There was a time… I’m sure… when some of this would have repulsed me.
No, all of it.
There was definitely a time when all of this, everything I have done, and will do on this night would have turned my stomach, caused it to reject all of its contents out upon the Earth, and leave me hunched over as if someone had punched me as hard as possible in the abdomen. That time, obviously has passed.
It passed a very long time ago, even by my standards. It has been 500 years since I can remember feeling an emotion other than hunger, or rage, or fear… or lust. But the lust is different now.
“Magistra, are you done with them yet? Your Tyro is almost there and I feel lonely…”
The woman on the bed, her name is Naomi. I am currently caressing her rapidly dying boyfriend’s cock, milking it of its life as I milk him of his. I met Naomi and Matt early the previous night, on the beaches in Los Angeles. I loved LA, as the song goes, because it was so, so easy to feed. People were so trusting, so hungry, and so needy; Everyone. Needing. Constantly. Every soul in LA desperately seeks something or someone to get them above the level of normal reality, to separate them from Everyone Else. It truly is the land of dreams and what better place for a nightmare to live than that? Offer people what they want and they are yours. This particular couple wanted me. I saw the lust in their eyes immediately. To most hunters it would be a wet dream for their prey to willingly present themselves for killing. Even the best fishermen have long droughts and if, one day, two large trout threw themselves into his boat that man would be quite surprised. For me, however, this was just another day.
I can hardy blame them though. 770 years of existence had taught me a trick or two about how to put on a good show. My ebony hair never crept above my shoulders in all that time, and it always stayed thick and black as an oil spill. One of the things I love about modern times is language. There are so many words for everything. For instance, my skin tone, I found out, is a beautiful shade of “Espresso”, which is just another term for dark brown. It stays eternally flawless, as do my ridiculously long legs. I learned quickly enough that curves catch everyone’s eyes, so I made sure that my dark espresso cleavage was on display at all times. Also, whether skirt, dress, or pants, my behind was a traffic stopper no matter what I wore. I can say honestly and with no ego that I am irresistible. I certainly was to Naomi and Matt.
They came to my table as I gazed out over Venice Beach at a boardwalk cafe. I sensed them coming but I didn’t feel they were a threat so I ignored them. They were quite drunk and sat down at my table uninvited. Some other day I would have thrashed them for the insult, but I was feeling generous, so I suffered their company. Naomi was a 20-something underachieving college student wearing a sundress that showed too much skin and a personality that showed too little intelligence. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and I could taste and smell it from across the table. She had dirty blond haired that fell haphazardly about her shoulders, and hazel eyes that grew dark in the sunlight. She reminded me of the hippie girls I used to eat by the handful in the 1960's. From her head down to her cute little feet she was delicious; suddenly I was interested in this random couple who had flitted into my life.
Matt was decidedly less interesting; he had definitely outdone himself in the girlfriend department. He was plain in all ways; basic haircut, oily skin, glasses and rudimentary khaki pants. He was an absolute bore to behold and could have been mistaken for a million other white guys, interchangeable and nameless. He did have one thing I wanted though, a healthy, strong, beating human heart. I could hear it as I closed my eyes and let his pulse echo through my ears, through my head, down through my soul. The life-pulse of humanity… it was everything, the only thing that I really craved anymore. He was alive, and linked to the universal life-pulse, and that was good enough for me.
“So, where do you kids want to meet up tomorrow night?”
I didn’t want to finish them off that night… I, like most cats, like to play with my food. I spent the rest of the night showing them around Los Angeles. I watched them eat, run, make out with each other and random other men and women… they really had a lust for life. I was lucky; all of that life they were living would soon be mine. By 4:30 they were both eating out of my hand, and I took the opportunity to eat out of theirs. I pulled them into a dark alley and we all began kissing; who kissed who was really unimportant. I took turns taking light sips from their wrists just to see if they were worth the small bit of effort I had put into them so far.
“Mmmmm Cassandra…” Naomi moaned.
“Oh God Cassandra…” Matt gasped.
I had been brought up to not speak when I had food in my mouth. I reluctantly let go of Matt’s wrist and closed the two large round holes I left on him with my powers. Mustn’t leave tracks, that is the first thing any novice is taught. They wanted me, wanted more of me, and I surely wanted every bit of them there was to be had… but, damned summer, the sky was already growing lighter. I had to get back to my home before even the slightest rays of the sun crept over the Pacific. As old as I am, the sun is worse for me than for some of the youngest amongst us. I hurriedly scribbled down the address to the W Hotel in Westwood on Naomi’s arm and told them to meet me there at 9 o clock tomorrow night. There would be a room waiting for them there under their name. They wanted to meet me earlier but I explained that I would, of course, be unavailable. I watched them stumble away, arm in arm, obviously in love, obviously living life the way it was meant to be lived.
There was a time… I’m sure… when this would have moved me.
No I am sure of it. There definitely was a time when seeing a couple like this would have made my heart skip a beat, when true love moved me to a place where I was inspired to create. To draw to paint, to sing; when true love and the vibrancy of positive human emotions made me want to create things to celebrate those emotions. Again, that time has passed, eaten away by the decades of trying to live a few more decades. Here in a foreign land far from where I was created and even farther from where I was born, as I watched these two happy infantile lovers with the entire world before them, all I felt was a white-hot blood-lust… hunger. Bright as the sun and twice as old… Hunger. It was all I needed anymore.
I woke up bright and early the next night around 830. Contrary to what you may have heard, I sleep on a pillow top California King mattress. Coffins are for ghouls, and though I would like to say that it is a completely a myth that my kind sleep in coffins… some do. I am proud to say that they are far removed from my bloodline, and I have as little to do with those types as possible. I, no matter what century it is, have always had class. I looked in the mirror at my naked body. I was holding up well for a woman my age, especially considering how long I’d been dead now. My race… my human race… has been called many, many names over the centuries, but now in this land we are mostly known as “Black”. It's a designation I rather like. It is among the least offensive names we have had, and to be honest it is the shortest. Above all else, I value simplicity, and it is a most simple moniker. As a Black woman in the 21st century, I find that I have more power in the mortal world now than I have ever had before. Amongst my new race, however, there are still those who hold old prejudices about both women and minorities, and I am often forced to put such fools in their place.
Who am I kidding… no one forces me… I rather enjoy it. I love when people underestimate me. It makes the look of fear, panic, and desperation on their face before I kill them all the more authentic and genuine. I don’t remember when I started to like killing. It is one of those things that came on gradually, like puberty, but seemed sudden and awful at the time... like puberty. I have vague memories of being shocked at my actions, at feeling guilt, remorse… anger. But as I said, those memories are vague. Most memories of my emotions back then are just that; memories. No more sentiment or emotion is attached to them than one attaches to the act of brushing their teeth in the morning. It is simply something you do.
I showered and dressed on autopilot, my mind taken with a thousand other subjects. “You’ve been drifting off a lot Cassy. You must be mindful of your surroundings”, I said aloud. Thankfully in my revelry, I had managed to dress myself appropriately. Even without paying attention, I still have style. I guided my baby-blue CL 500 out of my driveway and pointed it towards tonight’s dinner. I drove towards downtown and drifted off again. I had been driving for as long as there had been horseless carriages, I needed only a fraction of my concentration to do so. The stars often catch my attention; my kind trade betray the Sun for the eternal company of every other star in the night sky. Seems fair, I suppose.
I shook my head again and looked up. I was at the W. “You really must pay more attention Cassy, you do have enemies.” Just to re-assure myself, I unlocked my glove compartment to check that my pets were where I left them. My black Desert Eagles were safe and snug. I leave them there; the dress I picked for this evening left little room to conceal two gigantic handguns. Besides, I should be safe enough. I’m not the one being hunted tonight.
“I can’t wait! She should be here soon! Can you believe this room?” Naomi bounced on the bed once again. She and Matt had already started their party. They had saved all summer for this vacation, and it felt good to get away from Buffalo for a while. Matt labored away on his laptop while Naomi jumped up and down in her underwear.
“I’ve haven't had a connection this good since we left home. This place is awesome!”
“Will you get off of that thing? She’s gonna be here any minute! This is gonna be wicked intense! I don’t think either of us can handle her." Naomi put her feet up and landed with a soft thud on her back. Her eyes rolled dreamily into her head imagining the pleasure she would feel tonight.
“Maybe you, but I’m a stallion! I can go on for days and days!” Matt closed his laptop and looked at his girlfriend. He wondered what she saw in him, as she was so beautiful and he was not. But she loved him, he knew that much, and that was good enough. He climbed on top of her, wearing only his boxers… he was eager to start the festivities, as evidenced by his rapidly tenting shorts.
“I’m disappointed. You started without me.”
Naomi and Matt nearly jumped out of their skin. Not only had they not heard the door unlock and open, they did not hear Cassandra enter, close said door, and walk right up to the bed. Matt was also fairly certain that he had put the latch lock on the door. Either way there she was in all of her glory. Cassandra looked down on her two young lovers with an expression that hovered somewhere between motherly and predatory. Matt lay on his back, still slightly stunned by her sudden appearance, but quickly stopped caring as he drank in the sight of the night’s entertainment. Naomi pushed herself up on her shoulders and immediately felt herself getting aroused. It was as if her engine had been idling until Cassandra appeared, and now she was red-lining. Her nipples produced the same effect on her thin t-shirt as Matt’s penis produced on his boxers. Cassie wore a simple electric blue spaghetti strap dress that came down to mid thigh. It hugged her generous curves as if it were made for them, which it was. She wore 4 inch white D&G heels, with a matching small white Coach bag. The one lamp illuminating the room glinted off of the pearls around her neck, and her even whiter teeth. The couple on the bed were too enamored with their hunter’s body to notice Cassandra’s erections; her fully extended fangs.
“So, do you like? I wanted to look nice for you two.”
Matt was speechless, so Naomi offered “that dress is amaze-balls! I could never look that good in anything like it!” If I have any weakness, I am very susceptible to flattery. “Oh this? It' just an old Cavalli I had laying around. It's nothing really. Now you two, you two look positively delicious.” She slipped out of her dress and stood before them in nothing more than her white bra, panties, garter belt and heels. And of course, her pearls. Cassandra believed that no tasteful ensemble is complete without a pearl necklace.
Matt nearly fell off of the bed. Naomi responded in a slightly less Vaudevillian manner. She hopped down from the bed and crawled over to Cassandra like a cat in heat. She crept around her legs, allowing her silky smooth body to come in contact with Cassie's equally smooth legs. Cassandra obliged the mood that dinner was in, and scratched her lightly behind her ears, eliciting a pleasant purr from Naomi. Cassandra lay down on the king-sized bed, and somehow she seemed to sprawl across most of it. At 6 feet even, there always seemed to be more of her to explore. Matt busied himself with exploring the seemingly endless valley between her breasts, while Naomi kissed her way up Cassandra's seemingly endless legs. She unhooked her garters and peeled down the knee-high hose that Cassandra wore, all the while admiring the intricately embroidered Cobras that started on each thigh and wound their way down around her muscular calves to her immaculately pedicured feet. Cassandra opened her bra from the front and let the lacy white E cups fall to her sides. Matt attacked her nipples as soon as they were bared, going back and forth as if he couldn't decide where he wanted to be. The more worked up he got the faster his pulse raced, and the faster his pulse raced the more Cassandra got worked up.
“You too wouldn't mind if a friend of mine joined us would you? She's kind of young and naive, but she's very sexy and incredibly willing to please. What do you say?”
Matt and Naomi thought about it for less than a second. “YES!”
In the lobby of the W sat a very demure looking young Black woman, dressed in a coral and white embroidered Swing dress straight out of the 1950's. She wore matching 4 inch white Penthouse Pumps, and a large white Orchid in her hair. This would look rather out of the ordinary anyplace but LA. She was far from the strangest looking person to come through the lobby that evening. She was the most unusual though. She sat with her legs and feet together, and her hands neatly folded in her lap atop her matching white purse. She avoided the gaze of everyone who passed, nervously staring at her reflection in her shiny patent leather shoes. She worried that she had put on too much makeup, as her lips glowed fire engine red. She had her hair done the night before, yet she fussed with it constantly; she was happy that the orchid was fresh, she nearly killed someone to ensure that. She smelled of jasmine, but not too much. At least she hoped that it wasn't too much. She wore the heels to make herself taller, she hated how her master towered over her petite 5'3” frame. She hated how her bosom and rear end obscenely jutted out from her body. Everything about her body was dirty, no matter how much she tried to pretty herself up. She knew by the way men looked at her that no matter how she covered herself she couldn't hide her her dirty, worthless self. She clutched her bag tighter and sighed.
“Tyro, are you ready?”
“It's time. Come to the usual room.”
Cassandra grabbed Matt around the waist, picked him up, and placed him in a “69” position above her. His erection hovered above her face, and she immediately took it into her mouth. Cassandra loved giving head; it was a delicious appetizer before the main course. The blood was so tantalizingly close to the surface, but not quite there yet. Matt didn't know he was getting a blowjob from a woman with over six hundred years of experience, but if someone had told him so at that moment, he wouldn't have been surprised. He was on the verge of coming almost before she even began. Naomi had busied herself between Cassandra's legs, lazily lapping away at her labia, running her nails up and down her powerful, toned belly. In one surprisingly agile motion Cassy clutched onto the couple and rolled them both over so that she was now astride both their forms.
“You're really strong” Matt gasped.
“And really nimble. Like a cat!” Naomi chimed in, giggling.
“More like a Snake actually. Boy and girl, I would like you to meet Eloise, my subordinate.”
Eloise slowly emerged from behind Cassandra. Like before, Matt and Naomi neither heard nor saw anyone enter the room, but clearly there was another person with them. She was quite a bit smaller than Cassandra, but somehow she seemed even curvier. Her beauty was so self-consciously sexual yet overtly innocent it contrasted mightily from Cassandra's overt sexuality and aggressive seductiveness.
Matt sat up, “She's beautiful Cassandra. I mean, you're beautiful... My name is Matt.” Naomi had scooted up the bed so that she could fully take in what was going on. The sight of the two beautiful African-American women, she thought, was almost too much for her. “Cassandra, I want her, can I have her? God she's making me so fucking horny just standing there. Eloise, I'm Naomi, please come here and let me fuck you.” Matt glanced at Naomi; he had never heard her talk like that before. This was definitely bringing out a different side out of her, a side he very much approved of.
“Hello Matt, hello Naomi, it's nice ta meet y'all.”
Cassandra observed the way Matt and Naomi ogled Eloise. “Eloise, what did I tell you about making friends with dinner?” Cassandra's tone struck everyone in the room with more fear than the sternest Nun's presence could conjure. “I'm sorry Magistra, I forgot. I just...”
“You. Just. What.” Eloise fell silent and looked at the ground. “Good. Now. Which one do you want?” Eloise got to her knees, never looking up, “whichever one my Magistra prefers I have. If my Magistra prefers I not eat, then I shall go hungry. I exist at my Magistra's whim.”
“Good answer.” Cassandra looked over at Matt and Naomi, who were playing with each other. The dominance/submission play apparently aroused them even more, and they started a new party without her. “No matter”, Cassandra thought, “the more adrenaline the better.” Cassandra slithered between the two and offered each of them a generous portion of her bust to play with. “Stand up and open your eyes, Eloise.” She did as she said, and took in the sight before her. Her Magistra was lewdly splayed out before her, playing with her pussy while two fresh blood-filled humans pleasured her. Eloise was much younger than her Magistra, and still felt many lusts and desires from when she was human. She felt a warm tingle between her legs, and the unmistakable ache in her jaw from her fangs growing. “Is there a problem Eloise?”
“Are you sure? Mmmmm. Uhhhmmm. There's nothing you want?”
“I want what my Magistra desires of me.” Eloise's tingle between her legs became a burning ache, an ache that matched the lump in her throat. It was becoming hard to speak. She felt her knees getting weak, but she knew the price would be harsh if she made the slightest motion towards the forbidden fruit she desired without her Magistra's approval.
Matt and Naomi were too overcome with lust to notice what was going on anymore. They just wanted pleasure and release. They wanted what Cassandra had promised them from the moment they lay eyes on her; something otherworldly, an experience that would make them transcend mortality. That was all Cassandra needed to get into their heads. They had willingly walked to their slaughter. She ran her suddenly razor sharp nails down the backs of her prey, leaving a long thin trail of blood on each of them. The scent hit Eloise like a bullet. She snarled and her eyes flickered for a second to something vertical, then back to their normal round selves.
“I saw that Eloise.” In the blink of an eye Cassandra was off of the bed and backhanded Eloise across the face with a sound that resembled a .45 revolver. Before she could even recoil, Cass had taken Eloise in her arms, and forced her to the ground, dislocating one of her shoulders. “You really must show greater restraint. Just for that, you don't get the one you wanted. Matt isn't it?” Eloise strained to muffle her screams, but the pain was excruciating. Her body had barely registered the strike to her face before the explosive pain in her shoulder muscled its way into her consciousness. Eloise knew she could never keep a secret from Cassandra, for far too many reasons “I apologize Magistra, I was weak, I am weak. I am not worthy of your kindness.”
“Good. Don't heal yourself until I say so.” I let her go. Matt and Naomi looked lost without me, lost in the haze of pleasure and pain that I left them in. Slowly I returned to the bed and grabbed dinner by their necks. I spun them around so that their heads were hanging over the edge of the bed, their throats exposed to Eloise's hungry mouth. I could sense the aches in her, from hunger, lust, and of course from the injuries I had inflicted. Her pain was so sweet to me, an unusual joy that I've found in this world. I could sense every urge she felt; she wanted him, she wanted her, and she wanted me, which was most important. I started to jerk Matt off with my right hand, and finger fuck Naomi with my left hand. While I did this I never took my eyes off of my beautiful Tyro, my Eloise. Our hapless victims responded immediately to my ministrations. I sat back on my round, plump behind and brought both of them closer and closer to climax. Naomi whined and bit her lip, while Matt moaned and groaned my name louder and louder. All the while, Eloise stood motionless before me, trying carefully to push the teeth back into place with her tongue where I had knocked them loose. Her senses were overloaded, especially her sense of smell. The air was thick with scent of blood, even from the thin wounds that I had made. None of our senses could ever let go of the beautiful traits that fresh blood possessed. She could almost taste it; she wanted desperately to open her mouth and taste the air, but she was deathly afraid that if she opened her mouth, I would put my fist in it. She was right to be afraid, for that's exactly what would happen. She tried to focus on the pain in her shoulder to distract her from her lust. A good strategy.
I would never show it of course, but I was about at my wit’s end as well. Our victims were about to explode, I had wounded and abused my Tyro, and furthermore she was bleeding slightly from her mouth; it had been a thoroughly enjoyable evening all around. I needed release as badly as she did, and I had to admit that Eloise had gone to an enormous amount of trouble to look beautiful for me. She was even wearing my favorite flower in my hair, my sweet Southern Belle Eloise. I have been around long enough to know that a truly benevolent Magistra balances punishments with rewards. That's how it was when I was a Tyro, anyway.
“Uhhh Uhh AHH! AHHH!!!!” Naomi began to scream. “Oh God Cass I'm coming!!!” I stared Eloise down hard, but she showed no outward fear. I could see behind her eyes though, and her inner beast was straining at it's chains. Matt's first load of jizz was in the air when I moved for him, and Eloise was at his neck before me. It's the one time she ever moved faster than I did. I tore into the femoral artery in his left thigh, and my sweet, innocent Tyro ripped his neck open and shoved her mouth into the wound. He was dead before he finished his climax, lucky bastard. Some of his come mixed with his blood but I didn't care. I drank it all, and it was worth the wait and the teasing. Eloise drank loudly from his neck, ripping and tearing into his flesh; I would have to remember to reprimand her later for making such a mess. I squeezed the last bit of juice from him and eyed Naomi. She was still in a stupor, and hadn't noticed that we had opened up her boyfriend like a Christmas turkey. We took her limp body and dragged her to the head of the bed, deciding to share her like a bottle of wine on a picnic.
We stationed ourselves on each side of her, all three of us naked, and lazily sucked on each of her nipples. I rolled her nub around with my tongue while my Tyro gently nibbled at it. Then suddenly her beautiful fangs appeared, and she sank them slowly between her rib cage. It looked tasty so I did the same on my side. Naomi stroked our hair and murmured our names until she slipped into peaceful oblivion. Maybe it was some long forgotten sense of sisterhood, but we always seemed to give women less painful deaths than men. When she was dry, I grabbed Eloise by the hair and kissed her deeply. My mouth was full of blood and so was hers. Our vitae mixed, and we traced each others daggers with our tongues as if they were playthings. I ran my claws over her big round hips and down her legs, feeling her chills make the bed tremble. I gently sank a talon into her large pillowy breasts and drew a steady bead of blood which I nursed at like a newborn. She held my head and said “Cassandra, you are magnificent, so beautiful, so perfect. I will be lucky if I am ever half as wonderful as you. I'm so lucky.”
I sucked a little harder eliciting a slight yelp, and one of the nicer surprises about her. If I aroused her enough, she starts to drip from her pussy, a trick I can only do with some effort. I withdrew my claws and slowly put two fingers into her naturally wet folds. “You're the lucky one baby, you're the lucky one. Now come for your Magistra, yes?” Eloise mumbled yes and tucked her head into my cleavage, holding me tight. We wound our bodies together, cold as mine is, and I enjoyed her warmth. I remembered, half remembered a time when my own body generated such warmth. I fingered her faster than a vibrator, and circled my thumb around her clit. Eloise even comes sweetly; she's too bashful to really let it out; she just lets out a series of high pitched squeals. Right as she peaked, I gently sank my fangs into her neck and took what I needed. I knew that this made her orgasms all the more intense, and it was the least traumatic way for me to feed from her. Of all the horrible things I was forced to do on a regular basis, this was my least favorite.
Still, if it came down to it, I knew that I would sacrifice Eloise's life in a second to save my own. I would never think twice, and I would never regret it. There was a time when the truth of that would have absolutely crushed me. But that time... isn't tonight.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
The basslines of Lysa's Spotify playlist reverberated through her spacious apartment. She didn't care if it irritated her neighbors or not. They could never bring themselves to complain, at least not once they confronted her face-to-face. Lysa absolutely loved her eyes and in this way she was just like everyone else she had come across in her life. Her eyes were large and golden-honey brown. A love-struck ex once described them as being doe-like. He never noticed that something sinister lurked behind that innocent deer facade. Her predatory ferocity went largely unnoticed particularly by her neighbors. Bouncing around her room to Britney Spears “Me Against the Music,” she looked through her massive closet for a suitable dress for the evening’s activities.
“The problem”, she thought, “is that I have absolutely no diversity in my clothes. Everything shows way too much skin, no modesty at all.” Lysa dived into her closet and emerged wearing an obscenely low-cut Armand Basi white silk cami, and her tightest Alex Wang jeans. She danced a few laps around her bed, periodically stopping in front of her gigantic mirror. “Yes, yes this will do nicely. I am at least modest from the waste down. Although with an ass like this I can only be so modest.” She giggled like a schoolgirl and went back to tending to her eyelashes, Black Cherry mascara. “Hm. If these were any longer they would push my glasses right off the end of my nose. I suppose I should be happy though, most women would kill for my eyes. And they would be right to.”
The song changed and Ciara's “Ride” began to play. Naughty thoughts stirred in her mind and Lysa decided she had played enough; it was time for shoes. “But what shoes... I want to look killer tonight...” She went back into her closet like a bloodhound after a fox. “Now where are my leather-strappy-wedgie-ah! There you are, my Luscious Louboutin Mary Janes!” She gracefully wound her body so that her legs were high in the air as she lay on her plush bed, admiring how the expensive sandals accentuated her freshly pedicured Forbidden Colored toes. “Wine for dinner was a good choice”, she muttered to herself. She rubbed her legs over each other in the air, admiring her curves, nearly hypnotizing herself. A loud knock at the door shook her from her revelry. Turning the music off, she ran for the door.
“Oh hi Dory, you brought Lyam!” Lysa lunged for her 9 year old nephew and gave him a bear hug that would have killed someone with fully formed bones. Lyam squirmed until he was released from her grasp, gracefully accepting the multiple kisses from his aunt. He was used to such affection, especially since he favored his aunt far more than his actual mother. When the three of them went out in public people usually assumed Lyam was Lysa's son. He took after her far more than his own mother. Even at the tender age of 9 he commanded the attention of the opposite sex as easily as he commanded the characters in his video games. He didn't quite know what the attention was for, but it did not escape him that having people do whatever he wanted was a useful skill to have. His powers derived from the same place that his aunt's did. “Hello sis, I am so happy you let us use your apartment tonight. You-know-who is off the wagon again and we can't stay there. This is the only chance we get to have a good night's sleep sometimes. You're a lifesaver Lysa.”
“Don't worry Dory, that guy is going to get what's coming to him very soon, you just wait. Karma is a B you know?
Doryn set their bags down and picked up Lyam, “Twenty-seven years now, and I still have to be rescued by my big sis.” Lysa took their bags to her guest bedroom and made sure everything was set for her most welcomed guests to spend the night. “When I'm 90 and you’re 87, if you still need me you had better come to me for help. That is what big sisters are for isn't it? Tomorrow we'll go swimming, that always cheers both of us up and it's been way too long.” Lysa knew that life was hard for her sister. The “stunning” gene seemed to skip her. Oh Doryn was pretty enough, but she didn't have the “it” factor that Lyam and she had. Society made it painfully clear to Doryn that she was a second-class citizen in her own family and would not let her forget it. Lysa did her best to make sure that Doryn felt loved, but whenever they went out together more often than not Lysa was the main attraction and Doryn was the sideshow.
“Yeah it's a crime that we've gone so long without being in the water. So where are you off to tonight? I see you wearing the hell outta those Louboutins. That usually means you're on the hunt.” She gave her sister the smile they both understood meant naked time was in the near future. Lyam was already in his pajamas in bed playing his PSP, completely unconcerned about the woman’s conversation. “Maybe so sis.. I'll let you know when I get back. Just for the record, if I was to want a G-Bang would tonight be a bad night-oof!” Doryn hit Lysa with a pillow before she could finish her statement. “I'll take that as a no. G'night Dory, GOOD NIGHT LYAM!!!” Lyam barely acknowledged his aunt with a nod of his head.
After quickly snatching up her Valentino clutch bag, Lysa breezed out the door. Once she was clear of her family her thoughts turned to the matter at hand. She was acutely aware of her body, the confidence of her stride, the sway of her hips, the gravity-defying bounce of her breasts, the silk-satin of her halter lazily drifting across her nipples and, of course, her eyes. Yes she was a sexual force of nature, and she almost felt sorry for the rest of the world. Almost.
The Melody was the kind of place she loved to frequent. It had an unpretentious charm that appealed to a varied clientele. A heady acid jazz groove moved the crowd in an easy manner. People of every race and color mingled languidly thanks to cheap drinks and tight clothes. Lysa slid up to her usual spot at the bar, where a tall glass of Grey Goose awaited her. Her favorite bartender, Cube, always worked this night and he never failed to set her up with her favorite drinks. It was a mutual arrangement as she never failed to set him up with his favorite men. Lysa's eyes weren't just stunning to straight men, she was just as alluring to gay men, and she served as the ultimate wing-bitch for Cube when they went out man-hunting. Not that Cube needed too much help himself; he was a 6' 2” cut of muscular Hispanic Grade A beef himself, but it never hurt to have an icebreaker like Lysa around. “Oye mija, how are you? I have your drink ready, and there are plenty of hotties here tonight for the both of us.”
“When do you actually work Cube? It seems like half the night you're gossiping with me, and the other half you're scouting out new ass.”
“Look, my father had four jobs when he came to this country, multitasking is in a Dominican's blood. I can handle a little flirting on the job. As for you, you had better get upstairs; the karaoke started an hour ago and you know people get restless if you don't show.”
“I know, I know. My public awaits.” Lysa gave Cube one of her legitimately friendly smiles. She had an array of voracious and intimidating smiles, but she saved her real smiles for the few true friends she had in the world. She headed towards the stairs, and several men (and some women) followed her just to watch her walk upstairs in those jeans. Rob the karaoke DJ immediately recognized her and put her at the head of the list. An excited murmur rippled through the crowd when the regulars saw her appear. If Lysa's eyes hit like lightning, then her voice was the accompanying thunder. Her voice caught the hearts and minds of her audience like a bullwhip; rattlesnake -fast and just as deadly. She had already made up her mind as to what song she wanted to sing. Even in a crowded and noisy place like the second floor of the Melody, she did not need to raise her voice to be heard. When the group of drunken secretaries onstage finished their rousing rendition of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” Rob ushered them off as quickly as possible. “We have a special treat for everyone tonight! A local favorite is here and she's gonna sing 'Anytime, Anyplace' by Janet Jackson.”
A wave of anticipatory electricity jolted the room. It was a slow song, and so overtly sexual that six notes in, she had the entire room in a tizzy. The song snaked through the crowd like a surreptitious phantom, winding its way into the hearts and genitals of everyone present.
“Skirt around my waist, Wall against my face, I can feel your lips...
I don't wanna stop just because, People walkin by are watchin us
I don't give a damn what they think, I want you now...”
With all due respect, even Miss Jackson couldn't capture the collective libido of her audience the way Lysa did. Her hips were a metronome, and like a snake-charmer had the men (and some women) in the audience completely under her control. Lysa often wondered at times like this if she could get the audience to throw her their wallets. She was sorely tempted to try, but knew that would be too blatant a display of power, even for her. She contented herself to cut men's hearts out with her stiletto heels and generate enough murderous envy in the hearts of her rivals to power
for a year. She imagined what it would be like
to be with the various men and women in the audience, sizing up their sexual
potential with a quick expert glance. She knew that you could read a book by
its cover, if you knew what to look for. If this was the Serengeti, she was the
Head Lioness In Charge, and they were all her dinner. Las
“Dancin on the floor, Feeling the slow groove
My mind is starting to burn, with forbidden thoughts Strangers all around, with the light down low
I was thinkin maybe we could...well...you know...”
Those in the audience who were with their significant others tore themselves away from her performance to start to satiate their intense arousal. Here and there couples of every type slipped to the edge of the dance floor and started what can only be described as foreplay. Some did it right there in the middle of the floor, which Lysa particularly enjoyed. It turned her on when she made people so horny that they started to near-fuck right there in public. Suddenly she noticed something familiar about one of the couples on the floor; the man. Yes, she recognized that guy, it was her brother-in-law! He was with someone who was obviously not Doryn, and whom Lysa could at best call a butter-faced girl. She was nowhere near as attractive as her sister. A rage arose in her that was born in the fires of ancient Gods and Demons. From that moment on she made the rest of the song about him, her brother-in-law Jason. He definitely took notice, it was near impossible not to notice when Lysa focused her attention on you. He literally forgot that Miss Butter-face even existed, and started moving towards the stage mid-kiss. Later, he would have a vague recollection of another woman at the bar that night who was related to a drink that was spilled on him, but he'd be damned if he could remember any other details. All he could remember was Lysa fixing The Eyes on him.
She finished the song, singing the last lyrics “Anytime, anyplace, I don't care who's around” directly into his hypothalamus. Jason would never be that erect again. When Lysa stopped singing, the spell was broken and everyone suddenly noticed that they were half naked or kissing a stranger or desperately attempting to make a break for the bathroom. She strutted off the stage to thunderous applause knowing he would fall in step behind her. She made her way to one of the couches in the back, the crowd instantly parting for her. She sat down with her back to Jason, and felt him fall into the seat next to her. Men, she noticed, lost all hand-eye coordination when they were seriously horny.
“So”, she started, “I guess you liked my performance.” Jason nodded his assent, then noticed that she hadn't actually looked at him yet. If he were in a better state of mind, he may have wondered how she knew he was there and how she was able to talk to him over the caterwauling of “Don't Stop Believin”. But he was definitely not thinking with the head on his shoulders at this point.
“Yeah, yeah I loved it, you're a beautiful singer. I mean you've got, like, an awesome voice! You should be on American Idol or something!”
Lysa laughed, “no, no, that would be far too dangerous for me and for Randy probably...” She turned around and gave him the full onslaught of her gaze. Jason's heart nearly stopped. “Look, this place is loud and these people are terrible singers, is there anyplace quieter we can go to?”
“Um, well, my, uh, roommate is staying at his, uh, sister's tonight, so we can go back to my place. Man you look so familiar.” Lysa knew good and damned well that her sister's house was full of pictures of her and their family. Not only was this guy cheating on her sister, and not too particular about with whom, he obviously thought Lysa was stupid enough to not notice. She was not going to go easy on him.
“When I was up there I was only thinking of you and being with you. I really don't care where we do it, but I've always had a fantasy about meeting a stranger and going to the Hilton... Can we go there?” She knew that the Hilton was way out of his price range, and was delighted that he would put himself into debt for her. “Yeah, sure anything you want. Man you look so familiar; I swear I've seen you somewhere before... recently.” Lysa gave him the eyes and said “look Jason, I'm sure if I had met you before, you would remember, wouldn't you?” Jason leaned back and closed his eyes, but he could still see hers. “Yeah... yeah I guess you're right.” A fog had enveloped his mind as surely as his imagination pictured her lips enveloping his dick. Somewhere in the murky recesses of his mind, indistinct but frantic warnings screamed at him, urging him to do anything but what he was about to do. Questions like “how does she know my name” and “why does she look so familiar” meandered in and out of his consciousness, until Lysa's voice wiped them all away.
“Baby, please say yes. Take me now and you can have me, all of me, for as long as you can stand me.” That's all he needed to hear. The last of his reservations gone, Jason grabbed Lysa and his keys, and made a beeline for the Hilton in midtown. After putting one of their cheapest rooms on his credit card, they headed for the elevators. Jason had made up his mind to ignore his reservations as he was about to score with the hottest chick he had ever landed, and wasn't about to let some very valid and relevant questions stop him. Lysa pretended to be impressed, but she knew good and damn well he was low-balling her. It was alright though, that wasn't the point of tonight. Revenge was.
They kissed like they had just discovered the concept in the elevator up to the room. Once inside she told him to go wait by the bed while she took her shoes off and gently placed them next to the door. She then stood up straight and said “Baby, could you do one thing for me?” Jason was sitting on the edge of the bed, hurriedly undressing. “Huh? Yeah bae, sure, anything you want!”
“Invite me into your bed.”
“Invite me into your bed. Indulge me. Say, 'I invite you into my bed', please?” Jason looked perplexed, but said, “I invite you into my bed? I mean it isn't technically my bed because we're in a hotel but-” Lysa roared and leapt from the door to the bed in one pounce. She ripped his shirt off and covered his neck and chest in fiery hot kisses. It was all Jason could do to hold on for dear life. Everywhere she kissed him was warm to the touch, and extra sensitive. She sucked on his nipples then went back to his neck. He moaned loudly and tried to remove her clothes but Lysa was moving too fast for him to unhook her bra. She sat up astride his tenting underwear and pulled her blouse up over her head. Her black La Perla bra soon followed, allowing Jason to feast his eyes on her perfect C cups, her nipples announcing themselves obscenely. She went back to attacking his torso, with the added bonus that now her nipples dragged up and down his chest. He grew so hard that she actually had to move out of the way of his raging erection.
“Damn” she thought “Now I see why Dory puts up with all the shit you put her through. You've got a really big cock.” “Can I suck it?” she growled.
“That has got to be the stupidest question anyone has ever asked anyone else” he responded.
Given the circumstances, Lysa had to give him that one. She ripped his underwear in half and throated his entire shaft in one gulp. Jason came immediately. The song from before coupled with her ravishing his body had him on the edge of ecstasy for some time now. She swallowed his cum easily as it went straight into the back of her throat. She was afraid that he was going to pass out the way he was hyperventilating. She slowly dragged her fingernails up and down his chest, ever so lightly; she knew by this time that he was one big raw nerve.
“You okay baby” she purred. “I know you're not done. I know you've got more for me, don't you?” It didn't matter what his response was, Jason had never been less in control of a situation as he was right now. From the moment he looked into her eyes, she had him and he knew it. He just sat back and enjoyed the ride. Normally after coming the way he just had he would have to take a nap akin to a coma, but now he didn't falter for a minute. If anything he was more painfully hard than before. Her gently clawing nails just egged on his arousal. “Please... please, please fuck me, ride my cock bae, I need it, please... put it in you...”
His begging was pathetic, but music to her ears. He was broken, and there was only one thing left to do. She raised herself up, juices dripping onto his prick the whole time, and in a tortuously slow pace, lowered herself onto him until her clit was tickled by his hair. This, this one moment, when she was fulfilled by an engorged shaft, this is what she lived for, everything in between these brief slices of life were just prelude to another sexual crescendo. She internally massaged him, bringing herself to a small climax without ever moving externally. She briefly cried out, hurting Jason ears. “Go easy with that bae, I'm a lot of man to handle.”
Lysa looked down on the smug, smirking jerk that she was fucking, and remembered why she was there. She dug her nails into his chest and got up on her toes, almost in a feral all-fours position. He was so long she had to do that to raise herself high enough to fuck him. She pulled halfway out, and then slowly worked him back inside her. She had to admit that it felt heavenly, but she had a job to do. She repeated this action, the room filling with their sex noises. Her pussy was a torrent of juices, sucking his cock into her and holding onto it for dear life. His cock was steel, penetrating her despite the close quarters, and leaving reluctantly, only to force its way inside once again. Once she was sure of how much of him she could take, she bared down and rode him, her beautiful ass flying up and down to the point where it was almost a blur. Jason could not form many coherent thoughts, but one he did have was that this must have been what it felt like for women to use a vibrator.
He wanted to grab her, but he couldn't find a part of her that wasn't operating like a well oiled machine. He was also afraid that he would somehow disrupt her and that she would stop. He would rather die than stop her from fucking him. Finally he decided to grab her perfect breasts; it seemed like the safest and most enjoyable place for his hands to be. She looked beautiful, otherworldly, ephemeral, and several other words that weren't quite small enough for Jason to actually know. All he knew was that he didn't want this to stop... or did he?
Lysa threw her head back and her black hair fell around her. She was now nearly jumping up and down on Jason’s rod, but showed no signs of slowing down. Her pussy grew warm, then hot, as she moaned long and low, a song that Jason had never heard, but loved just the same. He started to feel like he was going to do more than just come; he felt as if he would literally bust a nut. All of those metaphors for arousal felt real to him; his balls boiled, and his cock felt as it would blow semen straight through her. That was when he started to feel scared. He couldn't stop her and his body was clearly reaching it pleasure-limits. Lysa felt all of Jason's energy building in his cock as she pushed herself harder. She was ready to take what was hers.
“Ohhh, oooh, I'm coming!” Jason looked almost relieved. He did not know how much longer he could take the strain the enormous sexual pleasure was putting on his body. “Look at me Jason” she said “do I look familiar?” Jason wondered what the hell she was talking about as Lysa lifted the fog from his mind. Suddenly her face was right against his, her eyes a chaotic storm of swirling colors, a storm of madness. He was very quickly very, very, frightened. “I should look familiar to you; you've seen my picture lots of times. In your own house, shithead.”
His mind zeroed in on the stairwell to his house that was lined with his wife’s family, and the pictures... the pictures of her and her sister. Suddenly the eyes looked all too familiar... The memos that his subconscious had been faxing him all night suddenly became clear and legible, she's your sister-in-law!
Lysa fucked him harder. Jason felt like lava was dripping from her pussy it was so hot, and his own body similarly felt like he had eaten the sun earlier in the day. “Yes, I am Lysa. You've been fucking my sister over ever since you met her, so I am just making things even.” She slowed down so that she could perform her finishing move. Grinding her pelvis against the underside of his cock, she rocked hard but low. Lysa screamed her release and all of the glass in the room, including the windows, cracked. As she came down, Jason unleashed every bit of life he had in him. With the pressure of a bursting dam, he came, all the sperm he had ever created rushing into Lysa. Jason was really afraid now, this feeling was too good and too intense. He felt like his soul was leaving his body which was ironic as this was exactly what was happening. As he laid there, mouth agape, Lysa kissed him, taking his breath away. An effervescent bright white cloud streamed from his mouth into hers. She greedily swallowed his essence the same way she had swallowed his come earlier. As she pulled away the last bits of what made Jason Jason left his body and drifted away forever between her lips.
When she was able to compose herself she opened her eyes and they were normal again; as normal as her eyes could be. The demonic presence that was there a second ago had retreated to whatever inner den it came from. She dislodged herself from the rapidly deflating body of Jason, and sat next to him, legs crossed, calm as can be.
“You're probably wondering what just happened. Don't worry, it is a common question amongst my victims; I should write a FAQ. See, I'm a Succubus; a Siren actually, which just means that I'm a Succubus that likes water. You fell under my spell the second you heard my song back at the bar. I've drained you of your life-force, or your soul in layman's terms. The only reason I am telling you all of this is that the body cannot exist without the soul. Jason eyes lolled about in his head. He gave his body commands that were soundly ignored. He felt himself slipping into a deep, black slumber.
“You'll be long dead before the morning, and my sister will be free of you forever. But don't worry, me and Dory are more than capable of raising Lyam by ourselves. And I’ll be sure to say something nice at your funeral. Lyam will never have to know what a lying piece of shit his father is… er, was.” Lysa dressed herself and bent over to look into what little consciousness remained in Jason eyes “I would say never fuck around on your wife again, but, as I just said, you aren't going to get another chance to hurt my sister.” She re-applied her lipstick and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Bon nuit Jason, your soul was delicious. A little rotten but still satisfying. She slipped her shoes on and slammed the door behind her.
She tried to open her door as quietly as she could, but found that it was all for naught as her nephew was still awake. It was 4AM and he was still playing one of his video games in the living room. His mother was asleep on the pull-out bed, sleeping the sleep of someone who had not had a peaceful rest in some time. The noise of the video game was far from enough to rouse her. Lysa went and sat next to her nephew. She knew that sometime tomorrow they would find Doryn's husband's cold body, and she would have to pretend to be surprised and help Doryn through the grieving process. She didn’t like to lie to her sister but it was one of the things a big sister had to do to protect a little sister. Besides, it was just one of many secrets Lysa kept from Doryn. It suddenly occurred to her that Jason made most of the money in their family, and that killing him without checking out his life insurance policy may have been a rash decision. “One of these day's I'm going to have to learn to think before I act. Oh well, I’ll deal with that tomorrow” she thought. It wouldn’t be a real problem; Lysa was an adept liar, cheater, con-girl and thief. Money would come one way or another. Right now her sister is better off without him, and for better or worse they still had Lyam.
“Hey kiddo, don't you ever sleep?”
“I was waiting for you to get home. I’ll sleep now.” He put his PSP away and jumped into bed with his mother. Lysa crouched down and looked into his large eyes, which were just now catching some of the hallway light. Even in such low light they sparkled, an amazing array of chaotic, swirling colors lit up his face.
“You're gonna have to take care of your mother from now on, okay? You may not see your Daddy for a very long time.” He sleepily nodded his head and curled up closer to his mother. Lysa crawled into the bed as well, with Lyam in between them she felt sleep come for her as well. She pulled the blanket over the three of them and reveled in the warmth of the only two people on Earth she felt real love for.
Even from her admittedly unique perspective she had to confess that her nephew was an incredibly handsome child, and that he was only going to get better looking as he grew up. “You are going to be a real lady killer one day you know that Lyam? A real lady killer.”
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Shay’s butt landed on the ice with a resounding thud. This was worse than it sounded, but not from an injury point of view. The 2010 Winter Olympics were a scant 2 months away, and Gunnar Smith and Shaylbeigh Dawne’s Ice Dancing performance was getting worse, not better. Their coach was furious, their parents were panic stricken, and, for their part, Gunnar and Shayl were absolutely terrified of their impending doom. No one knew what the problem was; they had won Gold Medals in the Ice Dancing Free and Original Dance competitions just four years ago in Turino. Almost overnight they had become a national sensation not only because of their come-from-nowhere win, but also because of the still somewhat sensational aspect of their differing races. Shayl was Haitian-American; quite dark skinned, quick-witted, and incredibly beautiful. Gunnar was almost her polar opposite physically; tall and Nordic in every detail, from his platinum hair to his alabaster skin. They were the perfectly contrasted, but on the ice they complimented each other just as well. Shayl skated with an instinctive sensuality that belied her age. She was beguiling, even at the age of 14; the way she commanded attention was like Scheherazade weaving a story late into a hot Arabian night. If Shay was the spice, Gunnar was the meat; technically he was a master of the arts. He could do any move you asked of him, triple and quad axles. He could throw Shay into the air and have her land on a dime on the ice. Some called him the Peyton Manning of Ice Dancing; only some called him that because most people thought that it sounded incredibly ridiculous. But still, it was an accurate comparison. Gunnar was adept at the fundamentals of ice dancing, and knowing that he would always be where he was supposed to be, and would always perform to a predetermined level of excellence was a source of comfort that allowed Shayl to spread her artistic wings and win the judges over with her often literal flights of fancy on the ice.
When Shayl’s wings started to become bruised from hitting the ice one too many times, the concern in the eyes of their entire team was palpable. Some were concerned about their sponsorships, some were concerned about their reputations falling apart, and some were actually concerned for the physical safety of Shayl and Gunnar. As bad as having a poor performance would be for Shayl, it would be far worse for her to suffer an injury. That would mean that they could not perform in any competitions after the Olympics, and everyone present had made too many sacrifices and invested too many resources for the dream to die now. Shayl sat on the ice and stared up into Gunnar’s Glacier-blue eyes. She saw something there that she hadn’t ever noticed before. It was a broken dam, a torrent of emotions, but she strained nevertheless to pick out an individual feeling. Like a bear trying to grab trout swimming upstream, Shayl gradually caught the meaning of Gunnar’s glances; he was ashamed of her. This provoked two reactions in Shayl; 1. She was quite hurt that her dancing partner of 6 years felt like she was a liability, and 2. She was quite pissed that Gunnar was blaming her for their troubles.
“Gunnar”, she yelled at him in her heavily Patois-accented English, “You surely are not blaming me for our recent problems? It is you who suddenly has a severe case of butterfingers!” Gunnar skated away from her and spoke softly, not daring to face her.
“Shayl, I’m the same as I have always been. I take great pride in my consistency. It’s you, You! Who’ve changed! It’s you who is destroying our team and ruining our chances at Gold. I’ve kept my mouth shut for as long as I could, but this is too far. I’ve just now turned 17, I can find another partner. You’re at the far end of 18, you’re damn near over the hill for this sport!”
Shaylbeigh got to her skates and drifted listlessly around the ice. She felt herself drowning with no lifesaver to grab onto. Gunnar was right; she was changing. To be more specific, her body was changing at a frightening pace. She had fought tooth and nail to keep the signs of womanhood from afflicting her form, but Shaylbeigh could not fight time or biology any longer. Gone were her slender teenage hips, replaced with what some people had whispered was a “phatty”. The past two weeks she would stare into her full length mirror at home, running her hands up and down her body. She wasn’t eating any more than usual, and she was training harder than ever, but still, the curves came like thieves in the night, leaving gifts instead of taking them. Her hips had flared out to 34 inches, which looked almost obscene on her petite 5’ nothing frame. What was hardest to hide, however, were her breasts. What had once been little gravity-defying A-Cups had now Incredible-Hulked their way into 34 D’s. It was impossible to not notice them, but Shaylbeigh had done a wonderful job of burying her head in the sand about the whole subject in public.
In private, however, she could not keep her hands off of herself. She had never understood the idea of finding oneself sexy until she saw herself naked that first time. It was, to her memory anyway, the first time she saw herself as a woman, as a sexual being capable of anything. Her legs were muscular and toned, her skin a perfect shade of deep, dark chocolate brown. “If I was candy, I would eat me”, she giggled to herself. She sat on the edge of her bed and blindly reached behind her for her favorite bottle of lotion, Japanese Cherry Blossoms. She squirted a generous amount into her hands, and let it slide between her fingers. As it warmed, the excess dripped across her breasts, drops of lotion clinging precipitously to her large dark nipples. Her nipples had always been this way, and where something of an embarrassment to her, like two loud and rowdy children are an embarrassment in a movie theater. Her nipples always announced their presence to the world wherever Shayl went, no matter how she tried to cover them up.
There was no press conference or Red Carpet event where her nipples didn’t steal the show from Shayl and Gunnar, protruding defiantly through whatever bras and dresses she wore. She lifted her breasts and let them fall, watching them bob and bounce in full rebellion against gravity. As they bounced more lotion find its way into her lap and started to run down her thighs. Shayl started to smooth the creamy pink goo across her chest, spending extra time moisturizing the two disobedient children that now dominated the landscape of her upper body. She allowed one hand to lazily drape across her lap and draw figures in the drops of lotion that had landed there, all the time keeping her eyes fixed on her image in the mirror. Her legs fell open seemingly on their own, and she was honestly surprised at the amount of moisture between them. Shayl was no cold fish, not by a long shot, but she could not remember ever being this turned on. Her pleasure was undeniable, judging by the state of her vagina. Her lips were swollen, as they say, and she had already made a small puddle on her comforter. Shayl brought some pillows down to the end of the bed so she could recline and relax but still see herself playing. Her right hand molested her chest, while her left hand contented itself to run up and down the lines and cuts of her thighs and calves. Eventually she tired of teasing herself, and indulged in the greatest of personal pastimes. The memories of that night a week ago gave Shayl an idea.
Where Shaylbeigh had done her best to ignore her new developments, Gunnar noticed, to say the least. He was always one to notice the slightest details, and he believed that he had noticed Shayl’s development before she did. It was this “noticing” that was his blessing and his curse. Although he put all of the blame on her, it was really his nerves that had let them down in the moment. He had been unusually comfortable with Shayl’s body, as comfortable with her as he was with his own. He had never thought twice about putting his hands anywhere on her body; between her legs, against her inner thighs, around her hips, up the sides of her chest; for most of their relationship he thought of her as little more than another tool. But now this tool was becoming more and more a living, breathing woman, and he could not ignore it for much longer. He could not put aside the feelings of her firm new breasts as they brushed against his hands, the urges to cradle them and mash them threw off his judgment. Her blossoming form pushed against him for stability, as their bodies moved in unison and became one with the music. He felt the round fullness of her hips and behind pushing against his groin and his pulse would quicken. It was an experience he could barely tolerate. He had never been teased by a woman before; his looks and athleticism assured him of a conquest whenever he wanted it.
The build-up of sexual tension that was unknowingly created between their young bodies was something that none of his carefully laid out plans allowed for, and the more he tried to fight his feral cravings the worse their routines became. The worst part, the thing that he absolutely could not control, was when he had to lift her up. All of their moves that required him to lift her from her inner thigh absolutely destroyed him because for some reason she was always wet. Gunnar found himself putting his hand closer to her pussy than necessary, to feel its heat, its humidity, next to his skin. His famed focus and stoicism were coming unraveled all because he could not stop thinking with the wrong head. Gunnar’s father had become a successful businessman by not allowing distractions to get in the way of his goals, and here, now, at the age of 17, Gunnar felt himself already unable to follow in his father’s footsteps.
Gunnar’s revelry was cut short when Shaylbeigh skated up directly to his face. He noticed how large and beautiful her eyes were (but weren’t they always this way?) and how lush and full her lips were (but they’re the same lips as they’ve always been, right?) “What is it Shayl? We should get back to practicing, we are nowhere near ready.” Shayl took Gunnar’s hands and lead him towards the edge of ice. “That is enough for one night my dear. Even the cleaning staff has gone home for the evening. It looks like this will be another night where we end up closing the place down.” Gunnar and Shayl were known for their long and intense practice sessions, so eventually instead of waiting for them to finish, the building staff of their practice ice rink just started to leave a set of keys for the couple in their locker rooms, so that they could lock up on their way out. “Let us just hit the showers and try some more tomorrow huh?”
“Gunner looked at Shayl; between his confused feelings and the advanced practice pace he had put them through today, he was exhausted. “Fine. Go cool down and I’ll change then you can take me home. I still can’t believe that you have your driver’s license before I do.”
Shayl smiled at Gunnar as he headed towards his locker room, “It seems as if this old lady may still have some things to teach you, huh young man?”
When Shaylbeigh saw the large set of keys next to her locker, she knew that they had the whole building to themselves; her plan had found the perfect time for its execution. She took a shower, as fast as she could, and got ready in what must have been a world record for a woman to get ready. She was motivated and did not want Gunnar to get too comfortable before she was able to get him. As she crossed over to the men’s locker room area, she noted how easily she had taken to wearing high heeled pumps. She thought it would be difficult at first, but recently she felt that they intensified her newfound sexuality a thousand fold. She peeked around the corner and caught sight of Gunnar just as he was coming out of the shower. She would be lying if she said she had never thought of him sexually; she had snuck peeks of him in the nude before, and she never got tired of the view. He had a body that could be the model for a Greek God; every muscle perfectly sculpted and present in his movements. And oh the way he moved! No wasted motions, the grace of a ballet dancer, but with a powerful purpose to his stride. She gazed lovingly at the thick cock that hung between his legs. She was definitely not one to get onto silly discussions about which races had bigger dicks; she knew damn well that this White boy was blessed as well as any Black man you’d care to mention. It was not quite so long, but thick, thick enough to cause her to salivate.
“This is so unladylike, but I now know that I have to take one for the good of the team”, Shayl thought.
As Gunnar wrapped himself in a towel, Shaylbeigh Dawne walked into his life, for the first time, as an adult woman and not just his skating partner. Her damp hair fell in little ringlets about her shoulders. She had wrapped herself in one of her designer shower robes, and all Gunnar could see at first was her perfectly painted toenails in her Gold Jimmy Choo Clue pumps with the 4 inch heel. She then opened the robe to reveal that all she was wearing was a Gold silk and Black lace Carine Gilson Bra and Thong set… a very, very small bra and panty set at that. Around her neck hung one of the Gold medals they won in Turino 4 years ago. “You know Gunny, I never thanked you properly for all of the hard work you put in that helped us win this medal…” She felt like she was doing one of her performances, but for an audience of one. She glided across the room like the predatory jungle cat she was. She knew she had him as soon as she walked into the room; now was the time for the cat to play with the mouse.
“Shaylbeigh! What… what is this…” Gunnar stammered. He wrapped his towel a little tighter, but his arousal was already readily apparent. With the size of the weapon he was trying to conceal, he would have needed a sheet to cover it anyway. “This is… we shouldn’t be…” He was having considerable trouble forming coherent thoughts as all of the blood in his body rushed to his groin. Shayl finally closed the distance between them, and her straining nipples stabbed him in his six-pack.
“You were right earlier mon petit ami”, she purred, “The problems we have been having have been my fault. My body has changed, and it was silly and immature to try and hide that from you”, she said as she spun Gunnar around and gently forced him down onto a bench. “There have been some changes with me, can you tell?” She straddled the bench and ran her fingers up and down her hips and ass, in case Gunnar was having any trouble noticing the perfect curves that his partner had developed.
“I know why our performances have been off lately. You are the type of person who needs to know everything about everything. You need to know every inch of the instrument that you are working with. And I am your instrument, right?” Shayl took Gunnar’s hands and placed them on her hips. “Well Mon Ami, are you ready to play me?”
Gunnar, for his part, was… well… “Shaylbeigh… I have no idea what I should do right now. You’re my partner; I haven’t ever looked at you like other girls…”
“Woman, Gunny. I am obviously a woman now. You are used to my girlish body, and if we are ever to regain our form, you are going to have to accept that I am a woman now, and be familiar with me”, she said as she moved his hands up to her extra-hardened nipples, “all of me. And I must know you, all of you…”
Shayl removed Gunnar’s towel with little protestation from him. She gingerly took him in her hand and stroked him to hardness. It didn’t take long. This was by far the most erotic event that had ever happened to Gunny, and he was in no mood or position to stop her. He was used to being in charge, but this was obviously Shayl’s show. She took more charge of the situation when 3 inches of his cock disappeared into her mouth, between her large, glossy lips. “MMMmm, I think you need a better view if you are to really know me.” With that she swung her ass around so that it was facing Gunnar’s face. Never had he seen such a perfect round and full ass, certainly not on such a small girl. He nervously grabbed her cheeks and spread them apart, finally seeing with his own eyes what he had only had only sensed before. Gunnar pulled her thong aside and slowly ran his large fingers up and down her deep pink slit. Shayl took more and more of Gunnar’s large-ish cock into her mouth, slurping loudly and messily leaving trails of saliva all over him. When she felt him begin to slip his fingers inside her, all rational thought became impossible for her. She suddenly knew what it felt like to be Gunny out on the ice. She sucked harder and tugged on his shaft to get him as hard as possible. She had started this, and she wanted to make sure that she got her money’s worth.
On the other end, Gunnar’s mind had settled on one track. He was receiving the blowjob of his life, and it was only fair that he return the favor. He soaked his hands with her, pausing occasionally to lick her juices from his hands. He couldn’t believe how much juice she produced, especially since he had barely begun to please her. “I’ve got a lot more planned for you woman”, he said to himself as he slipped a couple of fingers into her eagerly awaiting hole. He gently massaged her clit with his thumb as he slowly finger-fucked her. Once he got a good rhythm going Shayl’s juices flowed at an even more rapid pace. His chest became wet with her outpourings of affection, and he could not stand to waste another drop. He suddenly wrapped his hands around her hips and stood up, burying his face in her beautifully delicious folds. It was a position he had her in many times before, just not, you know, naked.
Shayl gasped as Gunnar swept her up in his powerful arms. Now that he had her naked, he really was getting a better feel for her body, and he definitely had a great feel for how to treat her kitten. He licked her from top to bottom, not leaving a centimeter dry in between. Gunnar swirled his tongue around her clit in clockwise circular motions, then went the other way round for a few minutes. When he began to feel her torso vibrate, he went into figure 8’s around most sensitive spots, which drove her over the edge. Shayl started screaming her upside-down orgasm into the air, in Patois, which is exactly as arousing as it sounds. Gunnar sucked and swallowed every bit of sweet reward that he had teased out of his instrument, and turned her over so that they were face to face. For the first time they kissed; a mad, passionate kiss whose length couldn’t be measured by any clock nor whose intensity by any words. It was a kiss that solved puzzles, answered riddles, opened doors and unlocked paradigms heretofore unknown to teenagers. In other words, it was a pretty fucking hot lip lock. Eventually the two came up for air, locked in each other’s embrace. Shayl stared into Gunnar’s eyes, begging for something and everything he had. He understood implicitly, and took a black-cherry-dark nipple into his mouth, swirling it around like a fine wine. Being the athletes that they were, they could maintain their position without using their hands. Shayl’s powerful legs locked her in place as Gunnar mauled her chest, and she played with the head of his cock some more, enjoying the way his heat felt slipping up and down her kitty.
“Are you getting it now Gunny? Are you learning me? Learning how to play your new instrument?”
Gunnar reluctantly removed a tit from his mouth to answer her, “Yes, yes I think I’m, getting it, but I won’t know for sure until I know you from the inside.”
“Well what are you waiting for mon petite ami? Come into me, do it, Do it NOW!” “Gunnar needed no more prodding as he became one with her, all 9 inches at once. Shayl was not sure if she had bit off more than she could chew as she suddenly felt very, very full. He roughly slammed her against one of the lockers, manhandling her nipples and kissing softly at her neck. The immediate onrush of sharply contrasting sensations made her head swoon. After what seemed like years Gunnar withdrew, and Shayl felt like a balloon that had sprung a leak. Soon enough though, he rammed her again, and their first fuck session began. Gunnar knew that Shaylbeigh was vocal from their accidents in practices, but the noises she was making now could wake the dead. Another thing that he knew was that she was a tough girl who could take a good deal of abuse. He bear hugged her and started to bounce her off of his raging erection nearly faster than the eye could follow. With the regular pace of a metronome he fucked her senseless, not even feeling the deep furrows that Shayl carved into his back. Gunnar could last a long time with a woman; even at his young age he was unusually experienced, but with Shayl all of that experience was useless. He was less concerned about preserving his cool, calm, in control persona and more concerned with hitting her g-spot over and over and over again. He backed off of the lockers and held her aloft, her weight no more than that of a fine Stradivarius in the hands of a master violinist.
And he began to play; he played his instrument like she desired, producing beautiful music from the deepest parts of her soul. Shaylbeigh reared back and took one last look at her momentary master before plunging headlong into the most ferocious orgasm that she ever experienced. When she felt like her orgasm had subsided enough for her to be able to recognize what parts of her where hers and which where his, she mumbled “Mmm, uhh, fuck me, fuck me… slower, slower…”
Gunnar certainly didn’t want this experience to end too soon so he slowed his pace to that of a waltz. It was as if they went from screwing to a House beat to making love to an R&B song. Shayl constricted herself around his body; her mounds undulating across his chest, winding her hips around his, and massaging his cock inside of her, all in perfect unison. Gunnar would have marveled at her athletic ability and body control if he could think straight. All he could thing was how strongly he wanted to cum. He had to physically peel her off of him (taking some of his back with her as she went) and lay her on the bench where he was. He slowly stroked her, going 8 inches at a time with each repetition. His sweat dripped onto Shayla, and she opened her mouth to catch what she could; she wanted him, all of him, inside of her. Even on the bottom she was active, moving her hips up to meet him, making sure that he never missed his mark. He pushed her legs behind her head (a simple thing for her) and started to drill her again with reckless abandon. His hair fell around her face, giving them a small private gazebo to share more passionate kisses in. Gunnar felt himself about to explode, not just from his balls, but from everything from everywhere, from his entire body. He looked at Shaylbeigh with something approaching ecstatic panic in his eyes. She nodded at him peacefully and licked her lips. Gunnar understood, and in one deft motion had his purple-cock at her mouth. With the most gentle of caresses from her hand, Shayl unleashed a flash flood of hot cum down her throat that she would relish for days. Gunnar seemingly let his entire life flood into Shayl, as he fell backwards on the bench between her legs. Shayl calmly rolled his seed around her tongue and eventually swallowed all of it.
When Gunnar later thought of this night (and he did think of it) he would remember never seeing a drop of his own cum leave his dick; Shayl never let one bit hit the open air. He vaguely remembered her letting a little drip onto her Gold medal, then pour it back into her mouth, but that was it. They both lay backwards, their legs intertwined with each other, thinking about what had just happened. Neither said a word, savoring the afterglow of their hot bodies contrasting the cold ice a few feet away from them.
*Clap, clap, clap*
Shaylbeigh and Gunnar jumped up at the sudden noise; they were certain that they were alone. “Well, well, that was by far the best performance you two have put on in the last two months.”
It was indeed their coach (and Gunnar’s father) Lee Smith. “Dad, how much did you see?” Gunnar was mortified; this went against one of his father’s biggest rules, “always keep business and pleasure separate” “It’s.. um… not what it looks like?”
“Gunnar”, Mr. Smith said, “Stop. It’s ok. You two are just doing what you needed to do to improve your performances. You were doing what every good team does, making adjustments. The only problem”, Mr. Smith said, “is that you didn’t include your coach in this exercise.” He strode from the door past his son, around to Shaylbeigh until her head was directly underneath the noticeable bulge in his pants. “If we are going to practice, we practice as a team. “