Tarad Club

The door was slightly open and I let myself into the office looking for my boss. I expected to see him sitting behind the desk waiting for my daily investment management report. The chair was noticeably empty. Instead, looking past the desk, I saw Lizette standing at the window, intently gazing between the slanted blinds, oblivious to my virtually silent entry. I walked to her side and whispered, “What is so fascinating?”
“Oh my, you startled me…. I, um, was just looking outside,” she replied caught off guard.
“Into an empty alley?” I asked wondering what could be so interesting. It was not the first time I had found her at this window and at this hour of the day. Sometime she was alone but most often Mr. Jones sat in his chair as she stood behind him at the window sneaking looks outside while he droned on and on. I had always wondered what she was doing, what she found so interesting.
She had been with the company for only a few months and was the bosses’ executive assistant. My impression was that she was prim, proper and stern. Always conservatively attired and very business like, I marveled at Lizette’s buxom body and incredible legs. Most people knew nothing about her other than she was Mr. Jones’ cold gatekeeper, who with a glance could run chills down your spine. “Cold Bitch” was actually the term uttered to describe her.
“Look,” she said, pointing out the window.
“Where?” I asked seeing nothing but the junction of two perpendicular fifteen foot wide alleys.
“Across and to the left, one floor down, window on the end,” she directed. I was shocked not only by what I saw but by what Lizette was sharing.
“Oh…. I see,” I said craning my neck to get the angle, “very nice,” I commented realizing the subject of her gazing.
“Uh-huh,” she murmured, “They meet every day at the same time. I noticed it soon after I started here. I do not think anyone else knows but me, and now you…. Sometimes, a man joins them. I suspect their affair is illicit, but maybe that is for my own fantasy for self- fulfillment. Everyone loves mystery and intrigue….,” she explained. I was shocked by the nature of the conversation we were having- we barely knew each other- “I even named them,” she proudly continued, “Mary is the conservative one who is standing up and leaning over. Alice is sitting on the desk top. Mary is the aggressive passionate one. Alice is cold and in control. She looks slightly older, by a few years.”From our view, as best I could determine, the two were very attractive professionally dressed business women in their late 30’s or early 40’s.
“I think they think they are immune from discovery,” Lizette volunteered, “This window is the only one in our building from which I have been able to get a view. Below us all the windows are bricked off. We are the top floor and all windows to our left are also bricked. To our right there is no angle within our building for a view.”
“Are you sure they want privacy. Maybe they like the slight risk of being seen…,” I suggested in a hushed tone.
“You think?” Lizette asked coyly.
“Maybe. Sounds like you watch them on a regular basis. These blinds are not drawn shut and the degree at which they are kept would make it easy for Mary and Alice to know you are here. Has either ever glanced up and acknowledged your presence? Maybe said something to the other after a glance? You may be part of a fantasy they are playing out,” I sublimely suggested.
I watched as Mary and Alice passionately embraced. Mary stood attentive, her blouse open and her breasts exposed. Her legs were locked at the knees and her ass slight pushed outward as she leaned forward perched on high heels. Her dress was lifted in the front as Alice ran the palm of her hand across Mary’s bush. Alice gently cupped her left breast and offered it to Mary’s mouth. As it was offered Mary opened her mouth and ascended from below, her lips raised above her teeth like a sneering shark coming from below to strike its prey, her tongue emerged, the tip flickered back and forth, slapping at the tip of Alice’s erect nipple. Mary peered up into her lover’s eyes to read her expressions. Alice, her eyes half closed in rapture, seemed to sigh and encourage for more.
Lizette looked me right in the eyes, put her pointer finger across my lips and said “Not a word. Don’t spoil this for me. Our secret, alright?”
I nodded affirmatively and we watched the two a bit more. Lizette was called out of the room. She left me alone peering out the window. I stood transfixed watching for a while longer….
That night I lay in bed thinking of what had occurred. I could not get the thoughts of Lizette’s voyeurism out of my mind, wondering why she shared the secret with me? I drifted off to sleep thinking of Lizette and how I would have enjoyed bending her over and taking her while she watched Mary and Alice…
Later that night I was roused from my slumber. The room was cold but I chalked it up to the open window and the crisp autumn air. I went to bed alone but sensed the presence of another as I awoke in a confused haze. I thought my girlfriend had let herself in and crawled into bed with me. I opened my eyes. A full moon peering through the slats of the blinds slightly illuminated the room. I turned over and found Lizette sitting on the edge of the bed, still dressed in work clothes. I shook my head trying to discern if I was still dreaming.
“What is going on? Why? How are you here?” I asked in confusion.
She smirked and dangled a key, “Let myself in…”
“But how… why?” I asked.
“Because I could and because I need you,” she replied, “Listen to me, I have something to tell you… I’ve known your thoughts and desires for me ever since we met. There is more to me than you ever imagined. First, you shall NEVER discuss this night or the adventure I am taking you on with anyone. I will deny everything and suffer you for it if you do… I have chosen you to help me. You must unconditionally follow my directions. To do otherwise will be disastrous. Understand?”
“Help you and with what?”
“You must trust me. I can’t tell you everything right now… it will all come out later,” she began, “You think I am some sexy woman who works in your office who you want to give a good hard screw…. There is more to me. I am a complex, manipulative, cunning, devious, self dealing, under handed, evil woman who gets her way by extortion and seduction,” she said as she began removing her jacket and blouse, stepping out of her skirt and removing her bra. She stood dressed only in stockings, garters and high heels- just what I always imagined she would wear for me, just how I wanted her. I craved to touch her, run my hands along her legs, feel their firmness and survey their length, kiss her from ankle to thigh, around the tops of the stocking, touch her sex, cup it with the palm of my hand, insert my fingers, repeatedly push in while tasting her furrow, bury my mouth on her, wet her lips, make them burn with desire, and taste her juices as they flowed over my chin as I ravenously devoured her pussy.
“I am not here to fulfill your fantasy. I have a different mission…. I am cast to the nether world between life and death, what you call the ‘undead’, a life in which I am unable to feel love and compassion. There is only one way out and you are my passage. If you fail me, then you enter my world. That is how I got to where I am. I failed the one who conscripted me. There is no other way out for me but through you.”
I thought she was joking, some kind of weird role play. “But why me?” I asked.
“Because I know you lust for me,” she started, “… Darling, I know all your thoughts and feelings…. I know how you dream of having me lay on my stomach, how you lust to put your hands on my hips, raise them slightly and then selfishly pillage me. There have been others before you who I called upon to release me from my misery. They all failed. Now it is your turn… Your girl friend is my leverage. I trust you will do right by her. How you help me is by succeeding at a few tests. I can only reveal one test at a time. Soon I will return and tell you the first one. I know this all seems surreal, unbelievable and you need some hard facts to be convinced. Let me tell you something, right now your girlfriend is being taken by a very large muscular demonic man. He is my agent, my slave. Repeatedly, he enters her, but not against her will. No, she is on her back and he stands over her. With one hand he holds her wrists above her head. Her legs flail in the air. She is gasping, not in protest, but pleasure as he takes her with his substantial cock. She is coming time and again and it seems as if it is never going to stop. Each time she climaxes, she wraps her legs around him and repeatedly thrust her hips up to meet his as they crashed together in ecstasy. Then he stands her up, leans her over, his large hands fixed on her hips as he thrusts…. he leans over and bites her where the neck and shoulder meet. Blood seeps from the bite…. the pain causes her to wince hard and she presses her ass back against him. He gives a final forceful thrust and comes inside her. She cannot tell if it is happening in her dreams or for real. You will confirm what I am telling you tomorrow because she will be perpetually wanton until I am satisfied. Set me free and I set her free.”
“Set you free from what?” I asked with skepticism.
She dismissed my question, “With the bite she is now under my control, only she does not know it. When she wakes, there will be no marks. She will not remember anything. All she will feel is pleasured joy and an urge for more, as if she had the best sex ever and is searching for more but can never find complete satisfaction, and, she will not be able to explain why she is constantly aroused….”
I waited for her next words. Instead she took my cock in her hand and began to massage it, “Tonight I will show you why I am worthy of your help. Be assured, there are rewards for you,” she said confidently as she looked down at my now stiff cock, “All creatures need some form of nourishment. Mine just happens to derive from men… funny how that is… it is as if I am wed to them… they usually do not complain when I get to this part- I am the best they ever experience. After me, there is no comparison. I am highly addictive. It only takes once and then they go mad as they crave for more of me, or someone just as good. After tonight I could release you to wander the world, forever searching for me, never to find me. Almost instantly you would go mad because you could not have more of me, an incurable addition I would be… you would probably wind up in an asylum babbling about me, how and from where I came to you, the story of your girl being taken by my demon, how you cannot go on without me, how I am from another world. Nobody would believe your story. Doctors would just diagnose you as another schizophrenic, drug and sedate you. You would live out the rest of your years institutionalized in a chemical hazed reality, mourning your loss until you die. Nice vision?”
I was speechless. “Have I scared you too much? Our path will not be bad if you satisfy my needs. I am not all that evil…” she seductively proclaimed, “I just want to get back to humanity and the ability to love… Do I ask for too much? Now darling, it is time to feed… I need my nourishment, which means I need you.”
“No, no, stop…” I protested thinking she was a crazy stalker.
“But it does not work that way. You need to learn to accept your fate,” she said. Her hands were warm and silky like oil. I was paralyzed by a sick mixture of fear and pleasure.
“It’s even better inside me,” she coaxed, “Want me? I want you… Lets try a little of this,” she suggested bringing her mouth to my head and sucking it. I felt her tongue morph from a human form to long flat and serpentine. It wrapped itself around my length from below my head to the base of my shaft. Then it constricted tight. My head was against the back of her throat. Her tongue slithered back and forth in a spiral direction as she suckled me. Slowly she brought me to the edge and back time and again, constricting tight to prevent my release. Resistance was futile. As pleasure overcome my senses, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Her throat clamped around my head and would not let go. My hips began to gyrate and rise upward. I heard her voice echo inside my head, “that is it my love, enjoy what I have to give, I will please you over and over, just give me what I want…” I felt my balls harden and well from deep within. My hands grabbed the sides of her head and forced her down on me. Her tongue slowly slithered back up the shaft until it was only wrapped around the top, constricting just below my head. My shaft throbbed as she let me fuck her throat. Unexpectedly, her tongue let go of my cock and I exploded, streaming seed into her throat and belly. She used my cock as a straw, sucking the cream out, drawing it ounce by ounce until my balls ached. Then, I blacked out from the intense pleasure.
Subconsciously, I felt the emission. Then, remembering what was happening, I bolted up in bed, my heart pounding with panic. I looked around the room. Everything was as it was when I went to sleep. No Lizette, no fogged vision, nothing, except a pair of panties- Lizette’s or my girlfriend’s? I did not know. I was dazed. I lay back and tried to sleep but could not, the event swirling in my head as I debated if it was a deep erotic dream or reality, second guessing myself and fretting about my girlfriend Heather. Should I call her and see if she was ok? At 4:00 am? No, she would think I was crazy and this could not really have happened I thought….
I never went back to sleep. My balls felt fine, and in fact, I was getting horny as I convinced myself it was all a dream and a fine one at that. Finally, at about 7:00 a.m. I called Heather, “Hi, are you ok?” I asked, trying to mask the remaining slight panic and doubt.
“Yes, why?” she asked.
“I just had a bad gut feeling and needed to call,” I explained not wanting to tell her the whole story.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Well, now that you are up, why not come over for a quickie before going to work? I just really need you right now, I mean really badly. I have a big meeting today and only a few minutes but I am so horny. I’d hate to waste it alone. How about it?” she asked in a sultry come hither voice.
“I’ll be over shortly,” I eagerly said half heartedly wondering if she had a bite mark as Lizette described.
I got to Heather’s place and let myself in. She came down the stairs to greet me and halted my entrance at the doorway.
“I’m so glad you made it… I thought you would never arrive… I was about to take care of myself… and if you did not make it before I had to leave, I was going to hunt you down later today, maybe even at your office for a surprise visit…. I only have ten minutes… I just did my hair and make up, don’t crease the clothes….” she said as she turned and placed her hands against the wall.
Never before had she been this eager and forward. She preferred deliberate and loving. Now I was beginning to lose confidence that it had been a dream. I unzipped her skirt, helped her out of it and carefully hung it over a nearby chair. She stood waiting in her sexy red high heels and tan stockings- my girl dresses well, especially for me. I must give her credit for that. I moved close and inspected her neck and shoulders for any signs of the bite. I could not feel any indication that she had been bitten but the general area was a light shade of pink.
“Hurt yourself here?” I asked as I touched the spot.
“No, why?” Heather asked.
“Just a bit pink colored.”
“Maybe the hot water from the shower…” she replied. I caressed her warm soft skin, and became erect with anticipation of plunging into her hairy bush, the moment being so spontaneous and she presenting herself so well. I entered. She was very wet, very hot. She confessed to me that she was ravenous for me, that she had toyed herself in preparation of my arrival. She said she could not control herself. A normally reserved and conservative woman, she started talking dirty, telling me to do things to her which I never imagined she could utter. I pillaged her hard and fast, repeatedly slamming myself against her, shuddering her body. She cried out in loud quips and gasps. Then she demanded, “C’mon, that’s it, fuck me hard, give me that demon seed.” It did not take long for us to violently climax together. It was the best spontaneous sex we had ever had.
“Demon seed?” I asked as we dressed.
“Just something that popped into my head last night when thinking of you,” she said with a smirk, “you are my little devil, right?”
“Right baby,” I replied, “so right…. How about tonight?”
“I’ll call you if I can. Kind of doubt it. I’m real busy at work.”
I went to the office and began my day as usual. Later that morning I walked by Lizette’s office and peered in. She sat at her desk, head down deep in concentration. I stood in the doorway waiting for her to acknowledge my presence not wanting to interrupt her thoughts.
“I’m really busy right now,” she said without looking up to see who was waiting for her.
“Well I just want to ask you one thing,” I replied.
“I do not want to talk, I’m really busy” she coldly replied.
“But,” I started and she brought her finger to her lips signifying silence.
“How is your girlfriend this morning?” she asked as with a smirk on her face as I turned to walk away. It was an odd question for her to ask. She never had before. I looked at her quizzically. “Go look in the mirror. Maybe I’ll see you later,” was all she said dismissively.
At that I left not wanting to stir her ire. ‘I do not want to discuss it’ was a pretty ambiguous statement, especially when she did not know what I was going to ask. ‘How is your girlfriend’? ‘This morning’? The statements would gnaw at me all day. If last night was real, I was in over my mortal head. If it was just a dream, then in combination with yesterdays voyerism, these events were going to play tricks on me.
I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Sure enough, lipstick on the cheek. Maybe I was reading too much into this morning….
I did not see Lizette all day. By 4:30 p.m. I was in the office library doing some research.
“Olives and Onions’?” a calm sultry femanine voice asked. Lizette wanted to know if I was going to the martini bar and grill in our office building.
“No can do, I’m on a deadline,” I despondently replied.
“Ok, maybe later,” she said as she took off. I should have gone I thought as I put my head down intending to rest for a minute. The long night and early morning were catching up with me. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
“Hey, wake up,” the voice said as a hand shook my shoulder, “how long do you intend to stay here? It’s nine o’clock.” Lizette said rousting me from my slumber.
“Huh?” I sheepishly replied as I glanced up.
“Don’t you have a deadline? Maybe you should call it a day and go home,” she suggested.
“Oh, uh thanks. I dozed off for a while.”
“Late night last night, ‘Lover’?” Lizette said teasingly.
“Kind of, I guess,” I replied. I could tell she was excited about something, too excited for my grog.
“Guess who I met at the bar?”
“No idea,” I said.
“The two across the alley. They came in and sat next to me. I do not know if they recognized me. Next thing I know we are having this really good conversation, laughing it up. I’m off to diner with them. See you,” she said as she walked out. Fifteen minutes later I took her advice and went home.
My slumber came easy. It was a deep hard sleep with no dreams. Exhaustion and stress do that to a person. Then I heard her voice calling to me from afar, telling me to wake up. Suddenly, all was vivid. I could not tell if it was a dream or if I had awoken. Regardless, there was Lizette sitting on my bedside.

I leaned back wearily in my chair and stretched my arms above my head, desperate to get some feeling back into my aching shoulders. My body felt as if it had run a Marathon, but my efforts on the screen did not match my fatigue. I found the mug of half-warm coffee on the desk and sipped at it, grimacing as the strong flavour hit my tastebuds. Snow worked trails down the frosty windowpane and I watched, making bets in my mind as to which one would hit the sill first. I was bored, and the day was still young.
I turned my attentions back to the glowing screen of the laptop, and read through the few lines that I had typed. I read through them again, cursed loudly, and deleted them with a quick stab of my finger. It had been pure shit, and I knew that as soon as I had typed it. But for the last couple of days shit was all I had been able to write. My muse, that mystical force that is supposed to embody all writers, had disappeared faster than a bottle of Vodka at a party. The screen of the computer looked up at me hopefully, humming softly as it willed me to get something onto it. I closed the screen shut with a snap that echoed around the apartment, cursed again, and looked out of the window once more.
The traffic moved slowly along my street, and from my vantage point on the third floor I could tell that there had been yet another accident in the distance. A truck had collided with something that I couldn’t see, and had spilled it’s load across the highway. In Typical Parisian fashion, the other drivers on the street hadn’t bothered to utilise their intelligence or patience and find another route, on the contrary, most of them were sitting rigidly in their vehicles tooting their horns in a rhythm that almost became musical the longer you listened to it. Pedestrians trooped along in the slushy snow and blocked the sounds from their ears as easily as they blocked the chilled winter air from their bodies. Directly beneath me I could still make out the shouts of the bakery owner as he stood in the doorway of the shop and announced his wares to whoever would listen, and across the road two boys dressed in scruffy grey and blue school uniforms kicked a ball back and forth between the parked cars. Friday morning, not quite Eleven, and already my little district of Paris was in chaos.
I’d come here three months ago not quite sure what I was going to find. What I got was a city that lived on adrenaline and caffine and drugs and never stopped moving. Paris was a twenty-four hour party teetering on a constant brink of disaster; a time-bomb of barely restrained emotion just waiting to explode, and I was stuck right in the middle of it. Life was very different to the small town I had left behind in England, the kind of place where the accident that I was now looking at would make front-page news. Here, it was forgotten instantly, erased from the memory as quickly as one had the time to blink. I’d swopped quiet suburbia for inner city turmoil and I now had a constant stream of restaurants, bars, shops, outrageous clubs and general insanity a stones throw away from me at all times. Christ, a fifty-eight year old hooker lived two floors below me and I was only a few blocks walk from the original Moulin Rouge. All in all, you could say that I liked it.
The sound of creaking water pipes made me jump, and a moment later the radiator I was leaning on rattled heavily, the paint-peeled metal vibrating against my legs as hot water rushed into it. I sighed and let my gaze travel around the apartment for yet another time that morning. The place was a dump, but for this district of the city the rent was fairly cheap, and the building I was in most definitely had a certain kind of rustic charm and architectural decadence that I had been looking for when I moved here. There were three rooms. The first was a living area that had a microscopic kitchen pushed into one corner. It was in here that I had spent most of the spare cash that I had bought with me, getting an antique desk to work at, a decent couch and TV and some not quite threadbare rugs on the floor. In the bedroom I had nothing more than a huge cast iron bed and an oak chest that I stored my clothes in, with a metal rail to hang my shirts and suits from. The bathroom led off the bedroom and was tiled floor to ceiling with a heroic sized tub planted in the centre, and a toilet that was stuck in a corner almost as an afterthought. What attracted me to the whole apartment was the high ceilings and open space, Victorian plasterwork and huge windows that flooded the late afternoon sunlight across the floor like waves breaking on the shore. If I couldn’t find the inspiration to finish my novel here, then I never would.
However, finishing it had become a problem during the last few days. My mind had lost it’s thoughts and everytime I’d looked at the laptop I’d seen nothing but a huge literary wall infront of me, and I had no way how to get over it. I’d taken long walks around the streets, watched the places and people around me, but still nothing had come. I’d read magazines, taken long baths, watched the mind-numbing game shows that were a staple part of midday French television, even rented videos and sat through a bemusing afternoon of Pulp Fiction and Star Wars dubbed into French, but no blinding flash of inspiration came to me. And believe me, if the menacing tones of Darth Vader dubbed into a rustic Gallic dialect fails to inspire, then you know you’re in trouble.
My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d had no breakfast, and I crossed to the kitchen and checked the fridge, but all I could find was a quarter of milk and a few tomatoes that looked as if they had seen better days. I didn’t need much of a reason to leave my work and get outside into the cool air of the morning, and making a run for provisions was as good an excuse as any.
I slammed the front door behind me and pulled on my leather jacket as I headed for the elevator. As I walked down my hallway I could hear my neighbours arguing behind the walls; the woman who lived there seemed to have two forms of expression, silence and rage. She was tall and almost painfully thin, and on the few occasions that I had seen her she was always wearing the shortest of skirts which exposed the kind of legs that could almost break in a strong wind. Her hair was always pulled back from her face in a severe knot, and she would smile at me with a spiteful looking mouth that was quite obviously at it’s happiest shouting abuse at the small man who lived with her. I had only seen him once, and he had peeked at me from underneath a cap before lowering eyes and rushing past me.
I swore loudly at the elevator, which was out-of-order once again, using one of the only French words that I was fluent in. The stairs were cold and hard, and as I hurried down them I could feel the cold air and street noise coming in through the open front door. As I stepped outside the bustle that I had heard three floors above was amplified tenfold, and a great wall of sound accosted me. The traffic jam was still in full swing, with Citroens and Renaults shuffling along nose to tail. A local paper boy was the only person seemingly benefiting from the chaos; he was going from driver to driver selling copies of L’Equipe, the best-selling sports paper. As he passed me I pressed fifty francs into his hand for a copy and tucked it inside my jacket.
Dodging through the vehicles, I crossed to the other side of the street and headed for the nearest brasserie, and as soon as I opened the door I was overcome with the smell of good pastries and fresh bread. There was the usual collection of intellectuals cluttering up the tables, smoking and drinking the blackest of coffee while they absorbed the works of Jean-Paul Satre and tried to look as if they knew what they were doing. When I first arrived in Paris I spent a good few days watching this kind of crowd with a certain bemusement, until it occurred to me that they were only doing exactly the same as myself. The pastime of watching people is almost an art form in Paris, and it’s very easy to get sucked up into it. I avoided that these days by staying out of the cafes and doing my observing from my third floor window. Sure, it was still a waste of time, but I didn’t feel so guilty if other people couldn’t see me.
I ordered coffee and a couple of buttered baguettes to go, and threaded my way back out onto the street. The air was heavy with the smell of exhaust fumes and shouting, and I quickly made my way along the sidewalk until I reached the south-east entrance of The Garden of Light, which is a small but beautiful park bordering that bank of the River Seine. It’s hard to get away from the extreme noise of the city, but luckily Paris does have a few parks dotted throughout the urban sprawl which provide some relief. At the weekend these areas are stuffed full to the point of bursting, as seemingly every Parisian swops his cramped house for an even more cramped space on the well-manicured lawns. You can’t even pick up a football without hitting someone, let alone kicking it anywhere.
Luckily, on this bleak Friday morning in January, with light flurries of snow in the air, the park was relatively quiet. There were a few people on bicycles, and I passed an old man walking a collection of four of the biggest Dobermans I had ever seen in my life. He was dressed in the stereotypical Frenchman style; Black beret and blue and white hooped shirt. I’d always thought that image was a myth, but I often saw men dressed that way, and everytime I did it always brought a smile to my face. The French loved tradition, something I was quickly learning.
I walked quickly along the bricked pathways, through the gardens that would be sprouting life and colour as soon as spring arrived, and headed for the banks of the river. This area of the park offered great views over the flowing waters of the Seine, with some awe-inspiring architecture along the opposite bank, including the spectacular Notre Dame Cathedral. It was a place I often came to when I was trying to put some ideas together, and I hoped the combination of the scenery and coffee of almost mind-altering strength would do the trick for me this time.
When I leant against the iron railings that separated the path from the river I felt the cold metal instantly on my arms, even through my heavy coat. I tore into rough chunks of the baguette and swilled the delicious dough down with equally delicious coffee. One of the best things about living in Paris was that food was treated with the highest of respect, even the most simple of items such as the bread I was now eating. In France, food is almost a religion and the top chefs are treated as Gods, with connoisseurs from all over the world coming to worship at their restaurants. It might be a crowded and insane city, but some things more than made up for it.
As I gazed out across the Seine I became aware of someone pressed up against the rails about ten feet to my left. I turned my head and saw a woman dressed in a long black coat looking down into the water. Her hands, clad in expensive looking gloves, were on gripping onto the railings and her mane of long black hair fell forward around her face. From my vantage point it looked as though her shoulders were shaking, and I wondered if she might be crying.
Almost as if she had read my mind she looked up and at me, and as her hair whipped away from her face in the breeze I saw two things. Firstly, my assumption was correct, there were indeed tears in her eyes. Secondly, those eyes were set in the middle of one of the most beautiful faces I had ever seen. Her skin was pale and as smooth as soap, with full cheekbones that were flushed with winter colour. She had a delicate nose and a mouth that was very slightly open, and even from my distance I could spot ice-white teeth. Lips the colour of rose petals dipped in blood. It had been a long time since anyone had taken my breath away.
I realised that I was staring at her when her expression changed and she frowned at me.
‘Pardon, Madame.’, I said. I continued to mumbled in the native language but my incompetence stopped me.
Her expression remained unchanged. ‘You don’t speak French,’ she replied.
‘Not as well as you speak English,’ I said.
‘You were looking at me?’
I nodded. ‘I thought you were upset. I didn’t mean to stare.’ I fixed her with my best smile.
Her face softened, and she removed one of her gloves and started to wipe at her eyes with small fingers. I fished around in my pocket and found my handkerchief, which thankfully was clean, and crossed over to her. She took it with a small smile and dabbed a corner of the cloth delicately around her eyes. Now I was closer I could smell the merest hint of perfume, subtle and expensive, and I noticed where small flecks of snow had gathered in her hair.
‘Thank you.’ She handed the handkerchief back to me, there was a slight smudge of mascara against the white cotton. I folded it carefully and stuffed it back into my pocket.
Are you all right?’ I said.
She nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’ She pulled her glove back on, and sniffed, shook her head more firmly. ‘Definitely. I’ve just had a very difficult morning, that is all.’
‘Would you like to talk about it?’ I said, leaning back against the railings.
‘My dog was put to sleep this morning. His lungs were failing, and I had to have it done for his own good. He was in a lot of pain I think.’ Her eyes left mine and searched out the river.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘Was he very old?’
‘He was fourteen years. I think that is a good age for a dog, yes?’
‘Absolutely. In human years that’s almost a hundred years old.’
‘He has been with me for a very long time, over half of my life. I seem very empty without him.’
Her voice was deep yet delicate, a sound that was so typically Parisian and so very, very sexy. Just talking to her made me feel as if I was trapped in an old Truffaut movie, and I almost expected the colour of the park to fade and be replaced with black and white
‘I came out here to think,’ she said.
I smiled. ‘That’s a coincidence, so did I.’
‘You think better with coffee?’ She replied, nodding her head down to where my hand was cradling the half-full beaker.
‘I used to. Once upon a time caffeine used to get my brain working. Now nothing seems to do the trick.’ The wind had picked up and I raised the collar of my jacket, pulled it in close to me. I shivered, and watched as tiny waves crested with peaks of white in the river. The snow had also begun to fall more steadily.
‘Well, thank you for the handkerchief,’ she said, holding out a gloved hand. I shook it gently. ‘It was nice meeting you, but I really want to get in out of this weather.’
‘So do I,’ I replied, and gave her my best smile once again. ‘Look, if you’ve nothing better to do, maybe I could buy you some breakfast?’
She laughed softly. ‘Breakfast? Do you know it’s almost Eleven Thirty?’
‘Okay, how about an early lunch then? I know a good place.’
She paused for a moment and looked up at the white sky, cirrus clouds thundering into the horizon. The wind gave a mournful howl around us.
‘You’ve got a deal,’ she said, and linked her arm through mine.
We made our way quickly from the Garden of Light, and by the time we got back to the main road the snow was falling heavily. Even though the weather was poor the sidewalks were still crowded, and we threaded our way through the crowds until we reached a small bar that I frequented called Marion. Inside was warm and welcoming, the walls of the bar painted deep colours and with booths towards the back. The place was maybe a quarter full, with most of the patrons sitting or leaning against the stainless steel bar that ran the length of one wall. There was a smell of good food cooking in the kitchen, and Neil Young was playing on the stereo.
We moved to one of the booths and sat facing each other on the leather seats. I unzipped my jacket and she unbuttoned and removed her coat. Underneath she was wearing a cream sweater and a chain around her throat that was to simple looking to be anything but real gold. Just as I was about to speak a waitress came to the table. She was very young looking and seemed nervous when she asked if we would like anything to drink.
Although my French is unspeakably poor I knew enough to get by in a bar, and I ordered a beer for myself my companion ordered the same. I noticed as the waitress took our order she kept glancing at her, and after we told her what we wanted she didn’t leave. I spoke in English;
‘Is something wrong, Mademoiselle?’
The waitress lowered her eyes. ‘No Monsieur, I was just hoping that I could ask Miss Ledoyen for her autograph?’ She turned to the woman with a hopeful expression.
‘Of course,’ she said, and the waitress handed her a pen, with which she signed a small signature across the back of the order pad. The waitress looked at it for a moment with a wide grin, before trotting merrily away to sort out our drinks. I watched her go, and then turned back.
‘I’m James Connelly,’ I said.
‘I’m Virginie Ledoyen,’ she answered.
I smiled. ‘Now I recognise you. I thought your face was familiar to me in the park but I just couldn’t place you.’
‘Hardly surprising with my face streaked with tears.’
The waitress came back with our drinks then, still smiling as she placed two glasses next to the two bottles of Stella Artois.
‘I’ve just seen your new film, Miss Ledoyen. You were brilliant in it.’
Virginie smiled. ‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’
‘Is this your boyfriend,’ said the waitress, looking at me with large eyes. I felt the colour rising in my cheeks.
‘No, he is my friend. May we order please?,’ she said quickly, I suspect to save me any further embarrassment.
Virginie chose a grilled chicken salad, and I settled on the monkfish. I had eaten at Marion before and I knew how good the food was. After we had ordered she leant back in her seat and had a good slug of beer straight from the bottle. She placed the Stella back on the table with a bump and let out a long sigh.
‘All right?’ I said from behind my own bottle.
She nodded. ‘Much better now I’m out of that wind. Thank you for inviting me here, it’s a nice place.’
‘Even with excitable waitresses?’
She shrugged. ‘It is part of the job, getting recognised. To be honest with you it doesn’t really happen all that much, and when it does people are usually only saying nice things to me. I can’t complain.’
‘Do you live in the city?’
‘Yes. For the past four years. Are you a tourist here?’
I took another gulp of beer, shaking my head as I did so. ‘No, I live here too. Only a few streets from this place.’
‘What’s a nice Englishman like you doing in the big City, James?’
I proceeded to relate to her how I had ended up in France. I’d been looking for a good location to set my novel, and after much deliberation had settled upon Paris. Instead of taking a couple of sightseeing trips and working from references, I’d actually wanted to write the book in the very centre of the fictional landscape that I was creating. I took the advance that the publishing company had given me and added some of my own savings, before packing a bag and jetting out. I’d spent a couple of nights in a cheap hotel before chancing upon the apartment, and that was where I’d been situated ever since. And it was, or had been, working out fine. I’d been writing around six to seven thousand words per day, keeping myself to myself and having Sundays off to relax and see the city. Every week I’d e-mail pages to my editor, and amazingly I was getting a good response. Everything was happening just as I’d planned, until the severe case of writers block had infected me and work had ground to a shuddering halt.
Virginie listened intently as I told her all this, and by the time I had finished our food had arrived. We were both quiet for a couple of minutes as we ate. My monkfish was delicious, and when I offered Virginie a taste she accepted, taking the succulent fish straight from my fork as I held it out to her.

Casey Ellison peeked through the open door as his wife of six months packed her belongings. He felt bad about her leaving, even though he was in the right. Sometimes being right wasn’t all it was stacked up to be.
The situation was impossible for him to live with. His wife was in love with another man. It was with her mind. He knew when they made love, she was loving another man in her mind.
She even admitted it, when he asked her about it. At first she tried to change the subject, to duck and dodge but in the end she admitted it.
Casey decided that he couldn’t live with another man in bed with them. She cried but was honest enough to admit that she couldn’t stop. That she loved Casey, BUT a BIG BUT, this other man held the key to her life.
Casey sighed. Guess that what happens when you marry a woman on the rebound. She was recently divorced from an abusive spouse. Casey met her at the hospital where he worked as a doctor in the emergency room. She came in by ambulance after her ex husband had broken into her apartment and attacked her. She was battered and bruised and scared to death.
He had been a doctor long enough to know that you should never get involved in a domestic situation. He learned about that first hand when he was a Paramedic, before Medical School. He had gotten cut across his cheek and shoulder while loading a women injured in a dispute with her boyfriend. As the cops were trying to arrest him, she jumped off the stretcher and attacked the cops because they were too rough with her man.
But she was so pitiful that his heart went out to her. He let her stay at his house while she recovered from her injuries and went to court with her. They gave her ex 18 months.
Things had progressed. He had fallen in love with her. Casey thought she had fallen in love with him too. Guess it was closer to like on her part. He treated her like a queen. She worked part time and kept the house. They married three months later.
Life was ideal for the first three months. Then she started accepting phone calls from her ex in jail. She became more and more distant. She also started staying out late with the girls from the office, coming home drunk, sometimes high.
When he asked her about the change, she said she needed her space. That he tended to hold on too tight. She said she was married to her ex for a long time and had a place in her heart where she stored their good times together.
Casey had then asked her was that next to the place where she stored the broken bones and bruises he had given her. She had given him the finger and stormed out of the room and slammed the bedroom door.
After that Casey started checking the finances closer. He noticed that she had stopped depositing her check in their joint account. He also noticed cash withdrawals on their credit cards.
When he asked her she became defensive and said it was her money and she could do as she pleased with it. That it was none of his business.
Casey had just shaken his head and walked away. The next day he closed the joint account and cancelled the joint credit cards. He also changed the place where he kept his emergency money.
By this time she was no longer wearing her wedding bands. Casey put them in his safety deposit box.
When she realized that he had closed the checking account and cancelled the credit cards, she blew up. Called him all kind of nasty names and tried to slap his face. Casey side stepped her. He told her very quickly that that was a bad move.
He went to his bedroom and shut the door, leaving her to rant and rave for another 20 minutes. She then slept in the guest room. Which was okay by Casey because nothing was happening in the bedroom anyway.
The next morning was Saturday. Casey waited for her to come into the kitchen for her morning coffee. She looked really rough. All the hard living was starting to show.
“Are you ready to discuss this calmly now.” He asked her
“What’s to discuss. You’ve already done it now.” She mumbled
Looking at her very carefully, he asked, “What’s the deal? I’m not stupid. I can tell where this is going. I love you but I won’t be a fool for you. You need to straighten up your act or we’re done. I will not live this way. Life is too short. If your ex and your friends are more important than I am, that’s fine with me. Go live with them.” He said
She looked at him in shock. He had never spoken to her like this before. He was always kind and understanding. Guess he isn’t such a wimp after all.
“Okay. If that’s what you want. I’ll move out today. It’ll take some time to store my share of our things.” She said matter of factly
Casey laughed. “I don’t think so. You leave with what you came with. Pre nuptial agreement. Remember. You wanted it that way, Now I’m glad. Pack your clothes and personal items. Then call a cab or have one of your friends to pick you up. The car is mine also.”
“That’s only in case of adultery. I haven’t done anything” She said , thinking, nothing that he could prove anyway.
“Really.” He walked to the counter and opened an envelope. Inside were several sheets of paper and several photos.
“This is the copy of the arrest report where you were arrested for prostitution last week. Also simple possession of drugs. These are copies of financial documents showing how you took money from our accounts and deposited them in ones controlled by your ex husband. I think that proves it. Plus your past record of prostitution and possession.” He stated in a calm voice.
She looked at him in shock. “How did you get this stuff?”
“Most of it is public record or my accounts. Plus I have lots of friends who are really talented. They look out for me.” He stated. “The photo’s were taken by a Private investigator friend of mine.”
The photos showed her in different sex acts with several different men and a few women. Others showed her snorting coke and smoking crack. She knew she was stone cold busted. She tried to bluff.
“All this stuff is fine, but I have friends, big mean friends who will kick your ass if you do me like this. As your wife, I’ll get everything then.” She smirked.
He looked at her and laughed. “Are you threatening me? You don’t know me very well at all do you?” he said shaking his head sadly. “Let me educate you.”
“Well, let me see. First of all I’m a black belt in several different forms of martial arts. Second, I’m an ex green beret medic, who was in Delta Force for several years. Third, A bunch of my ex colleges live here in town. Most of them I patched up a time or two after a firefight. We look out for each other. Cover each others backs. Half of them are cops, FBI, GBI, Marshals Service and ATF.”
“In fact, here are a couple of them now.” He said as three large men entered the kitchen.
“The big black guy is Randolph Scott Jones, FBI. The red head is Liam Devlin, ATF, and the other guy is William Wilson, the chief investigator for the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. He’s ex DEA. Hates drugs. And druggies.” He said
“Were you threatening me with having your asshole buddies work me over? I think that’s a felony isn’t it Randolph? He’s an attorney and former federal prosecutor by the way. Hated sitting in an office all day.” He supplied
Her mouth dropped open. She knew she was truly and totally screwed. Reality started to set in. How had she come to this point?
Casey went into the garage and returned with several empty boxes. He carried them into the bedroom.
“Get your shit packed and get the fuck out of my house. You’ve got fifteen minutes, that’s it. And I will check what you take out.” He ordered.
Knowing she was beaten she did as she was told. It didn’t take long.
As she packed her clothes, she thought of the turn her life had taken. She had been 17 when she married her first husband to get away from an abusive father who drank, never worked and beat her mother and her on a regular basis.
Life had gone from bad to worse. Her husband had her using and selling drugs within a month. She was selling her body a month later.
So it went on and on. Deeper and deeper. The spiral turned faster and faster.
Then Casey came into her life. Finally light at the end of the tunnel. He treated her like she was somebody. With kindness and courtesy. Later with love.
Those first months were golden. She was living her wildest dream.
Then her ex came back into her life.
Threatened her mother if she didn’t put money in his account. More and more. Finally to get the money she turned to prostitution. Then to drugs to survive the pain and humiliation. Lies and more lies. A deepening hole.
Now she hit the bottom again. She couldn’t live like this anymore.
Casey came into the bedroom. She was sitting on the floor propped against the bed away from the door. Only the top of her head was visible.
He heard a distinctive click of the safety being released on his .40 cal. Smith and Wesson.
He dove over the bed in time to knock the pistol out of he mouth before she could fire. But her finger was still on the trigger and the pistol discharged into the chest of drawers.
Three very large men tried to get through the bedroom door at the same time. It looked like something from a Three Stooges movie, except deadly serious with three large weapons drawn and ready.
Casey said, “All Clear. Nothing hurt except my chest of drawers.”
Scott looked at her, “What the hell are you doing?”
“What was she doing Doc. Trying to ambush you or what? That’s another charge. Long jail time.” Said Wilson
She looked up with tears in her eyes, a shocked expression on her face. “I’d never do anything to hurt Casey. I love him.” She cried
“But you sure were talking about having someone work him over, not ten minutes ago.” Answered Devlin.
“Hold on guys. She was fixing to off herself. I knocked the gun out of her mouth just in time. Couple of seconds later and I’d have a bad mess to clean up.” Said Casey
He looked into her eyes. “Why?”
Randi looked at him and burst into a new bout of crying.
“Come on girl, stop your blubbering and talk.” Demanded Devlin with his faint Irish brogue that came out in times of stress..
Unable to keep it inside any longer she told the whole sordid tale of blackmail, prostitution and drug use while staring a hole in the floor.
When she raised her eyes she saw four sets of eyes staring at her.
Casey was the first to speak. “Why the hell didn’t you come to me the first time he threatened you? We could have dealt with him. Now we have a bigger mess to clean up.”
Jones asked, “Are you buying this fairy tale, Casey? It’s a good one but hardly plausible”
Wilson looked deep in thought. Finally he spoke. “This fits in with something we’ve been working on for awhile. A drug ring run out of the prison system.”
Devlin added, “Yeah it sure does. We can’t get anyone on the inside. Their turning big bucks and don’t leave any loose ends. This sheds new light on how they keep the operation so tight.”
“Using the family members as the outside contacts, and keeping them in line with threats and drug use. Plus using the prostitution money as capital. All kinds of contacts on the inside to choose from. Very slick.” Said Wilson
Randi looked up in suprise. “You really believe me? I really am telling the truth, but I thought you would never believe me after all the evidence you’ve collected.”
Casey looked at the agents. “There is such an operation going on? You’re working on it?”
Devlin looked at Wilson. Wilson nodded.
“Yeah we are. It’s a joint operation between the DEA and the GBI. It’s going on in both the state system and the Atlanta pen. This is the first break we’ve had. All we need are names and addresses. We can bust this thing wide open. Put these assholes out of business. For good.” Explained Devlin.
‘What’s going to happen to Randi? She’d be on the hit list for sure if they find out she ratted them out. She’s been through enough shit as it is. What about her mother? “ demanded Casey
“We can protect them. Put her into rehab and stash her mother out of state for awhile. But we’ll try not to give her up as the informant. We’ll work on one of the others and make them look like the informant. Plus we’ll take care of her ex. Prison is a dangerous place. Accidents happen. Fatal accidents.”
Randi sat there open mouthed. She couldn’t believe these guys or Casey. Fifteen minutes ago they were throwing her out the door, now they were working on ways to help her. Amazing. But could she do it?
HELL YEAH! The opportunity to finally be shed of that SOB. She’d do whatever it took to regain some of her pride. She knew it was too late for her marriage. But at least she’d be free to start over.
“What do you need to know?” she asked. “I tell you anything I can. My mom died two months ago. So she isn’t a concern anymore.”
‘Your mother died and you never told me.” Asked Casey
“It wasn’t your problem. And I was so deep in the shit I really didn’t care. We were never close. She let my father abuse me for too long.” She answered matter of factly.
They formed a council of war to decide how to handle this operation.
The real war was about to begin.
END OF PART I

Eri Entertains part 4
Eri Exhibited
It was week before Steve met up again with Jeff. They got together for a beer at a bar they had frequented years ago when much younger. It wasn’t quite the same, you can never go back, but it was familiar enough for them both to feel quite relaxed there and to concentrate on their new relationship. Jeff opened the topic by saying that he didn’t think he’d ever understand his wife. Steve took the point further by simply responding with the question, ‘who ever really knew anyone?’. Steve liked Jeff and didn’t think any less of him following the party at his flat the previous weekend when they had had their own private party with Jeff’s Japanese wife Eri after everyone else had left.
Steve realised now that this outcome, or something like it, had been exactly what Eri had planned, it may even had been the reason she organised the whole party. That’s Eri rather than Jeff. Steve had the feeling that Eri was very capable of organising her husband into doing exactly as she wanted while have the poor guy imagine that most of it was his idea. Steve didn’t think it was for him to take a view on that if they were both happy, and Jeff certainly was with his beautiful Asian wife, then that was their affair.
After Steve had Jeff strip his pretty young wife out of her party clothes he had taken her out onto their balcony for some fresh air and for a little demonstration of just how prepared Eri was to follow extreme sexual behaviour. He hadn’t taken things much further that night, apart from a little intimate fondling. Steve wanted to take this at his pace and he wanted to keep Eri a little off-balance. He could see that she was very anxious to be in control, even though she was offering herself as the object of some interesting sexual games. She had made it seem that it was Jeff that was offering his wife to Steve, but Steve could sense who was in the driving seat.
‘How has it been between you two since the party?’ Steve asked.
‘Pretty good,’ Jeff replied, ‘but she does keep asking when she’s going to see you again.’
‘Well, what do you think Jeff, it’s your call?’
‘I hoped you’d want to take it further Steve, it’s clearly something she wants.’
‘Oh I know she wants it, how about what you want?’
‘I want her to be happy and to be honest I did get quite a kick out of the way the evening turned out,’ Jeff replied, lowering his voice.
‘Well I did too,’ rejoined Steve, ‘ but if we do it my way you might not be so happy , you see, I’m not going to play by Eri’s rules. What do you really think of your wife Jeff?’
‘That she’s beautiful, that she’s exotic, that I’ll never understand her but I do want to keep her.’
‘Don’t be offended Jeff, but the other thing to say about Eri is that she’s a slut! I don’t know her particular turn-on, yet, but I’ll find it. What I do know is that she’s wide open sexually. She met me for the first time last Saturday evening, I’m not the most engaging of men, I’m no pin-up, but I knew I could have done whatever I wanted with your wife after that party and she would have gladly let me. Why? Because I think she liked the thrill of getting it on with someone she didn’t know, because she wanted you as her husband to be part of it and to condone it. She wanted you to see this side of her. I guess it was kind of like a confession. She was being honest with you Jeff, in the best way she knew how.’
‘I guess,’ said Jeff - a little uncertainly.
‘I wonder just how far she wants to play that game,’ said Steve, thinking out loud.
‘I tell you what Jeff, this is a pretty nice bar, with a pretty good class of customers – we like it here – what d’you say we meet here next Saturday, I mean the three of us say, 9.00pm.’
Steve stood up ready to leave. ‘Oh and Jeff, tell Eri to dress ‘hot’, I don’t think she’ll have any trouble with that, and one tip - no panties!’ Before Jeff could think how to reply Steve turned and left.
Steve was at the bar early and the place was still relatively quiet but he wanted to note the reaction of those guys scattered throughout the long main bar room, and the few more intimate booths at the back to Eri and Jeff’s arrival. Just after 9 they arrived and as Steve hoped Eri had made a special effort for him. Asian women appealed to Steve in a way he really couldn’t explain and as she walked in ahead of Jeff Eri embodied those qualities of mystery and other-world beauty together with a kind of ultra-voguish glamour that veered toward the fetishistic.
She was dressed almost entirely in black, her skirt which was quite long, below the knee, was slashed at the side almost to her hip, but was buttoned high to her neck. The back was cut away in a key-hole shape which flaired as it came down to her hips exposing a great swathe of her pale skin and displaying the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Steve knew that if she had followed instructions she wasn’t wearing panties either. Eri had a bright red flower in her hair which matched her bright red lipstick, the rest of her make-up was very pale, other than around her eyes where she has applies some sparkling concoction that appeared at times silver and at others turquoise. Her shoes were fine black patent with absurdly high-heels. Only a woman of her inherent elegance could have brought it off without appearing over the top, and she did it beautifully.
Most people in the room turned, as they did when anyone entered and they were not already closely engaged with a partner for the night. Some turned back just as quickly. Eri’s special qualities didn’t appeal to all, Steve knew that. But there were several who watched the pair all the way to Steve’s table before they turned back to their business. Steve noted who they were. Those were the ones that interested him.
He stood and greeted his friends a two-hand shake for Jeff and the three cheek kisses so beloved in Europe for Eri. Steve also took time to place his hands on Eri’s slender waist as he kissed her. It was a slightly suggestive gesture, a little unusual for those who noticed it, and that was Steve’s intention. He wanted to set a few imaginative minds racing. Jeff went off to the bar and Eri sat next to Steve. Steve immediately leaned over to Eri and kissed her firmly on the mouth. Eri was happy to be greeted so effusively and encouraged Steve linger over his kiss by putting her hand on the back of his neck. Steve withdrew eventually but left his hand high on Eri’s thigh. When Jeff returned with drinks Steve made no effort to remove his hand. That should nicely confuse anyone taking an interest he thought as he looked down at Eri’s left hand holding her glass of wine which also prominently displayed her diamond engagement ring and her platinum wedding ring.
They stayed drinking for a while and enjoying each others company but avoiding the particular line of conversation that had brought them together that evening. Steve was very free with his hands around his friend’s wife’s thighs – he had managed to sit on the side where her dress was cut high and so could occasionally rest his hand on her naked thigh above her stocking tops. He also slid the edge of the material of her skirt over her thigh to expose as much of her perfect white skin as possible. This took the top of the vent almost up to her hip. The crease on her thigh was visible to him, and anyone who took a close interest, as was the fact that her flesh continued on up without being broken by the fabric of any underwear. But he didn’t make a point of his interest in Eri’s body until he asked if she had followed his instructions to the letter.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, Eri had dressed ‘hot’, but had she left off what was normally well hidden? Eri coloured slightly and nodded her head, ‘Hai! She said softly.
‘Good girl,’ Steve replied, he knew already from what he could see but he wanted to hear her say it.
‘You know if I didn’t know better I might think that Eri was just some Chinese whore we had picked-up for an evening’s fun,’ Steve suddenly said quiet loudly. In fact he said it loudly enough to be heard at several surrounding tables. Jeff looked uncomfortable at having his friend spell out what a number of people around them were already thinking, and Eri just looked calmly down at her drink. She appeared to be waiting to see what Steve might have in mind next.
‘Don’t you think we’re being unfair keeping this pretty lady all to ourselves Jeff?’ said Steve. Jeff wasn’t at all sure where this was going and just smiled awkwardly at his friend.
‘You know there’s a couple of guys in that booth over there who have had their eye’s on Eri ever since she walked in.’ Steve said it loudly enough that he could have been talking to anyone, the guys in question might even have been able to hear him though they were several tables away.
‘Jeff,’ said Steve, his tone had suddenly become less conversational, ‘go ask those guys if they find your wife attractive,’ the way he said it was more of an instruction. Eri sat with her gaze averted, studying her glass. Jeff looked at his friend, unsure whether this was just Steve’s idea of a joke.
‘Steady on Steve,’ said Jeff, ‘They might hear you.’
‘That is the idea Jeff, go on they won’t bite, just ask them if they like the look of her, be polite and they won’t take offence.’ Jeff suddenly felt a pounding behind his eyes, his temperature seem to rise, he felt a flush of embarrassment and excitement as he realised his friend was serious. He looked at his wife and was astonished all over again how beautiful she was and at the fact that she was his. At least he thought she was his. She was taking this all very calmly he thought. In fact he thought there was just a hint of excitement in her eyes too, though she wouldn’t meet his, and continued to stare down at the table.
‘Go on Jeff, and if they say yes they do find her attractive, ask them what they’re plans are for later on tonight.’
‘Steve I can’t do that,’ said Jeff quietly.
‘Jeff, go on, we made a deal, and anyway you don’t want to disappoint your wife.’
So Jeff stood picked up his glass and walked back to the bar. He ordered another round of drinks for himself and Steve, Eri had declined, and while he stood waiting for them he took a look at the table that Steve had indicated. There were two youngish guys sitting there, quite smartly dressed and without being too obvious it was clear that they both cast frequent glances over to the table where Eri and Steve sat. And it didn’t appear that they were very interested in Steve. He took a swallow from his refreshed glass and headed over to the two strangers.
When he reached their table he stooped a little and said, without raising his voice too much, that her name was Eri, he nodded his head in her direction, and asked if they found her attractive. They appeared to notice Jeff for the first time and were uncertain how to respond.
‘What does it have to do with you?’ one asked. Without thinking Jeff said that she was his wife.
‘We wondered where you got her,’ said the other, ‘to be honest we were wondering whether she was a tart, no offence meant.’
‘No, she’s not a tart,’ Jeff replied, ‘but I guess you might be excused for thinking it. She dressed up specially this evening.’
‘So what’s the angle?’ one asked.
‘ The angle? Oh,’ said Jeff remembering Steve’s instructions, ‘We just wondered if you were busy later on.’
‘No I don’t think we are, are we Paul?’ The other agreed, ‘No we’ve been happy just enjoying the view.’
‘I’ll get back to you then,’ said Jeff, and he moved back to join Steve and Eri.
‘Well?’ said Steve when Jeff sat down, ‘mission accomplished?’
‘Yes, they do like the view,’ said Jeff, ‘and no they’re not busy later on. Just what did you have in mind Steve?’
‘I thought Eri might want a little change of scene this evening, what do you think Eri, you’ve been very quiet all evening? Go on, give them a smile, that will really make their day.’ Eri turned as asked and gave the two guys a smile, they immediately both smiled back, and to show his interest more clearly one even waved.
‘Well that’s all settled then,’ said Steve, ‘come on Jeff, drink-up it’s time to go. What do you say we introduce Eri to her new admirers?’
Steve got up and went across to the other table. ‘Hi guys, so you like my friends wife eh?’
‘No reason why we shouldn’t is there,’ one replied a little aggressively.
‘No, no, No reason at all, in fact I’m rather pleased that you do because my friend and I have had some urgent business come up and I’m going to have to ask you whether you think you could look after Eri for an hour or two.’ The two guys couldn’t believe what was being said. They looked at each other in surprise.
‘You mean…,’ started one.
‘Yes,’ replied Steve, ‘that’s exactly what I mean.’ By now the Eri and Jeff had joined them at the table,
‘Eri, meet Paul and, what is your friends name?’ asked Steve.
‘Joe,’ said the still stunned other guy.
‘Paul and Jo, meet Eri, you’ll find she speaks excellent English, but maybe you won’t be doing a lot of talking. Can you get her back here in, let’s say, around an hour?’ ‘But wait a minute,’ said Paul, ‘is there any money involved?’
‘Oh, thanks for raising that,’ said Steve, ‘ you mean for the motel. Here Jeff, you’d better give these guys something to cover the motel.’ Jeff swallowed deeply but after a pause reached for his wallet and handed to Paul a wad of bills. Following the introductions Eri had stood quietly to one side. She emanated a sense of calm while the men, other than Steve, were clearly in a state of turmoil.
‘Let me get this clear……,’ started Paul.
‘I think you have it clear enough,’ cut in Steve, ‘unless there’s something you’re not happy about we’ll see you, your buddy and Eri back here in just an hour. And be nice to her, though you really shouldn’t find that difficult.’
Rather tentatively Jo, who was nearest to Eri, reached out and took her hand. Eri gave it easily. He pulled her close to him, as if testing her willingness. She obliged and snuggled up to him and her perfume filled his nose. Paul immediate positioned himself at her other side and took her other hand. Eri smiled at them both then said quietly to Jeff, ‘Don’t worry honey, I’ll be just fine.’
‘You guys better get moving if you’re to be back in an hour – here’s the only rule – you be on time,’ said Steve.
The bar was not a particularly big place and as the three made it to the exit Steve wondered how many people there had noticed the odd transaction that had just taken place. For Jeff, who felt he badly needed another drink, watching his wife’s receding back gave him a mixture of desperate anxiety and a feeling of elation. Something had happened to his marriage, something more than had happened after their party. He couldn’t quite explain it but churning in with his other feelings was a sense that whatever it was it seemed to be what Eri wanted. Perhaps, Steve was right, he thought, this was the only way he could actually keep this strange and beautiful woman.

We began our nightly meetings at the gym again. Our dedication was paying off, we had the buffest bods around. But our real benefit came later, in the showers, the three of us alone, enjoying lathering each other and then coming together.
One night, Erik, our leader, wanted to take it a step further. He felt we should go out, as a couple…well, a triple. He could talk of little else but how much fun the three of us could have out on a date. He actually planned the whole thing and presented it to us, a fait accompli. It sounded like fun, so I voted for it.
Friday night, instead of the gym, we would go to the hot new dance club. Erik had heard about it at work. It was frequented by straights, gays and bi’s, no one judging and everyone just having fun. It would be a good chance to show off our lovely, tight bodies and dance with abandon.
My first date with Erik! God, I was so excited! I was able to block that it was a 3some and not just a regular date. Actually, I was pretty used to Jim being a part of us and I was not sure I would even feel comfortable with just Erik alone.
That night, I soaked in a vanilla bubble bath for an hour, shaving my legs and softening my skin. My fingers lingered on my breasts, holding them and massaging the nipples, watching them tighten and harden as my fingers moved restlessly over them. I was so excited about the evening ahead! My heart was pounding, my breath coming fast and my very center, my sweet little clit, was throbbing already. I slowly moved my hand down my body, entering my fragrant pinkness and immediately starting to circle my clit. It throbbed to life, aching to be touched. Yet I played and teased, running my finger around the base and gently flicking it with my fingertip. I leaned further back in the tub, my hand moving slowly to my baby cock, slowly touching it in the way I knew I needed. I could feel my body tighten, my legs locking together as my orgasm began rocking me. Ah, yes, this was what I needed… a little relaxation.
I had been shopping. With my new and improved body, I wanted clothes to show it off, things I would never have worn before. I had found a dress, bright red in color, and form-fitting as if painted on. It stopped about mid-thigh and was sleeveless and backless. The front was cut in a square neckline, allowing most of my lovely breasts to be viewed by everybody. I wore no bra or panties, and I felt very wanton. I had bought some strappy red sandals that made my legs look long and even shapelier. My hair was up on my head with a pretty clip, small curls on my neck and cheeks. I sprayed on my vanilla and applied my shiny red lip gloss. I was ready for tonight, my date with Erik….and Jim.
Erik picked me up first. He looked so hot. I know I had seen him totally nude many times, but Erik dressed up was lovely too. He wore a skin tight t-shirt that enhanced his muscular chest and some wonderful black jeans. He held me away from him, twirled me and then pulled me into his arms for a kiss. I felt incredibly tiny beside him, safe in his arms.
We drove to Jim’s apartment and he came out as soon as he saw the car. I don’t remember if I told you much about him, but Jim was no slacker in the looks department either. He, too, was dressed up and gorgeous. Jim had decided to go Ivy League with a button down shirt and pleated pants. Both my men looked delicious. I kept reminding myself that I was incredibly lucky to have both these men taking me out, showing me a wonderful time. Jim got into the car beside me and leaned over to kiss me, my first from him. My, that man could kiss! His lips slid slowly over mine, just tasting and licking gently, then slowly deepening it until I was totally breathless. Wow! Two of the town’s best looking men…and they were mine!
As we arrived at the club, called DALLIANCE, I noted all the people heading for the building. The guys opened their doors and Jim assisted me out, giving me a look of approval as he saw my outfit. He held my left hand while Erik held my right, and we walked to the door, manned by a bouncer. He smiled at us as we approached and welcomed Erik by name as he let us enter. There was a long line of people waiting to enter and I felt very special, moving through the door so quickly.
By now, the guys had their arms around me, one arm around my shoulder, one around my waist. We were escorted to a table and sat together, all holding hands and looking at the club in amazement. People were dancing in the center of the room, two women, two men, man and woman, even some threesomes. Everywhere I looked, I could see people in various stages of loving, kisses and bodies pressed together, hands wandering. No one seemed to have any inhibitions, drinks were flowing and hands were wandering. I sipped on my first drink and wondered how this night would end.

Wearing nothing but her panties, garter, and stockings, Megan finishes the last touches on her makeup as Bill sat on the sofa and watched her through the mirror. He was mesmerized by the sway of her breasts as she raised and lowered her arms while brushing her hair or doing the myriad of things women do to get ready for an evening out. Megan caught his eye in the reflection and winked at him, then turned and said, “Five more minutes, I promise honey. I just have to slip into my bra and clothes.”
Bill stood and walked to the dresser and pulled out a package. Handing it to her he explained, “I’d like for you to wear this tonight, for me sweetheart.”
Megan opened the tissue wrapped package and found a beautiful black lace bra. Sliding it on over her shoulders, leaning into it, Bill stood behind her and helped her. Looking into the mirror together, she caught his eyes and smiled at him. Her breasts nearly fell out of the cups, the lace barely containing her nipples that were quickly puckering from the look of lust she could see in his eyes. Bill’s hands cupped each breast and began to play and tease the nipples through the lace.
“I chose this one for a reason honey,” he whispered into her ear as he began to kiss her neck. As Megan leaned back against him, his fingers found the edges of the lace and turned them down, fully exposing her nipples. Closing her eyes, she sighed in contentment as he rolled and pinched them to attention.
“Now, for part two,” Bill says as he reaches into his pocket. He withdraws Megan’s clamps and lowers them over her head as if he was placing a necklace about her. Watching their reflections in the mirror, Megan shudders just a bit in anticipation of the slight pain that she soon would feel. He turns her to him, and as he pinches one clamp to a nipple, he quickly kisses her and draws her tongue deep into his mouth. Sucking and gently biting her lips, he places the second clamp on her. He then tucks the chain into the bra.
“No need for anyone to see our little secret, is there?”
Again, Bill reaches into his pocket, this time pulling out the small delicate collar Megan at times wears in private with him. He lowers it to her neck and clasps it about, kissing her as he does. Both Megan and Bill honor the commitment they have made to each other, allowing each the freedom to move from being submissive to aggressor, depending on their moods and desires. Tonight, Bill is in charge and Megan willing accepts his collar, but this is different, never before have they taken this outside. Her eyes question him, though she never utters a word. Bill hands her the sweater she had lain out before.
“See, sweetheart, the neckline is high, it will cover it. That is unless you do not wish to wear it.”
Slipping the sweater over her head, Megan sees he is telling the truth. She zips it up to the top and smoothes the sweater over her chest. While the chain is hidden in the bra, the clamped, exposed nipples are erect and pushing through the material. Quickly she pulls her skirt on, slides on her heels and quietly says, “Love, I am ready.”
Dinner passes quickly; between the good food and good wine, Bill and Megan just enjoy each other’s company. Afterwards Bill suggests that they go into the bar area of the restaurant and have a drink or two before returning to their room. Taking her by the hand, he leads her in and finds a booth across from the bar. Buoyed by the wine and now the scotch, Bill begins to discreetly and delicately tease Megan. He brushes against her erect nipples as he reaches for his drink. He turns and whispers in her ear, “Just wait until we get back honey, remember, you are mine this evening.”
As the evening progresses, Megan becomes flirty and giggles, though always the lady in public, she does not draw attention to herself. Well, that is not entirely true. Bill becomes aware that a guy seated at the bar has been staring quite openly at Megan for the past few minutes; she is totally unaware, having only eyes for her man. He decides to see if this is really happening. Reaching over to Megan, he slowly begins to unzip her sweater, allowing the collar to come into view. She has all but forgotten that it is on her, so relaxed and giddy she just assumes he is trying to peek at her breasts.
The guy from across the bar nearly falls out of his seat when he realizes that her “jewelry” is really a collar of possession. Bill’s eyes glance down to his crotch were he sees a very visible outline of a hard cock. The man wiggles a bit on his stool, trying to accommodate his hardening tool.
Bill realizes that this is so out of character for himself, but he feels secure that both he and Megan are safe, and he has to admit to himself, he too is aroused. Aroused at the fact that someone else desires his woman, and hasn’t a chance in hell with her.
Leaning in to kiss her on the neck, Megan is a bit surprised for Bill normally is reserved with his affection in public. He whispers in her ear, “Look over to the bar, the blonde guy, facing us. He wants you. Look at him, look at his hard cock.”
Megan draws back in complete shock now. Bill quickly takes her hand and tells her, “It’s okay, you’re with me honey. You’re safe. Do you trust me?”
“With my heart, my soul, my very life. I am yours, yours alone.”
Smiling, he reaches for her zipper, pulling it down so that the upper edge of the aureola is exposed. Megan trembles remembering that she is not only wearing her clamps, but her collar as well. She looks across directly at this man, who responds by dropping his hand to his cock and rubbing it through the material. Megan glances about the room and sees that only the three of them are aware of each other, everyone else is occupied with something else.
Deciding to push the envelope, Bill leads Megan to the dance floor for a slow song. Pulling her close, he wraps his arm about her waist and dances her to a spot right in front of his chair. Slowly and suggestively he grinds against her, knowing that in her arousal, her hips will begin to sway back and forth, right in the face of this voyeur. Dropping his hand to her ass, he kneads and caresses her. Then, ever so slightly, he pulls up her skirt until the tops of her stockings are exposed.
As the music stops, he leads her back to their booth. Megan’s face is flushed from arousal and semi embarrassment. Never has she seen Bill like this, nor is she going to stop him. There is something so very erotic about someone else witnessing their passion for each other. He cups her face and kisses her gently, sliding his hand down her throat to her cleavage, find the chain and pulls it up a bit. Grasping it between his fingers, he smiles at the stranger and gently tugs at her nipples. Again, the man struggles to maintain composure.
“Gather your things Megan, it’s time for us to leave.”
Walking out the door, Bill is aware that they have been followed. The restaurant parking lot, having been crowded earlier, is now nearly deserted. When they reach the car, he pulls her to him for a heated kiss. Megan melts into his arms and surrenders herself to him. Hearing a rustle to his side, Bill is aware that the voyeur has hidden himself in the shadows, waiting to see if the show will continue. Reaching for the zipper, he unzips her sweater completely so that her breasts are fully exposed now in the moonlight, the bra he placed on her hours ago leaving little to the imagination. Reaching for the chain again, he now clearly pulls it into view as he pulls and tugs on her imprisoned nipples, sending chills up her spine as he kisses her.
“Baby, you’ve had the pleasure so far this evening, now for the pain,” Bill tells her as he turns her over the trunk of the car. He roughly pulls her skirt up, exposing her panty clad ass and stockings. Pulling her panties down to cup her cheeks, Bill swiftly slaps her. As he does, the man steps out from the shadows with his hard cock in his hand. Seeing this only serves to fuel Bill’s passion for and possession of Megan further.
“Whose woman are you?”
“Yours,” she cries out as she pushes her ass back to meet his stinging blows.
“Who do you love”
“You love, you and only you.”
Seeking to claim her, Bill quickly unzips and pulls out his aching cock. With one hard thrust, he enters her. She screams out in climax as he slides through her wet and wanting pussy. He pushes her skirt up further as to have full access to her. Both men are now furiously fucking, one his woman, the other, his hand. Stroke for stroke, they match one another. Megan’s arousal is building again.
“Please, I want to taste you. Sire, please, I need to feel you in my mouth.”
Bill quickly pulls out and turns her around. Megan drops to her knees as he wraps his hands in her hair and begins to fuck her mouth. He throws his head back and just revels in the moment. His woman is pleasing him as no other has. Just as he is about to cum, he opens his eyes and locks on the stranger, knowing that he too is about ready. Smiling a smug, self satisfied smile, he pulls her close again and cums in her mouth just as the other spills his to the ground, then steps back into the shadows.
He gently raises Megan to him and tenderly dresses her. Holding her close to his chest, he kisses her and tells her all she needs to know, that they belong to each other, completely.

As consciousness settled upon her, Donella was vaguely aware of a strange sensation, like being underwater. Her skin felt cold, yet dry. There was an oppressive heaviness that weighed down on her entire body; she felt like she was thousands of feet below the ocean. Her chest hurt to breathe and she couldn’t move her limbs. Donella’s eyes snapped open in a panic as an icy horror filled her as darkness surrounded—was she really submersed? Slowly her eyes adjusted to her surroundings and she saw that she was in a very dark room. The only light came from a single candle, which seemed a million miles away, on a bedside table. A lone chair stood on the opposite side the table and it held a solitary figure. She seemed a grandmotherly sort although Donella couldn’t see her face, well in the low light. The old lady saw Donella’s eyes open and she walked over to her. Donella still couldn’t turn her head so the old woman gently placed her hand behind Donella’s neck, raised it forward, and brought a pewter cup to her mouth. Donella had no idea what it was but it tasted like some sort of sweet nectar; it was thick yet delicious, and she wanted nothing more than to drain that cup, but the woman pulled it away.
“Not so fast, you’re still weak,” the grandmotherly nurse said, “you rest now, and I will feed you more later.”
She had an accent that Donella couldn’t place but it sounded like she came from some Eastern European country. The woman brushed her soft wrinkled hands over Donella’s forehead in a manner that reminded her of when she got sick as a child and her own grandmother would take care of her. As the nourishment from the cup worked its way through Donella’s body, the dense weight that held her limbs abated somewhat, but she was still so fatigued that she soon drifted off into fitful unconsciousness.
Soon Donella was thinking about the past because she had no strength to fight off the painful memories that assaulted her. She missed her grandmother greatly; she had died last year and left Donella on her own. Donella had lived with her since the time she was eight years old, after her mother disappeared and her father went to jail. Donella had heard years later, after her mother had died, that she was living on the streets at that time. She was a lost soul, her whole life was consumed to her addiction of heroin. It shackled her to her fate. As for Donella’s father, last she had heard he was locked away in San Quentin prison for murder, after sentencing she hadn’t heard from him.
The murder he had committed Donella actually had witnessed. She couldn’t remember how old she was but she was having a sleep over with a friend of hers. They were asleep in the living room of Donella’s father’s house in a run down section of East LA. Her father was a drug dealer and he had always had unsavory types of people in and out at all hours. Donella awoke to the sound of a loud argument coming from the den, which was just off the living room. She saw her father yelling at a Mexican man with one deformed arm. She had seen this man in the house before because her father told her not to stare at his arm, which looked like it stopped growing when he was a little boy. The man yelled back and her father pulled a knife out and stabbed him in the chest. The deformed man’s friends tried to pull him out of the house to get him away from her father, but they weren’t fast enough. There, Donella’s father slaughtered that man, where she numbly sat watching. The deformed man’s friends ran and soon the cops were at the house. They led Donella’s father away and took her to live with her grandmother.
After that, she had led a relatively normal life. Her grandmother sent her to Catholic school where she spent most of her time taking art classes. After she graduated high school, she went to a nearby community college to get her associates degree in fine arts. Donella had planned on opening her own studio one day or possibly teaching if that didn’t pan out.
There, at the school, she had met Tony. He was a playwright and a horrible one to boot, but love is blind and Donella fell hard. After a year and a half, he came to the realization they were “just too different” (translation: It’s not me, it’s you) and decided to go their separate ways. Tony, didn’t have much trouble with the words, “too different” in this case, it had meant, I have a penis, you do not. This was the first and only man Donella had loved and honestly thought that, even though they argued a lot, that they would marry and have a family with a white picket fenced house in suburbia. Now as she lay in this foreign place, she tried to picture her life as a soccer mom, wearing Keds and denim jumpers, and couldn’t grasp it. What had happened last night?
The memory of the ceremony came back then. She again tried to open her eyes and look about, and found that the grandmotherly woman was still there, sitting in the chair near the bed.
“Where am I?”
“You need sleep, you are still so weak,” the elderly nurse told her.
Donella tried to sit up, her head spun, and she felt like she was going to be sick. A dull throb started in her skull and her vision started to black out. She limped to Donella’s side and put a surprisingly strong arm around her. She might have seemed old but she possessed more than enough strength to hold up Donella’s weight. She propped her up against the headboard when it was obvious that Donella wasn’t going lie back down.
“I will send for Master Dominic, I will see if he can calm you down because if you don’t rest you wont heal,” and even as she reprimanded, Donella felt safe in just hearing that name–Master Dominic.
She never even left the room, but in a moment, Dominic walked through the door. She must have summoned him telepathically because they looked at each other for a moment, and then he smiled.
“It’s OK Brietta, I will take care of her.” Dominic told the elderly nurse and then with a slight bow she left the room. He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. Just having him in the room made Donella calmer. He reached out and stroked her hair back from her face. “How are you feeling?” He asked.
“Weak. Why am I so weak?”
“Because you are in transition now, you are on your way to becoming one of us and it will take time before your body adjusts to the new gift I have given you. You will soon be immortal, like all of us here, but right now, you are not. You are fragile and you need to be taken care of, soon though you will be impervious to disease or old age.” Then he brushed his hand against her neck and touched a very sore spot there. He felt her wince underneath his touch. “You see, now you have to let your body heal. However, I can make it better for you.
“Tell me, my love, what is your name?”
“Donella.” She replied.
“A beautiful name,” He said in a contemplative whisper.
He put his finger in his mouth and pierced a hole in the tip of it with his front teeth. When he pulled his hand out from his mouth Donella could see a drop of blood forming, and her stomach quickened at the sight. It was almost a feeling between hunger and desire. She opened her mouth to accept his bloody finger and suckled on it like a newborn babe. She realized that his blood was the same nectar from the pewter cup and she felt herself grow stronger the more she drank. Then he pulled his hand away and he placed it against the wound in her neck. As soon as the blood touched her flesh, she felt a sizzling sensation like when hydrogen peroxide is put on a cut, then the pain was gone and her neck was fully healed.
“If I remember correctly,” he said with a small smile, “You weren’t only bit on the neck,” Then he pulled the covers off her body and saw that she was lying there totally naked, “I believe that lovely fair-haired Claire also bit you somewhere else.”
Since Donella’s legs still felt weak, he gently pulled them apart revealing her most secret spot. At the movement of her legs, Donella felt a sharp stabbing pain grow up from the folds of her sex. Dominic scooped her up into his arms and laid her sideways on the bed. Her body felt like a dried husk and she had no more control over her limp muscles than a rag doll, yet having him manipulate her body felt so relaxing.
Donella had put her complete trust in him and it felt so good to relinquish control to this dominating man. He pulled her knees up in a gynecological fashion with her feet positioned at the edge of the bed with her ass just inches behind them. In a moment, Dominic held the bloodied tip of his finger to that sensitive cut, in that even more sensitive area, and it was instantly cauterized. As soon as he touched her, all pain stopped and Donella’s entire body was focused on his finger, gently stroking the flesh around her clit. His blood made his finger slide around and caused her to grow incredibly aroused. Her clit became engorged with blood, which made her thankful that he had sealed the wound, or she might have bled to death. She moaned softly and closed her eyes fully concentrating on the feeling of his hand stroking her. She started to grow wet and Dominic felt her juices slide over his fingertips as he massaged her tenderly. He changed position and he placed his head between her open legs and covered her labial lips with soft kisses. His tongue flicked teasingly against her clit before he slurped its entire length into her moist hole. She could feel the warmth of his mouth and his breath as he drank up her fluids–they flowed out and he lapped them up furiously. He wrapped his whole mouth around her clit, suckling it and he used one of his hands to slip two fingers into her hole. Donella knew she was going to cum, but she didn’t know if she could handle it, as weak as she was. Of course, Dominic knew, he knew everything. So he eased his mouth off of her clit while he still finger fucked her.
“Oh, my Lord!” he exclaimed, “I wish you weren’t so weak, my beautiful Donella. You taste so good! Just seeing you here so submissive, makes me wish to climb on top of you and fill you full of cum, but I’m afraid the exhaustion might kill you.”
He looked so sad just then that Donella felt as if his heart would break. He grabbed the pewter cup off the bedside table and lifted it to her lips. His hand was shaking and he spilled a little on the bed accidentally. He might have been immortal but deep down inside, he was still a man and ruled by desires of the flesh. At that moment, there was nothing more arousing that this man who couldn’t fight off his manly urges and to know that she had brought him to this point, made Donella want to fuck him even more. She hardly cared if she was too weak or not, all she felt this burning need to feel him inside of her.
“We will try but if I feel you cannot handle this I will have to leave you be,” he said as he fumbled to disrobe.
He then flung off his cowled robe to reveal his naked form. His tattoos were caught in the candlelight and made him have a mottled look. His rock hard cock stood at attention, slightly bent to the left and a pearly drop of pre-cum glistened at the tip. He knelt at the edge of the bed, in front of her waiting vagina. With the help of one hand, he guided his erect penis inside.
Even though she was very excited and very willing, he still seemed too big; Donella was still just a little too tight for him. As his head pushed through her inner lips, it seemed to meet resistance, so he balanced his hands on her hips. Very slowly and very gently, he rocked his hips forward then with each stroke, he managed to push a little deeper. Before long, he was fully inside. He didn’t speed up his pace at all, he just kept sliding in and out.
On the backstroke, he would pause as the tip of his penis came close to popping out of her tight pussy, and her velvety lips clenched around it. Then he would ease it back in and he would pause again as she imagined her muscles grabbing his shaft. He felt so warm. His eyes never left hers the whole time he gently plunged deep into her. Donella slipped away from the ecstasy that her body felt and found herself probing into Dominic’s mind, as his cock probed her gushing slit. She saw him in a much younger incarnation. She didn’t know exactly when it was, but it looked like it could have been Medieval Europe from some documentary. Images flashed through her mind, like Dominic’s poverty in his youth, his brief stint in the military, and how an unfortunate night with a whore that lead him to being tapped into his first clan. Memories of various rises to power assaulted her and ended in a coup that lead to his succession to the throne of power at The Fetish Parasite. Donella felt that she might be able to control this mind-probe some, but couldn’t dwell too much on it because Dominic’s panting above her brought her around. Before too long his breath quickened and he dug his nails into the flesh of her hips.
“I’m going to cum! Oh, my Lord! I’m going to cum now!” he announced then bit his lip.
He gasped suddenly as she felt a spasm jerk through his penis when he strained pushing i