing her in. Musk, incense, cigarettes, booze, sweat…she smelled like I imagined a gypsy would.
“You stalkin’ me?”
I loved her rich masculine voice.
Stalking? It’s not like I followed her home and sat outside her window. I just stopped by once a week. Sundays. In the morning.
“No, I….” I was stuttering like a fucking junior high kid.
Rachel held out her hand, a familiar red envelope in her palm. My throat went dry. She was guessing. She couldn’t know. I licked my lips nervously.
“What’s your name?” She asked.
“Teddy.”
“Like the bear?”
I nodded and she laughed, her smoky drawl dancing along my skin. She handed me the envelope and I swallowed hard.
“Read it to me,” she purred. I wanted to. I really did. But the lyrics were meant for her voice; her rusty, pussy-wetting sound. I pulled out the red slip of paper. My handwriting blurred.
“Perfect,” I told her, meeting her eyes for the first time. They had a cat-like shape. She had used eye-liner to turn them up at the corners, gold glitter shimmering on her cheekbones. “You were perfect.”
A smile curled, her glossy lips. My lips were dry, in need of Chapstick.
“Do you mind?” Rachel asked, snatching my cigarettes from my pocket. She took one between her lips and I lifted an unsteady hand to give her a light. She leaned against the car with me, thigh touching thigh.
“How long you been singing?” I asked.
“Since I was born.” She smiled and wrapped an arm over my shoulders. My cunt began to pulse.
“How long you been writing?”
The van pulled in front of us.
“Everything cool?” the drummer asked, an eyebrow climbing towards his buzz cut.
“Hot, my man,” she drawled and squeezed my shoulder.
The band waved out the windows as they drove out of the lot. We were alone.
“You’ve been coming to La Vida for what…a year?”
I nodded.
“Why didn’t you whisper me some of those sweet words you wrote?” She stood in front of me, and pressed her hips into mine.
I should have a few cool lines. I’m a writer. My mind was blank.
“Words like yours ... ” Rachel leaned into me, breasts meeting my own. Her breath was warm on my lips. “... would’ve had me on my back months ago.”
I didn’t know what to say. What to do. I felt asthmatic.
A car door slammed. Rob revved his engine and honked his horn as he drove by.
Rachel nibbled her way along my jaw, her hand dragging down my jacket’s zipper. Her lips hovered over my ear in the chilly air.
“Or did you want me on my knees?” She dropped to the ground and I protested. The pavement, the gravel. She had my fly down. Her short cropped hair sparked red in the moonlight, her skin pale as ivory.
“Rachel, I…” I gasped, as she tugged the elastic of my panties aside. My bush steamed in the cold air.
She yanked my jeans down, and my ass hit cold metal. I yelped and laughed nervously, my hips thrust away from the door. Rachel pressed me into the frigid steel. Her hands were firm on my thighs, widening my stance as much as she could with my jeans around my knees.
“Say my name again.” Her hot breath was on my clit. Her eyes held mine. I said Rachel’s name. Her tongue began to lick. Over and over her name was on my lips, her tongue playing with my swollen nubbin.
Cozying up to my hot cunt like she did the microphone, Rachel ate as passionately as she sung my words. Her tongue pulled sounds from me I had never heard before.
Making music.
I moaned.
Making love.
My knees went weak.
“Open the door,” Rachel said. I turned and grabbed the back door’s handle. It swung open with a squeak and she pressed me into the cheap vinyl, riding me into the car. Her hand was in between my thighs, dancing with my clit.
I struggled with my t-shirt, catching it around my neck.
A crescendo was building. Rachel leaned into my back. Her breasts fell from her red dress and pressed into my shoulder blades. One hand was on my tits, the other strumming my clit with the steady beat of a bass guitar. She bit my neck, mumbled my name.
Wanna dance?
My hips began to move, fucking her hand into the vinyl.
Wanna sing?
Moans poured from my throat, fogging the windows.
Come with me, baby.
My shouts echoed in the tight interior of the car and I shuddered as her fingers finished a duet with my pussy.
She crawled off me and into the front seats. “I knew you had a voice.”
Rachel had given me one.
I kicked off my jeans. She shimmied her dress down her body. My pussy began throb. No panties. Clean shaven perfection.
“Move to the center.” Rachel dropped the seats so they were flat, framing me on the back seat.
“Spread your legs over the seats.” I arranged myself with my ass hanging off the back seat, knees curling over the front two. The gear shift was inches from my wet pussy, the bulbous head rising from my cunt like a giant cock.
Rachel knelt over us…me and my gear shift. She rubbed her pussy against the cracked vinyl head and I swear I could feel it. She jostled and wiggled, tweaking her breasts. Her moans were like her singing, hot and sticky. She slid down its length, rocking her pelvis against the hard metal.
The paper pine tree swayed in the rearview mirror.
My fingers were in my hot hole. Words began to fall from my mouth. My lyrics in an untidy pile between us. Her movements became wild. My voice trembled.
She was beautiful. Her body glowing, breasts bouncing, thighs clenching. Rachel was my perfect secret love.
I shouted her name.
Our eyes connected and she came, her voice crawling over my skin and between my legs, slipping into me like poetry.
My muse.
My valentine.
My Rachel.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Sex Storm (Working Title)
Copyright © 2008 by Crystal Barela
The left wiper squeaked with every pass across the cracked windshield of my pick-up truck. Each swipe over the smooth glass caused my innards to cringe. Two feet of vinyl separated me from my girl, Carla.
It had been her idea to go to the strip club, not mine. Why was she so pissed I enjoyed watching naked chicks shake their asses? My dick was hard, just like Carla liked it. I shifted in the seat, wanting nothing more than for my woman to stop with this jealousy bullshit and suck my cock.
“Stop the truck.”
I gripped the wheel tighter. That little fantasy wasn’t going to happen. My eyes darted from the barely visible highway to Carla, her pale cheeks flushed with anger. Her beautiful bow lips were tightened into an angry line. Curly red hair sprung around her head in an angry halo. A bolt of lightening lit the sky and set the corkscrews aflame.
I wanted to put my hand in the fire. “Baby, I—”
“Stop the fucking truck!”
I slammed on the brakes and the truck fishtailed, my cowboy hat flying. Carla screamed grasping the door handle, as I grabbed hold of the steering wheel. The truck weaved back and fourth half a dozen times before it slid across the pavement into a crooked stop along the shoulder, horns honking around us.
“Asshole!” Carla’s breasts heaved, barely kept from view by the plunging white v-neck tank she wore. If you asked me, I was the one who should be jealous. Her jean skirt was practically a belt it was so short, showing off her long toned legs and her favorite red cowboy boots.
She flung the door open and jumped down to the pavement and immediately started cursing the rain.
What the fuck did she expect? They were in a monsoon.
In the review mirror I could see Carla had her thumb out.
Of all the—I picked up my hat and jumped out of the cab. Thunder shook the earth, followed by another flash of lightening. Carla was soaked through. Her already indecent tank top now made pornographic by the pounding rain. Dark nipples were clearly visible through the wet fabric. My dick twitched.
I grabbed her hitching hand and pulled her against me, bringing that thumb to the hardness beneath my fly.
“Pervert!” she screamed. But I saw the desire in her eyes in the passing car lights before she tried to shake from my grip. She was tall; the same height as me in her cowboy boots. Farm raising had made her strong. With difficulty I drug her behind the truck and pressed her against the cold rusty steel with my hips.
“Listen to me!” I shouted and she turned her head away. I grabbed her chin and forced her face foreword. Her hair was matted to her head. Mascara was now in wet tracks down her cheeks. Rain pounded down in a torrent, and in a flash of passing headlights I could see the pinking of Carla’s cleavage. God, she was hot.
“Nothing to say?” She whispered and her tongue took a slow ride around her lips. Carla swiveled her hips against mine, daring me. My eyes shot up and down the highway and I hesitated.
“Pussy,” she hissed.
“Bitch.”
I tugged her skirt to her waist.
She laughed.
Tore her thong.
My fingers slid between sopping wet folds of pussy.
My balls ached.
“I hate you!”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
She humped my hand as I worked open my fly. I’d give her those few moments before I fucked her. Let her ride my fingers.
Zipper down and cock out, I shoved her into the cab and grabbed her wet hair. I pushed her face into the wet cab seat. Carla’s round ass waved in the air as she tried to get away. I forced her legs apart and found my home between her thighs. My huge hard-on, slid through her ass crack, skidding to a stop at the entrance to her juicy hole. Thunder shook the truck and I plunged forward, hitting the back of her womb. She cried out and reached for the steering wheel. I took a hold of her shoulder in one hand and yanked her hair in the other. I forced her pussy onto my cock. Used her wet cunt to stroke my dick. I jammed her against me. Made her fuck me.
I was cold everywhere but where I bodies connected. The rain came down harder.
Carla wiggled a hand beneath her. I could feel her fingertips tugging her clit. I was too selfish. Too mad to help her get off. This was about my cock in her pussy. The velvet heat of her tunnel massaging my dick.
She was now pressing her ass back against me. I let go of her shoulder and slipped my hands around to fondle her breasts. Carla’s nipples were hard from the rain and the pussy pounding I was giving her. I pinched her nips and her cunt squeezed my dick. I tugged again, milking her tits so her pussy would milk my dick. With each snap of my finger her insides squeezed my cock.
Carla screamed my name and her body shook like a fish on the end of the line as she came. She fell limp against the seat and I squeezed her hips, jacking my prick until it went off, jets of come coating her insides.
“Those girls were hot, weren’t they?” Carla whispered satisfaction in every word.
For a moment, anger flared again, but I held it in check and pulled my dick from her pussy. Carla turned over, legs spread, rain pelting her bare thighs. I watched her hand slide over the skirt bunched at her waist and through the smooth skin of her pussy. She shifted on the seat so that the rain would hit her cunt lips and closed her eyes.
“Not as hot as you.”
She smiled. That was just what she wanted to hear.
The left wiper squeaked with every pass across the cracked windshield of my pick-up truck. Each swipe over the smooth glass caused my innards to cringe. Two feet of vinyl separated me from my girl, Carla.
It had been her idea to go to the strip club, not mine. Why was she so pissed I enjoyed watching naked chicks shake their asses? My dick was hard, just like Carla liked it. I shifted in the seat, wanting nothing more than for my woman to stop with this jealousy bullshit and suck my cock.
“Stop the truck.”
I gripped the wheel tighter. That little fantasy wasn’t going to happen. My eyes darted from the barely visible highway to Carla, her pale cheeks flushed with anger. Her beautiful bow lips were tightened into an angry line. Curly red hair sprung around her head in an angry halo. A bolt of lightening lit the sky and set the corkscrews aflame.
I wanted to put my hand in the fire. “Baby, I—”
“Stop the fucking truck!”
I slammed on the brakes and the truck fishtailed, my cowboy hat flying. Carla screamed grasping the door handle, as I grabbed hold of the steering wheel. The truck weaved back and fourth half a dozen times before it slid across the pavement into a crooked stop along the shoulder, horns honking around us.
“Asshole!” Carla’s breasts heaved, barely kept from view by the plunging white v-neck tank she wore. If you asked me, I was the one who should be jealous. Her jean skirt was practically a belt it was so short, showing off her long toned legs and her favorite red cowboy boots.
She flung the door open and jumped down to the pavement and immediately started cursing the rain.
What the fuck did she expect? They were in a monsoon.
In the review mirror I could see Carla had her thumb out.
Of all the—I picked up my hat and jumped out of the cab. Thunder shook the earth, followed by another flash of lightening. Carla was soaked through. Her already indecent tank top now made pornographic by the pounding rain. Dark nipples were clearly visible through the wet fabric. My dick twitched.
I grabbed her hitching hand and pulled her against me, bringing that thumb to the hardness beneath my fly.
“Pervert!” she screamed. But I saw the desire in her eyes in the passing car lights before she tried to shake from my grip. She was tall; the same height as me in her cowboy boots. Farm raising had made her strong. With difficulty I drug her behind the truck and pressed her against the cold rusty steel with my hips.
“Listen to me!” I shouted and she turned her head away. I grabbed her chin and forced her face foreword. Her hair was matted to her head. Mascara was now in wet tracks down her cheeks. Rain pounded down in a torrent, and in a flash of passing headlights I could see the pinking of Carla’s cleavage. God, she was hot.
“Nothing to say?” She whispered and her tongue took a slow ride around her lips. Carla swiveled her hips against mine, daring me. My eyes shot up and down the highway and I hesitated.
“Pussy,” she hissed.
“Bitch.”
I tugged her skirt to her waist.
She laughed.
Tore her thong.
My fingers slid between sopping wet folds of pussy.
My balls ached.
“I hate you!”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
She humped my hand as I worked open my fly. I’d give her those few moments before I fucked her. Let her ride my fingers.
Zipper down and cock out, I shoved her into the cab and grabbed her wet hair. I pushed her face into the wet cab seat. Carla’s round ass waved in the air as she tried to get away. I forced her legs apart and found my home between her thighs. My huge hard-on, slid through her ass crack, skidding to a stop at the entrance to her juicy hole. Thunder shook the truck and I plunged forward, hitting the back of her womb. She cried out and reached for the steering wheel. I took a hold of her shoulder in one hand and yanked her hair in the other. I forced her pussy onto my cock. Used her wet cunt to stroke my dick. I jammed her against me. Made her fuck me.
I was cold everywhere but where I bodies connected. The rain came down harder.
Carla wiggled a hand beneath her. I could feel her fingertips tugging her clit. I was too selfish. Too mad to help her get off. This was about my cock in her pussy. The velvet heat of her tunnel massaging my dick.
She was now pressing her ass back against me. I let go of her shoulder and slipped my hands around to fondle her breasts. Carla’s nipples were hard from the rain and the pussy pounding I was giving her. I pinched her nips and her cunt squeezed my dick. I tugged again, milking her tits so her pussy would milk my dick. With each snap of my finger her insides squeezed my cock.
Carla screamed my name and her body shook like a fish on the end of the line as she came. She fell limp against the seat and I squeezed her hips, jacking my prick until it went off, jets of come coating her insides.
“Those girls were hot, weren’t they?” Carla whispered satisfaction in every word.
For a moment, anger flared again, but I held it in check and pulled my dick from her pussy. Carla turned over, legs spread, rain pelting her bare thighs. I watched her hand slide over the skirt bunched at her waist and through the smooth skin of her pussy. She shifted on the seat so that the rain would hit her cunt lips and closed her eyes.
“Not as hot as you.”
She smiled. That was just what she wanted to hear.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
The Virgin Birth
Copyright © 2008 by Crystal Barela
A pain in my stomach woke me. The ache was sharp, deep and low in my belly. I held myself with my forearms and curled my knees up tight against me. Joe lay beside me, her face soft and peaceful in the shadow of the moonlight. A smile nearly turned my lips as I thought of her love, when another pain tore through my abdomen causing me to squeeze my eyes tight blackening out my lover’s face.
I rolled from bed and hobbled over to the front doorway, clutching my twisting innards.
Another slice of pain stabbed my stomach as I opened the door and fell to my knees in the dirt outside. My evening meal was tossed from my insides. Again I heaved, and set my hands on the ground, holding my face from the earth and tried to catch my breath. What had I eaten?
“Mary.”
I fell backward onto my rear at the sound of my name, searching the darkness. We lived miles from our nearest neighbor and I could see Joe lying in our bed sound in sleep.
“Greetings, Mary.”
There was no one, but the deep male voice echoing in my head. I got to my knees, and with a trembling hand wiped my mouth with the edge of my shift.
“Who speaks?” I found myself whispering even though the voice was loud and round in my brain.
“Show no fear, Mary of Nazareth.”
Easy for the voice to say.
“I am an angel of the Lord and have come to tell you the Lord looks upon you in favor.”
I shook my head rapidly, to remove the voice.
“You will bare a child, a boy child, whom you will call Jesus.”
“I am a virgin and will not lye with a man.”
“You will bare a child.” It was an order, not a request.
“What do you mean?”
“God has chosen you to be the mother of the Lord and in nine months time, you will give birth to the son of the Most High.”
“Please, who are you?” Another pain ripped my insides and I fell to the ground, clutching my churning guts.
“It is done!”
And the voice was gone; his last words an echo in my head. They pounded like someone had taken a rock and beat it against my skull. I retched again in the sand and lost consciousness.
***
Joe’s voice crying my name woke me before dawn. The usually confident alto was panicked, and although I assured her not to worry, there were tears on her face when I lifted my heavy lids.
She asked what had happened as she helped me sit up. I stood on shaky legs; her strong carpenter’s arms lifted me to my feet.
As Joe rapped her arm around my shoulder and led me inside, I explained to her that I had been ill, but I was well now.
Last night had been a dream I thought as she set me on the bed. Joe filled a bowl with water and brought it to me. I smiled up at her as she asked more questions, and explained them all away. I convinced myself my words were true. There was no pain in my stomach to reignite the fading memory. The words spoken to me in the black of the night seemed like a dream. Perhaps were a dream. Must have been a dream.
***
The early morning light of the rising sun caught in Joe’s brown hair, revealing the golds and reds that hid in the strands. She was bent over the table she had finished constructing yesterday. The steady crisp of sanding filled the chilled morning air. Joe had a talent with wood. Her calloused hands had kept us fed these past four years.
Four years we had traveled these sands. Partners. Friends. Lovers.
“Are you well then, Mary?” she asked, not looking up from her work.
The bitter taste of bile still coated my mouth. “Not so much,” I said. I rest my hand on my quaking stomach.
Joe looked up, her cheeks and nose held the sun from yesterday’s walk into town. She stood a frown on her face. “You do not take ill.”
That was true. It was a rare day when I was sick. It was also rare that my flow was late. I did not know if Joe had noticed but two months had passed since my time and I feared that my sickness had nothing to do with being ill.
The very thought was not possible.
“I am with child.”
Joe’s lips twitched. “You tease me, Mary.”
I shook my head. “I would not joke of this.”
Expressions raced across Joe’s face as she crossed over to me. Disbelief, joy, confusion, anger.
“When?” She was the same height as me and her blue eyes drilled into mine.
“Ten weeks have past.”
“Who is he.”
“There has been no one. Only you.”
“That is not possible,” she said and took my shoulders. I had to agree. A man was involved in the making of a child. “Was it David?”
My shoulders relaxed beneath her palms. “No.” At least she was not accusing me of infidelity. She was afraid I had been forced. David’s farm was half a day’s ride from here, and he had a fondness for me that I did not return. He was aggressive in showing his affection that went beyond words. Two weeks ago, Joe had gone into town to purchase supplies and had come back to find me barricaded inside the house, David trying to force his way into our home.
“I can not explain it Joseah,” I said. Indeed. My hand came to rest on my flat stomach. Perhaps my late flow and sickness had nothing to do with giving birth to a child. Perhaps I was sick in some other fashion.
“Joseah,” I said, taking her wrists and bringing them to her sides. “Please come to the house.”
***
That night we lay just inches from each other but Joe was miles away in thought. She did not touch me and for that I could not blame her. This went on for weeks. A silent confused partnership. I could not remember a moment in our friendship that it had been thus; a time
when we did not talk ourselves to sleep at night.
Five months passed. I stood bathing. I ran the rag along my body. Over my now fuller breasts and over the swelling roundness of my belly. I did not think I looked pregnant yet, but as though I had overeaten at a few suppers. Joe’s eyes were watching my hands and I felt a need to move them slower. To linger over my abulation so that the water would follow the curves of my figure and ignite Joe’s hunger for me. I ached with longing of months of abstinence and hopped that at last Joe would soon come around to knowing I was faithful and true to her. I only wanted her.
My eyelids drifted shut and I said her name.
The sound of the door shutting behind Joe was my answer.
***
The sun was setting when I found Joe outside her shed. Again she was sanding diligently, but using water as she worked to curve the length of wood. Her robe was soaked through and the curls around her forehead wet from her efforts. One curved length of wood lay completed on the ground.
I asked her if she had received a new commission. She shook her head no, and continued her work.
It was then that I noticed an elongated box. The foot and head were two ornately carved with flowers and singing birds. The sides were smooth, except for the lip of the box that was scalloped.
This was a rocker. For the baby. My stomach dropped and I felt the baby turn my insides in response.
I clutched my abdomen in surprise. I must have cried out because Joe was at my side.
“What is it?”
“The baby!”
“The baby what?”
“He moved!”
I placed her larger hand on my stomach and again the baby threw a foot forward to kick Joe in the palm. Not even the orange of the sun setting behind could hide the color that drained from her face.
“We really are pregnant.” Even after hours of laboring over a rocker for the unborn child, Joe had not been convinced that I was carrying our baby. And with that kick first kick we both knew it was true.
***
That night we lay in bed. I was nude, my hand lying upon my belly and Joe was beside me. I could practically hear her thinking.
“You said ‘he’ moved.”
It was a bit strange to think that we, two women, would be bringing a boy child into the world.
Logic would dictate that we have a girl. But if the voice was truthful, the babe would be a boy. I could hear the amusement in Joe’s voice. Before I could change my mind I took hold of her hand and rest beneath mine over our child. I told her of the voice in the darkness.
“So you have let go your wits then?”
Laughter exploded from me in response and I hugged the babe beneath my skin, happy that Joe found humor in the situation. Glad that my joy translated into a flurry of movement inside.
“What if I am crazy?”
“And this is just a bit of weight gain and indigestion?”
What if he weren’t real? And I was touched in the head?
Joe sat up and leaned in close over my belly and placed a sweet kiss on the soft swell.
“Welcome,” she said. And with that simple gesture months of uncertainty and doubt washed away. We were again Mary and Josiah.
A thousand kisses rained over my belly as if Joe’s love would protect us. Keep me and the baby safe. Lips and tongue warmed my breasts with open mouth kisses before her lips found succor in mine.
Wet heat enveloped my body. My hands ached with wanting to feel every muscle, touch every centimeter of skin, but her smooth tongued mouth said, “slow love, careful love.”
Joe was my oxygen. My every breath fed to me by her soft lips. The palm of her hand pet my stomach in slow circles, then followed the soft trail of blond hair that led to my center. And there while she suckled my tits like a babe herself, her fingers tangled in the hairs of my womanhood. She pulled and tugged the soft curls, milking my insides for juices.
Like an oasis in the desert, my thighs parted for her to swim in. First her hand dove and splashed between my lips. Her thumb lingering on my throbbing hard nubbin, but her lips jealous of not getting to play, replaced her thumb and drank of my bounty. Licked and nuzzled, sucked and dallied. My hips rose from our bed, and her face drove me down again. Tongue wide and flat lapping my hole.
Wet my wetness. Her nose nudged my singing pearl over and over again.
It was as if Joe wanted to climb inside my womb and be with our baby. As if nine months were a lifetime and today she must find her way inside to lie safe with him. As if being apart were no longer an option.
The pressure built and all I could see was Joe. The red of hair in the firelight. Her brown eyes warm and alive as she looked up my body. Her toned buttocks rocking the foot of the bed while she pleasured me. The smell of summer sand cooling beneath the stars. The coppery taste of blood on my lip where I bit too hard. The scratch of the bed sheet on my backside as I rose to her touch again and again. My secret noises colored the air as I pleaded with her to take me to her. To bring me home.
Home and the dark became light. The voice that spoke me on that night spoke again: “Jesus will be born in love.”
Light filled my vision and I could see nothing but the sun, round and huge filling our house as my body vibrated in pleasure. In the distance I cold hear Joe’s voice cry out my name like a prayer.
We fell to the mattress as if from a great height, Joe’s head pillowed on our unborn child.
“We will call him Jesus,” Joe said.
I knew she knew. I wasn’t crazy. It was my turn to weep.
A pain in my stomach woke me. The ache was sharp, deep and low in my belly. I held myself with my forearms and curled my knees up tight against me. Joe lay beside me, her face soft and peaceful in the shadow of the moonlight. A smile nearly turned my lips as I thought of her love, when another pain tore through my abdomen causing me to squeeze my eyes tight blackening out my lover’s face.
I rolled from bed and hobbled over to the front doorway, clutching my twisting innards.
Another slice of pain stabbed my stomach as I opened the door and fell to my knees in the dirt outside. My evening meal was tossed from my insides. Again I heaved, and set my hands on the ground, holding my face from the earth and tried to catch my breath. What had I eaten?
“Mary.”
I fell backward onto my rear at the sound of my name, searching the darkness. We lived miles from our nearest neighbor and I could see Joe lying in our bed sound in sleep.
“Greetings, Mary.”
There was no one, but the deep male voice echoing in my head. I got to my knees, and with a trembling hand wiped my mouth with the edge of my shift.
“Who speaks?” I found myself whispering even though the voice was loud and round in my brain.
“Show no fear, Mary of Nazareth.”
Easy for the voice to say.
“I am an angel of the Lord and have come to tell you the Lord looks upon you in favor.”
I shook my head rapidly, to remove the voice.
“You will bare a child, a boy child, whom you will call Jesus.”
“I am a virgin and will not lye with a man.”
“You will bare a child.” It was an order, not a request.
“What do you mean?”
“God has chosen you to be the mother of the Lord and in nine months time, you will give birth to the son of the Most High.”
“Please, who are you?” Another pain ripped my insides and I fell to the ground, clutching my churning guts.
“It is done!”
And the voice was gone; his last words an echo in my head. They pounded like someone had taken a rock and beat it against my skull. I retched again in the sand and lost consciousness.
***
Joe’s voice crying my name woke me before dawn. The usually confident alto was panicked, and although I assured her not to worry, there were tears on her face when I lifted my heavy lids.
She asked what had happened as she helped me sit up. I stood on shaky legs; her strong carpenter’s arms lifted me to my feet.
As Joe rapped her arm around my shoulder and led me inside, I explained to her that I had been ill, but I was well now.
Last night had been a dream I thought as she set me on the bed. Joe filled a bowl with water and brought it to me. I smiled up at her as she asked more questions, and explained them all away. I convinced myself my words were true. There was no pain in my stomach to reignite the fading memory. The words spoken to me in the black of the night seemed like a dream. Perhaps were a dream. Must have been a dream.
***
The early morning light of the rising sun caught in Joe’s brown hair, revealing the golds and reds that hid in the strands. She was bent over the table she had finished constructing yesterday. The steady crisp of sanding filled the chilled morning air. Joe had a talent with wood. Her calloused hands had kept us fed these past four years.
Four years we had traveled these sands. Partners. Friends. Lovers.
“Are you well then, Mary?” she asked, not looking up from her work.
The bitter taste of bile still coated my mouth. “Not so much,” I said. I rest my hand on my quaking stomach.
Joe looked up, her cheeks and nose held the sun from yesterday’s walk into town. She stood a frown on her face. “You do not take ill.”
That was true. It was a rare day when I was sick. It was also rare that my flow was late. I did not know if Joe had noticed but two months had passed since my time and I feared that my sickness had nothing to do with being ill.
The very thought was not possible.
“I am with child.”
Joe’s lips twitched. “You tease me, Mary.”
I shook my head. “I would not joke of this.”
Expressions raced across Joe’s face as she crossed over to me. Disbelief, joy, confusion, anger.
“When?” She was the same height as me and her blue eyes drilled into mine.
“Ten weeks have past.”
“Who is he.”
“There has been no one. Only you.”
“That is not possible,” she said and took my shoulders. I had to agree. A man was involved in the making of a child. “Was it David?”
My shoulders relaxed beneath her palms. “No.” At least she was not accusing me of infidelity. She was afraid I had been forced. David’s farm was half a day’s ride from here, and he had a fondness for me that I did not return. He was aggressive in showing his affection that went beyond words. Two weeks ago, Joe had gone into town to purchase supplies and had come back to find me barricaded inside the house, David trying to force his way into our home.
“I can not explain it Joseah,” I said. Indeed. My hand came to rest on my flat stomach. Perhaps my late flow and sickness had nothing to do with giving birth to a child. Perhaps I was sick in some other fashion.
“Joseah,” I said, taking her wrists and bringing them to her sides. “Please come to the house.”
***
That night we lay just inches from each other but Joe was miles away in thought. She did not touch me and for that I could not blame her. This went on for weeks. A silent confused partnership. I could not remember a moment in our friendship that it had been thus; a time
when we did not talk ourselves to sleep at night.
Five months passed. I stood bathing. I ran the rag along my body. Over my now fuller breasts and over the swelling roundness of my belly. I did not think I looked pregnant yet, but as though I had overeaten at a few suppers. Joe’s eyes were watching my hands and I felt a need to move them slower. To linger over my abulation so that the water would follow the curves of my figure and ignite Joe’s hunger for me. I ached with longing of months of abstinence and hopped that at last Joe would soon come around to knowing I was faithful and true to her. I only wanted her.
My eyelids drifted shut and I said her name.
The sound of the door shutting behind Joe was my answer.
***
The sun was setting when I found Joe outside her shed. Again she was sanding diligently, but using water as she worked to curve the length of wood. Her robe was soaked through and the curls around her forehead wet from her efforts. One curved length of wood lay completed on the ground.
I asked her if she had received a new commission. She shook her head no, and continued her work.
It was then that I noticed an elongated box. The foot and head were two ornately carved with flowers and singing birds. The sides were smooth, except for the lip of the box that was scalloped.
This was a rocker. For the baby. My stomach dropped and I felt the baby turn my insides in response.
I clutched my abdomen in surprise. I must have cried out because Joe was at my side.
“What is it?”
“The baby!”
“The baby what?”
“He moved!”
I placed her larger hand on my stomach and again the baby threw a foot forward to kick Joe in the palm. Not even the orange of the sun setting behind could hide the color that drained from her face.
“We really are pregnant.” Even after hours of laboring over a rocker for the unborn child, Joe had not been convinced that I was carrying our baby. And with that kick first kick we both knew it was true.
***
That night we lay in bed. I was nude, my hand lying upon my belly and Joe was beside me. I could practically hear her thinking.
“You said ‘he’ moved.”
It was a bit strange to think that we, two women, would be bringing a boy child into the world.
Logic would dictate that we have a girl. But if the voice was truthful, the babe would be a boy. I could hear the amusement in Joe’s voice. Before I could change my mind I took hold of her hand and rest beneath mine over our child. I told her of the voice in the darkness.
“So you have let go your wits then?”
Laughter exploded from me in response and I hugged the babe beneath my skin, happy that Joe found humor in the situation. Glad that my joy translated into a flurry of movement inside.
“What if I am crazy?”
“And this is just a bit of weight gain and indigestion?”
What if he weren’t real? And I was touched in the head?
Joe sat up and leaned in close over my belly and placed a sweet kiss on the soft swell.
“Welcome,” she said. And with that simple gesture months of uncertainty and doubt washed away. We were again Mary and Josiah.
A thousand kisses rained over my belly as if Joe’s love would protect us. Keep me and the baby safe. Lips and tongue warmed my breasts with open mouth kisses before her lips found succor in mine.
Wet heat enveloped my body. My hands ached with wanting to feel every muscle, touch every centimeter of skin, but her smooth tongued mouth said, “slow love, careful love.”
Joe was my oxygen. My every breath fed to me by her soft lips. The palm of her hand pet my stomach in slow circles, then followed the soft trail of blond hair that led to my center. And there while she suckled my tits like a babe herself, her fingers tangled in the hairs of my womanhood. She pulled and tugged the soft curls, milking my insides for juices.
Like an oasis in the desert, my thighs parted for her to swim in. First her hand dove and splashed between my lips. Her thumb lingering on my throbbing hard nubbin, but her lips jealous of not getting to play, replaced her thumb and drank of my bounty. Licked and nuzzled, sucked and dallied. My hips rose from our bed, and her face drove me down again. Tongue wide and flat lapping my hole.
Wet my wetness. Her nose nudged my singing pearl over and over again.
It was as if Joe wanted to climb inside my womb and be with our baby. As if nine months were a lifetime and today she must find her way inside to lie safe with him. As if being apart were no longer an option.
The pressure built and all I could see was Joe. The red of hair in the firelight. Her brown eyes warm and alive as she looked up my body. Her toned buttocks rocking the foot of the bed while she pleasured me. The smell of summer sand cooling beneath the stars. The coppery taste of blood on my lip where I bit too hard. The scratch of the bed sheet on my backside as I rose to her touch again and again. My secret noises colored the air as I pleaded with her to take me to her. To bring me home.
Home and the dark became light. The voice that spoke me on that night spoke again: “Jesus will be born in love.”
Light filled my vision and I could see nothing but the sun, round and huge filling our house as my body vibrated in pleasure. In the distance I cold hear Joe’s voice cry out my name like a prayer.
We fell to the mattress as if from a great height, Joe’s head pillowed on our unborn child.
“We will call him Jesus,” Joe said.
I knew she knew. I wasn’t crazy. It was my turn to weep.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Precious Pearls
Copyright © 2008 by Crystal Barela
The three things my mistress Juliette loved above all others were my dirty knees, my best behavior and her precious pearls. That night she had insisted upon all three.
It had been my first visit to Mother, a Goth club in the meat packing district where the dress code was black except on special nights like this one. Absence of color was the theme, which was why I found myself wrapped in cellophane and little else. It was winter, but even so, condensation was beginning to build on the inside of my fragile costume.
The taxi driver kept trying to catch my eyes in the rearview mirror, but I kept mine lowered. Any “flirtation” not approved of by my mistress would inspire corporal punishment later.
Juliette sat beside me, my hand in hers.
Before she opened the car door she said, “Do as you’re told at all times.”
As if I would do anything else. The diamond studded riding crop in her other hand was the perfect deterrent.
Mother was not what I expected. The man, who greeted us at the entrance and took our cover fee in his left hand and stamped our hands with skull and crossbones on the right, had filed down his eye teeth to look like vampire fangs. The pale pancake framing his dark goatee and butting the black eyeliner on his lids, added to the illusion.
The club was an odd place for a lady like my Juliette to be. Not old money, like she was born with or the society ladies like she had tea with. Mother was just about as far from Central Park West as we could get.
The simple black velvet curtain in front of us opened into a foyer of black and white tile, similar in shape and size to the tiles in the condo uptown. Unlike our floor, these were covered in hundreds of footprints and spilt drinks. House music was pumping through the doorway on the other side of the room in a beat that made my feet itchy and my stomach quake.
The crowd was diverse only in hair and skin color, the dress code filling the space with black and transparent clothing.
“On your knees, Kitten.”
That’s me, I’m Kitten. Sometimes, if I am good, I am Cat. Kittens are naughty, they spill their milk and track it across the floor. They scratch the furniture and miss the litter box. I had only been in training with Juliette for two months.
I dropped on all fours and Juliette slipped a leash of pearls around my neck. This single strand was eight feet in length, not including the collar. I know because it was my job to polish the pearls after use. Sometimes lick them clean. A sexual rosary to my Goddess.
The room was lined with antique furniture, Goth in look, with rich velvet cushions, and gold filigree accents. French impressionistic portraits of men and women in period costumes lined the walls in heavy thick frames. The walls were papered in black and wine colored stripes. Mother was blown up and overdone.
Juliette stood near six feet in her stocking feet, so in her five inch platforms she towered over most people in the club. Her black corset was tightened so that her waist measured a perfect twenty-four inches around, not a millimeter more or less. I had sucked her in inch by inch, tightening the laces until her spine was a straight like a ruler.
A razor had been applied to her beautiful legs, by my practiced hand, removing every hair so that her skin was smooth as supple as the rich fabrics she wore. Juliette preferred a nude seamed stocking, and they skimmed her legs in a swath of silk.
“Elegance, is civility, dear kitten,” she has said on numerous occasions.
Nevertheless, here I crawled at her side, my knees and palms becoming sticky from tonight’s party mis-haps, in no way elegant. Beside me she stood in contrast; a statuesque Victorian ideal, golden blond hair pulled up off her shoulders in a perfect chignon. Diamonds winking from her ears, and make-up applied with flattering sweeps of a brush in pinks and lavenders.
“Darling, Juliette!” This from a tall beautiful black man near Juliette in height, only his silver top hat making him taller. His eyelids sparkled in the dim light, his full thick lips like plums. Between his brows, the number eight in white glitter. He kissed my mistress on one cheek then the next.
“Thank heavens you came!”
“Not yet darling,” Juliette replied and their heads bent together. They erupted in laughter.
Annoyed, I looked away. I seemed to remember a rather lengthy application of tongue to pussy earlier this evening. Just before leaving, my mistress had come in a series of staccato yips inciting the neighbor’s poodle to join her in duet.
The tug of the leash squeezed my wind pipe. “Head up, kitten.”
“She’s perfect, Juliette,” the man said, crouching down to eye level. “I’m Damon and I can’t wait to be better acquainted, Kitten.” He held his hand out to me, and I nuzzled his palm with my cheek as I had been taught. I caught a whiff of something exotic…leather and linseed oil.
“I knew she would be just great for the show. Is it to be held in here?” she asked. The pirouetted in a slow circle as if looking for a stage.
A passer-by ran a cool hand along my bare ass, sending a wave of heat to my pussy. I jumped hissing, looking for the stranger, and felt the leash tighten around my throat in a sharp reprimand.
“Ignore them, Kitten.”
“No, there are two other rooms in the club,” Damon said, taking Juliette’s elbow. “Much bigger than the old space.”
My mistress followed after him, and I stayed the required three feet behind her. No more, no less.
The sway of her ass was a sight to behold. Juliette’s back view was definitely my favorite. My cheeks and hands had caressed, and my lips had licked and nipped, but I was not allowed to gain
entrance.
Anal play was reserved for her pet. She liked to bend me over the footboard of her mahogany bed and grab hold of my ass cheeks, spreading them wide for target practice. Juliette would ply me with oil, whip me with vengeance and stick me with butt plugs. But her favorite toy was her
precious pearls.
Distracted by my thoughts, I was nearly trampled when we entered the room with the house music. Lights were flashing, catching half naked dancers in the sudden glare. Tits and asses were like sculpture, frozen for a second before the lights flickered, taking in a different part of the gyrating bodies.
The music was deafening, and I shied toward my mistress afraid that my fingers would be stepped on. Her manicured hand dropped to my head, petting my dark hair.
“Stand, Kitten.”
Damon led us down a steep narrow staircase with purple walls. There was barely room for the width of his shoulders and I was glad that Juliette had allowed me to walk. I had not mastered stairs on my hands and knees. I caught sight of my palms, black with dirt and had to force myself not to wipe them on something.
“Kneel.”
The floor at the bottom of the stairs was covered in shiny black astro-turf. I clasped my hands behind my back and kept my head high, my breasts and chin at attention.
We were in a long narrow room, purple like the stairwell. In front of us was a red velvet rope that my mistress’s friend moved so that we could enter. At one end was a small bar, but this space had obviously been made as a lounge and performance area. A tiny stage, only differentiated by the seats encircling the space and the white padded square that had been built into the floor, sat at the center of the room.
“Juliette, we are so pleased you will be entertaining this evening,” said a woman dressed entirely in red patent leather from neck to ankle. Obviously, she was a rule breaker amongst this monochromatic crowd. She was slim and willowy with nearly no breasts and long blonde hair hanging past her shoulders. “It’s been close to a year since you last honored us.”
“No, it is I who am honored,” Juliette said, running a finger down the side of my jaw and clasping my chin and turning my face up for inspection. “I am thrilled to introduce you to my new protégé, Kitten.”
“May I?” Mindy asked, and Juliette nodded.
Mindy bent at the waist, bringing her pale face down to mine, her eyes blurring into one with her closeness. She caressed my cheek with her own, her lips touching mine with cinnamon spice and a wet tongue. I gasped, my mouth parting and my eyes widening with her gentle touch.
“A virgin,” Mindy said, straightening. She licked her lips and stared down at me with limpid blue eyes, lashes caked in thick black mascara. “Can’t wait to try her out.”
My confusion heightened. A virgin I was not.
I had not been told that there would be a performance, or that we would be a part of the act, but from the conversations I had overheard that seemed to be the case. I dropped to my hands and Juliette led me across the hard floor, my knees protesting at the hardness. The smooth tile upstairs had been more to my liking. She led me in-between the chairs and couches to the white square. She put me at its center.
“Sit, Kitten.”
My ass found my calves and I widened my knees. Juliette took hold of a curtain I hadn’t noticed before. It was attached to a pole framing the perimeter of the square, and she pulled it around us so that we were enclosed in a fabric cocoon.
Juliette crouched down behind me, her silk clad knees squeezing my shoulders, her breasts flush with my back. My pussy tightened. With her breath at my ear, she slid her hands down over the saran wrap binding my breasts, stomach and hips, and pulled the plastic membrane up. Her fingers tested my silken cleft, pinching my clit between her thumb and forefinger. She milked the little nubbin, drawing juice from my center and onto her fingers. My mistress brought her fingertips to my lips and painted them with my sticky desire.
“Do not lick your lips,” she whispered. “They will shine under the lights.”
Juliette stood and walked in front of me. She was sure to catch my eyes before licking my wetness from her fingers, making my tongue salivate. I wanted to lick my nectar from my lips.
“Now sit and do as you’re told.” Juliette kissed me on the forehead, then removed the leash from around my neck, and left me behind the curtain.
From behind the fabric I could hear muffled voices. I could tell that the room was filling with people and I wondered what was in store. My mistress had never involved others in our sessions, but I was not shy.
My knees were beginning to ache and I was afraid that my calves were falling asleep when the lights went out. Whispering voices surrounded me from every direction. Cat-calls echoed from near the door and bar, making me nervous. What had Juliette gotten me in to? What sadistic pleasure would we gain from this night?
Mindy spoke from the left side of the sqare. “Thank you my naughty friends for joining us at my club on this very special evening.”
More yelling.
“You are the select few willing to put yourselves on public display, and play with our little kitten,” she said from the right side of the curtain. “I promise you, this pussy is well worth the wait!” This was said from behind me. Mindy was circling my enclosure, strange aquatic music filling the air. “I present to you Mistress Juliette and her aching pussy!”
The curtain flew around the square and it took all the training I had not flinch or look away as Juliette took a spot in front of me and the spotlight stuck us. Her ass was my focal point and keeping me from seeing our audience.
The crowd cheered.
Juliette was striking; her long legs and full breasts a banquet for the eyes. Her riding crop in hand.
“My pussy has never been on stage before.”
This was met by more applause. Juliette walked behind me and my eyes came to rest on the couple in front of me. A redhead in a clear plastic bra and white cowboy hat with the number four painted on the front sat with her partner in silver chaps. His cock rose from his lap like the
Chrysler building, tagged with the number five and covered in silver paint and the redhead’s
silver glitter finger nails.
“But if you want to play with my virgin kitty,”
The knot of hair at the back of my head was yanked from behind and I fell backward, my head between my mistress’ widened legs. Juliette fluttered her fingers, which I knew was a cue to rise. Slowly, I pulled myself up, my abs tightening until my nose was bumping her manicured bush. My pulse raced. The familiar smell made my nostrils tremble.
Juliette took hold of the front of her black panties and pushed the lace to the side of her pussy lips. “All you have to know are three words. Lick, suck and fuck!” She swiveled her hips, the curly blonde hair of her bush nudging my lips.
“Lick, Kitten!” She said, her riding crop slapping my ass in a rapid beat.
My tongue shot out of my mouth like a little piston, jabbing her clit like a punching bag.
The movement of the riding crop slowed, easing into sensual circles around my ass. I widened my tongue so that I catch the width of her pussy, dragging my tongue from her asshole to the line of her muff, and back. The crowd approved of this technique.
“Suck!”
My lips latched onto her hard little clit and she moaned, the audience seeming to moan with her. She pulled away, attached her precious pearls to my collar and walked away from where I knelt.
Then turned to face me, and gestured that I drop on all fours.
“Eight! Fuck!”
Behind me there was movement and large hands took hold of my hips. Instinctively I struggled, but the leash tightened, stilling my movements. The person nudged my legs apart and pushed his well lubed dick into my pussy from behind. His huge prick filled my slick channel as his hands forced me to sit back on his thick prong. The pearls pulled at my throat and I was still, meeting
Juliette’s eyes.
The man groaned and I recognized the deep vibration as Damon.
“Fuck.”
The crowd was quiet, except for the moans and sounds of wet orifices being filled. I used my thighs to pull myself up and began to move on his thick length, his dick hitting every nerve.
“Four,” Juliette called out.
The woman in the cowboy hat came forward and stood in front of us as I fucked Damon. The redhead lifted her tiny plastic skirt.
“Lick!”
My tongue swam in her wet pussy, clean shaven, a bar through her clit. I felt Damon pulse, his dick growing, his come shot into my cunt, and ran down my legs. He got up from beneath me and I lay back on the padded square, the red-head falling on her knees above my head, her cowboy hat shadowing her face.
Cowgirl smelt of licorice and candy, not at all like my lady who was like dark rich truffles. She moaned in long sensuous waves, her body undulating over my face, her hands cupping and tweaking her nipples.
I blinked rapidly as come flew out over the stage, her partner having spent his load at the sight of the two of us on the floor. Cowgirl rubbed the hot jism over her breasts and stomach, sliding her hand to her crotch to tutor me in her likings. Within moments I had her spot and she came in a great wave, her quads tightening around my shoulders.
“Kitten.” My Mistress helped Cowgirl off of me and she took a seat on the couch next to her man, kissing him passionately.
“Kneel,” she ordered.
I returned to my first position and Juliette took hold of the plastic wrap just above my breasts. She had a pair of scissors in hand and she slid the metal blades against my skin, slicing through the plastic, in smooth, precise cuts. The audience held their breath and gasped in unison when my breasts swung free.
Released from their confinement, my breasts seem to have grown in size, nipples hard and needy. Juliette cut across my abdomen, all the way to the smooth skin of my clean shaven mound.
My mistress pushed my shoulder, so I dropped on all fours. She unhooked my leash and began to walk around me in a slow circle. The white of the crowd’s perverted eyes meeting mine in the half light. Everywhere I turned were the hungry stares of strangers.
With a dramatic pause my mistress waited, heightening the tension. With a catch in her voice she started calling out numbers at random.
“Six!”
“Twenty!”
“Nine!”
One after another they approached me.
All of them came on me, in me, or near me that evening.
Short, fat, young, old, black, white, straight, gay.
I had become their catalyst, there forbidden pleasure to be fucked and prodded. A willing participant in a game thought up by my Juliette.
An orgy of flesh and desire accompanied by the moans of the participants, and the confident call of my mistress.
“Seventeen!”
“Twenty-six!”
“One!”
When we had finished, they lay about us in a pleasantly exhausted pile, chairs and sofas kissing bare ass and wet pussy. Juliette stopped behind me and knelt at my rear. She held up her precious pearls in the light and laughed, a sound like the tinkle of crystal chiming.
Juliette began to pop one pearl at a time into my receptive ass, the crowd counting with every pearl inserted. My insides felt heavy and full, like stones gathered at the bottom of a fishbowl. Four feet of pearls hung from my ass like a tail when she was done, resting in the light clasp of her palm.
“Who would like to walk my pet?” she asked.
They took turns, leading me in-between chairs, and every time a pearl slipped from between my tight rosebud, my clit would vibrate like my favorite toy. I was on the edge, holding on by will
power alone.
Juliette had not given me permission to come.
My mistress led me back over to the white cushion at the center of the room and had me lie down on my back. She knelt between my legs and took a firm grasp on the pearls and pulled. Her precious pearls flew from my ass in a serious of pops, like kernels in a bag of popcorn.
“Come!” she commanded.
My hot juices flew from my pussy, shooting across the space between us in a wet spray, hitting Juliette in the face. She laughed, her tongue stealing out to swipe her pout as our audience cheered and applauded.
It was in the early hours of morning and I was sitting on the lip of Juliette’s claw foot tub while she was gently washing my dirty scraped up knees. My reward for being a good kitty was a thorough scrubbing, by my Mistress’s hand. She left no spot unwashed, reclaiming her well behaved pussycat as her own.
After, I crawled into the curve of Juliette’s arms, my body snuggling into a ball, and my mistres ran her hand from my head to the curve of my ass, stroking my sensitive skin with her knowing fingers.
“Good girl, Cat.”
My heart trembled in my chest.
“Don’t forget to wash my pearls in the morning.”
Juliette’s precious pearls were very dirty.
The three things my mistress Juliette loved above all others were my dirty knees, my best behavior and her precious pearls. That night she had insisted upon all three.
It had been my first visit to Mother, a Goth club in the meat packing district where the dress code was black except on special nights like this one. Absence of color was the theme, which was why I found myself wrapped in cellophane and little else. It was winter, but even so, condensation was beginning to build on the inside of my fragile costume.
The taxi driver kept trying to catch my eyes in the rearview mirror, but I kept mine lowered. Any “flirtation” not approved of by my mistress would inspire corporal punishment later.
Juliette sat beside me, my hand in hers.
Before she opened the car door she said, “Do as you’re told at all times.”
As if I would do anything else. The diamond studded riding crop in her other hand was the perfect deterrent.
Mother was not what I expected. The man, who greeted us at the entrance and took our cover fee in his left hand and stamped our hands with skull and crossbones on the right, had filed down his eye teeth to look like vampire fangs. The pale pancake framing his dark goatee and butting the black eyeliner on his lids, added to the illusion.
The club was an odd place for a lady like my Juliette to be. Not old money, like she was born with or the society ladies like she had tea with. Mother was just about as far from Central Park West as we could get.
The simple black velvet curtain in front of us opened into a foyer of black and white tile, similar in shape and size to the tiles in the condo uptown. Unlike our floor, these were covered in hundreds of footprints and spilt drinks. House music was pumping through the doorway on the other side of the room in a beat that made my feet itchy and my stomach quake.
The crowd was diverse only in hair and skin color, the dress code filling the space with black and transparent clothing.
“On your knees, Kitten.”
That’s me, I’m Kitten. Sometimes, if I am good, I am Cat. Kittens are naughty, they spill their milk and track it across the floor. They scratch the furniture and miss the litter box. I had only been in training with Juliette for two months.
I dropped on all fours and Juliette slipped a leash of pearls around my neck. This single strand was eight feet in length, not including the collar. I know because it was my job to polish the pearls after use. Sometimes lick them clean. A sexual rosary to my Goddess.
The room was lined with antique furniture, Goth in look, with rich velvet cushions, and gold filigree accents. French impressionistic portraits of men and women in period costumes lined the walls in heavy thick frames. The walls were papered in black and wine colored stripes. Mother was blown up and overdone.
Juliette stood near six feet in her stocking feet, so in her five inch platforms she towered over most people in the club. Her black corset was tightened so that her waist measured a perfect twenty-four inches around, not a millimeter more or less. I had sucked her in inch by inch, tightening the laces until her spine was a straight like a ruler.
A razor had been applied to her beautiful legs, by my practiced hand, removing every hair so that her skin was smooth as supple as the rich fabrics she wore. Juliette preferred a nude seamed stocking, and they skimmed her legs in a swath of silk.
“Elegance, is civility, dear kitten,” she has said on numerous occasions.
Nevertheless, here I crawled at her side, my knees and palms becoming sticky from tonight’s party mis-haps, in no way elegant. Beside me she stood in contrast; a statuesque Victorian ideal, golden blond hair pulled up off her shoulders in a perfect chignon. Diamonds winking from her ears, and make-up applied with flattering sweeps of a brush in pinks and lavenders.
“Darling, Juliette!” This from a tall beautiful black man near Juliette in height, only his silver top hat making him taller. His eyelids sparkled in the dim light, his full thick lips like plums. Between his brows, the number eight in white glitter. He kissed my mistress on one cheek then the next.
“Thank heavens you came!”
“Not yet darling,” Juliette replied and their heads bent together. They erupted in laughter.
Annoyed, I looked away. I seemed to remember a rather lengthy application of tongue to pussy earlier this evening. Just before leaving, my mistress had come in a series of staccato yips inciting the neighbor’s poodle to join her in duet.
The tug of the leash squeezed my wind pipe. “Head up, kitten.”
“She’s perfect, Juliette,” the man said, crouching down to eye level. “I’m Damon and I can’t wait to be better acquainted, Kitten.” He held his hand out to me, and I nuzzled his palm with my cheek as I had been taught. I caught a whiff of something exotic…leather and linseed oil.
“I knew she would be just great for the show. Is it to be held in here?” she asked. The pirouetted in a slow circle as if looking for a stage.
A passer-by ran a cool hand along my bare ass, sending a wave of heat to my pussy. I jumped hissing, looking for the stranger, and felt the leash tighten around my throat in a sharp reprimand.
“Ignore them, Kitten.”
“No, there are two other rooms in the club,” Damon said, taking Juliette’s elbow. “Much bigger than the old space.”
My mistress followed after him, and I stayed the required three feet behind her. No more, no less.
The sway of her ass was a sight to behold. Juliette’s back view was definitely my favorite. My cheeks and hands had caressed, and my lips had licked and nipped, but I was not allowed to gain
entrance.
Anal play was reserved for her pet. She liked to bend me over the footboard of her mahogany bed and grab hold of my ass cheeks, spreading them wide for target practice. Juliette would ply me with oil, whip me with vengeance and stick me with butt plugs. But her favorite toy was her
precious pearls.
Distracted by my thoughts, I was nearly trampled when we entered the room with the house music. Lights were flashing, catching half naked dancers in the sudden glare. Tits and asses were like sculpture, frozen for a second before the lights flickered, taking in a different part of the gyrating bodies.
The music was deafening, and I shied toward my mistress afraid that my fingers would be stepped on. Her manicured hand dropped to my head, petting my dark hair.
“Stand, Kitten.”
Damon led us down a steep narrow staircase with purple walls. There was barely room for the width of his shoulders and I was glad that Juliette had allowed me to walk. I had not mastered stairs on my hands and knees. I caught sight of my palms, black with dirt and had to force myself not to wipe them on something.
“Kneel.”
The floor at the bottom of the stairs was covered in shiny black astro-turf. I clasped my hands behind my back and kept my head high, my breasts and chin at attention.
We were in a long narrow room, purple like the stairwell. In front of us was a red velvet rope that my mistress’s friend moved so that we could enter. At one end was a small bar, but this space had obviously been made as a lounge and performance area. A tiny stage, only differentiated by the seats encircling the space and the white padded square that had been built into the floor, sat at the center of the room.
“Juliette, we are so pleased you will be entertaining this evening,” said a woman dressed entirely in red patent leather from neck to ankle. Obviously, she was a rule breaker amongst this monochromatic crowd. She was slim and willowy with nearly no breasts and long blonde hair hanging past her shoulders. “It’s been close to a year since you last honored us.”
“No, it is I who am honored,” Juliette said, running a finger down the side of my jaw and clasping my chin and turning my face up for inspection. “I am thrilled to introduce you to my new protégé, Kitten.”
“May I?” Mindy asked, and Juliette nodded.
Mindy bent at the waist, bringing her pale face down to mine, her eyes blurring into one with her closeness. She caressed my cheek with her own, her lips touching mine with cinnamon spice and a wet tongue. I gasped, my mouth parting and my eyes widening with her gentle touch.
“A virgin,” Mindy said, straightening. She licked her lips and stared down at me with limpid blue eyes, lashes caked in thick black mascara. “Can’t wait to try her out.”
My confusion heightened. A virgin I was not.
I had not been told that there would be a performance, or that we would be a part of the act, but from the conversations I had overheard that seemed to be the case. I dropped to my hands and Juliette led me across the hard floor, my knees protesting at the hardness. The smooth tile upstairs had been more to my liking. She led me in-between the chairs and couches to the white square. She put me at its center.
“Sit, Kitten.”
My ass found my calves and I widened my knees. Juliette took hold of a curtain I hadn’t noticed before. It was attached to a pole framing the perimeter of the square, and she pulled it around us so that we were enclosed in a fabric cocoon.
Juliette crouched down behind me, her silk clad knees squeezing my shoulders, her breasts flush with my back. My pussy tightened. With her breath at my ear, she slid her hands down over the saran wrap binding my breasts, stomach and hips, and pulled the plastic membrane up. Her fingers tested my silken cleft, pinching my clit between her thumb and forefinger. She milked the little nubbin, drawing juice from my center and onto her fingers. My mistress brought her fingertips to my lips and painted them with my sticky desire.
“Do not lick your lips,” she whispered. “They will shine under the lights.”
Juliette stood and walked in front of me. She was sure to catch my eyes before licking my wetness from her fingers, making my tongue salivate. I wanted to lick my nectar from my lips.
“Now sit and do as you’re told.” Juliette kissed me on the forehead, then removed the leash from around my neck, and left me behind the curtain.
From behind the fabric I could hear muffled voices. I could tell that the room was filling with people and I wondered what was in store. My mistress had never involved others in our sessions, but I was not shy.
My knees were beginning to ache and I was afraid that my calves were falling asleep when the lights went out. Whispering voices surrounded me from every direction. Cat-calls echoed from near the door and bar, making me nervous. What had Juliette gotten me in to? What sadistic pleasure would we gain from this night?
Mindy spoke from the left side of the sqare. “Thank you my naughty friends for joining us at my club on this very special evening.”
More yelling.
“You are the select few willing to put yourselves on public display, and play with our little kitten,” she said from the right side of the curtain. “I promise you, this pussy is well worth the wait!” This was said from behind me. Mindy was circling my enclosure, strange aquatic music filling the air. “I present to you Mistress Juliette and her aching pussy!”
The curtain flew around the square and it took all the training I had not flinch or look away as Juliette took a spot in front of me and the spotlight stuck us. Her ass was my focal point and keeping me from seeing our audience.
The crowd cheered.
Juliette was striking; her long legs and full breasts a banquet for the eyes. Her riding crop in hand.
“My pussy has never been on stage before.”
This was met by more applause. Juliette walked behind me and my eyes came to rest on the couple in front of me. A redhead in a clear plastic bra and white cowboy hat with the number four painted on the front sat with her partner in silver chaps. His cock rose from his lap like the
Chrysler building, tagged with the number five and covered in silver paint and the redhead’s
silver glitter finger nails.
“But if you want to play with my virgin kitty,”
The knot of hair at the back of my head was yanked from behind and I fell backward, my head between my mistress’ widened legs. Juliette fluttered her fingers, which I knew was a cue to rise. Slowly, I pulled myself up, my abs tightening until my nose was bumping her manicured bush. My pulse raced. The familiar smell made my nostrils tremble.
Juliette took hold of the front of her black panties and pushed the lace to the side of her pussy lips. “All you have to know are three words. Lick, suck and fuck!” She swiveled her hips, the curly blonde hair of her bush nudging my lips.
“Lick, Kitten!” She said, her riding crop slapping my ass in a rapid beat.
My tongue shot out of my mouth like a little piston, jabbing her clit like a punching bag.
The movement of the riding crop slowed, easing into sensual circles around my ass. I widened my tongue so that I catch the width of her pussy, dragging my tongue from her asshole to the line of her muff, and back. The crowd approved of this technique.
“Suck!”
My lips latched onto her hard little clit and she moaned, the audience seeming to moan with her. She pulled away, attached her precious pearls to my collar and walked away from where I knelt.
Then turned to face me, and gestured that I drop on all fours.
“Eight! Fuck!”
Behind me there was movement and large hands took hold of my hips. Instinctively I struggled, but the leash tightened, stilling my movements. The person nudged my legs apart and pushed his well lubed dick into my pussy from behind. His huge prick filled my slick channel as his hands forced me to sit back on his thick prong. The pearls pulled at my throat and I was still, meeting
Juliette’s eyes.
The man groaned and I recognized the deep vibration as Damon.
“Fuck.”
The crowd was quiet, except for the moans and sounds of wet orifices being filled. I used my thighs to pull myself up and began to move on his thick length, his dick hitting every nerve.
“Four,” Juliette called out.
The woman in the cowboy hat came forward and stood in front of us as I fucked Damon. The redhead lifted her tiny plastic skirt.
“Lick!”
My tongue swam in her wet pussy, clean shaven, a bar through her clit. I felt Damon pulse, his dick growing, his come shot into my cunt, and ran down my legs. He got up from beneath me and I lay back on the padded square, the red-head falling on her knees above my head, her cowboy hat shadowing her face.
Cowgirl smelt of licorice and candy, not at all like my lady who was like dark rich truffles. She moaned in long sensuous waves, her body undulating over my face, her hands cupping and tweaking her nipples.
I blinked rapidly as come flew out over the stage, her partner having spent his load at the sight of the two of us on the floor. Cowgirl rubbed the hot jism over her breasts and stomach, sliding her hand to her crotch to tutor me in her likings. Within moments I had her spot and she came in a great wave, her quads tightening around my shoulders.
“Kitten.” My Mistress helped Cowgirl off of me and she took a seat on the couch next to her man, kissing him passionately.
“Kneel,” she ordered.
I returned to my first position and Juliette took hold of the plastic wrap just above my breasts. She had a pair of scissors in hand and she slid the metal blades against my skin, slicing through the plastic, in smooth, precise cuts. The audience held their breath and gasped in unison when my breasts swung free.
Released from their confinement, my breasts seem to have grown in size, nipples hard and needy. Juliette cut across my abdomen, all the way to the smooth skin of my clean shaven mound.
My mistress pushed my shoulder, so I dropped on all fours. She unhooked my leash and began to walk around me in a slow circle. The white of the crowd’s perverted eyes meeting mine in the half light. Everywhere I turned were the hungry stares of strangers.
With a dramatic pause my mistress waited, heightening the tension. With a catch in her voice she started calling out numbers at random.
“Six!”
“Twenty!”
“Nine!”
One after another they approached me.
All of them came on me, in me, or near me that evening.
Short, fat, young, old, black, white, straight, gay.
I had become their catalyst, there forbidden pleasure to be fucked and prodded. A willing participant in a game thought up by my Juliette.
An orgy of flesh and desire accompanied by the moans of the participants, and the confident call of my mistress.
“Seventeen!”
“Twenty-six!”
“One!”
When we had finished, they lay about us in a pleasantly exhausted pile, chairs and sofas kissing bare ass and wet pussy. Juliette stopped behind me and knelt at my rear. She held up her precious pearls in the light and laughed, a sound like the tinkle of crystal chiming.
Juliette began to pop one pearl at a time into my receptive ass, the crowd counting with every pearl inserted. My insides felt heavy and full, like stones gathered at the bottom of a fishbowl. Four feet of pearls hung from my ass like a tail when she was done, resting in the light clasp of her palm.
“Who would like to walk my pet?” she asked.
They took turns, leading me in-between chairs, and every time a pearl slipped from between my tight rosebud, my clit would vibrate like my favorite toy. I was on the edge, holding on by will
power alone.
Juliette had not given me permission to come.
My mistress led me back over to the white cushion at the center of the room and had me lie down on my back. She knelt between my legs and took a firm grasp on the pearls and pulled. Her precious pearls flew from my ass in a serious of pops, like kernels in a bag of popcorn.
“Come!” she commanded.
My hot juices flew from my pussy, shooting across the space between us in a wet spray, hitting Juliette in the face. She laughed, her tongue stealing out to swipe her pout as our audience cheered and applauded.
It was in the early hours of morning and I was sitting on the lip of Juliette’s claw foot tub while she was gently washing my dirty scraped up knees. My reward for being a good kitty was a thorough scrubbing, by my Mistress’s hand. She left no spot unwashed, reclaiming her well behaved pussycat as her own.
After, I crawled into the curve of Juliette’s arms, my body snuggling into a ball, and my mistres ran her hand from my head to the curve of my ass, stroking my sensitive skin with her knowing fingers.
“Good girl, Cat.”
My heart trembled in my chest.
“Don’t forget to wash my pearls in the morning.”
Juliette’s precious pearls were very dirty.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Stella
Copyright ©2007 by Crystal Barela
My nose was pressed to the window like a child’s at a pet store, eager to touch and hold. I had the same desire for the smooth gleam of patent leather and the pussy wetting stilettos.
Did I need another pair? My obsession with heels was getting expensive.
The sign on the shop door answered for me.
CLOSED.
I had taken two steps uptown when bells tinkled behind me. The woman who worked in the boutique waved me in with a flip of her cinnamon colored hair.
"Stella," her nametag read. She went directly to the pair I was lusting after.
Stiletto heel, five inches, in blood red with leg wrap.
I took a seat in one of the wingback chairs scattered about the shop.
Stella knelt at my feet.
The tissue paper crinkled.
My breath quickened.
A warm hand held my ankle lightly, while the other wriggled the shoe from my foot. Stella ran her fingers under my heel and arch, her thumb falling over the top of my foot.
“Beautiful color,” she said, warm breath tickling my desire.
The stiletto flashed as she slipped it onto my foot, the open toe framing my coral nails like a piece of art. Stella cris-crossed the long laces around my ankle. Her fingers skimmed my calf as she wrapped the length around my leg again and again.
My breath caught with every pass.
Stella tied the laces off in a bow just below my knee.
The shop worker’s palm slid down the back of my calf.
Satin to flesh, flesh to satin.
“Amazing legs,” she said.
Our eyes met.
Her tongue wet her lower lip, leaving it glossy, like a clit ripe with desire.
The ache between my legs grew.
Without breaking our gaze, Stella slipped the shoe from my other foot.
“Wear stockings?”
I shook my head.
Stella pulled a nude stocking from her pocket.
My leg lengthened as she pushed the silk over my toes and heel, spreading the sheer fabric from
calf to knee and knee to thigh, moving over my skin with dancing fingers.
Our eyes met.
My legs spread.
Stella rolled my white skirt to my waist. Her strong hands massaged my inner thighs.
Fingers touched panty. She pressed the fabric into me and it lingered in my juices.
My hungry kitty nudged her hand.
She pushed the silk aside and took the other stiletto from the box.
The toe of the shoe pressed against my mound in slow circles. I moaned, the heel teasing my hole.
With a twist of Stella’s wrist the heel wiggled into me. Hard and foreign.
I gasped, closing my eyes tightly.
Stella sucked my clit between her lips.
My wet walls embraced the unyielding heel.
Leather flavored juices wet Stella’s tongue as she fucked me with the heel.
My teeth sank into my lower lip and I twisted my nipple, arching.
Heat tightened my limbs.
I was still.
“Buy one pair, get the second half off,” Stella whispered.
“Sold.”
My nose was pressed to the window like a child’s at a pet store, eager to touch and hold. I had the same desire for the smooth gleam of patent leather and the pussy wetting stilettos.
Did I need another pair? My obsession with heels was getting expensive.
The sign on the shop door answered for me.
CLOSED.
I had taken two steps uptown when bells tinkled behind me. The woman who worked in the boutique waved me in with a flip of her cinnamon colored hair.
"Stella," her nametag read. She went directly to the pair I was lusting after.
Stiletto heel, five inches, in blood red with leg wrap.
I took a seat in one of the wingback chairs scattered about the shop.
Stella knelt at my feet.
The tissue paper crinkled.
My breath quickened.
A warm hand held my ankle lightly, while the other wriggled the shoe from my foot. Stella ran her fingers under my heel and arch, her thumb falling over the top of my foot.
“Beautiful color,” she said, warm breath tickling my desire.
The stiletto flashed as she slipped it onto my foot, the open toe framing my coral nails like a piece of art. Stella cris-crossed the long laces around my ankle. Her fingers skimmed my calf as she wrapped the length around my leg again and again.
My breath caught with every pass.
Stella tied the laces off in a bow just below my knee.
The shop worker’s palm slid down the back of my calf.
Satin to flesh, flesh to satin.
“Amazing legs,” she said.
Our eyes met.
Her tongue wet her lower lip, leaving it glossy, like a clit ripe with desire.
The ache between my legs grew.
Without breaking our gaze, Stella slipped the shoe from my other foot.
“Wear stockings?”
I shook my head.
Stella pulled a nude stocking from her pocket.
My leg lengthened as she pushed the silk over my toes and heel, spreading the sheer fabric from
calf to knee and knee to thigh, moving over my skin with dancing fingers.
Our eyes met.
My legs spread.
Stella rolled my white skirt to my waist. Her strong hands massaged my inner thighs.
Fingers touched panty. She pressed the fabric into me and it lingered in my juices.
My hungry kitty nudged her hand.
She pushed the silk aside and took the other stiletto from the box.
The toe of the shoe pressed against my mound in slow circles. I moaned, the heel teasing my hole.
With a twist of Stella’s wrist the heel wiggled into me. Hard and foreign.
I gasped, closing my eyes tightly.
Stella sucked my clit between her lips.
My wet walls embraced the unyielding heel.
Leather flavored juices wet Stella’s tongue as she fucked me with the heel.
My teeth sank into my lower lip and I twisted my nipple, arching.
Heat tightened my limbs.
I was still.
“Buy one pair, get the second half off,” Stella whispered.
“Sold.”
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