CultOfTheBlackVirgin (16 page)

She opened her mouth to give herself to him. She fell onto him, into him, and he took her. She was his. She would do anything he asked. Anything.

His kisses, beginning softly and growing in intensity, unleashed an absolute animal frenzy in her. She was mad with desire, abandoning all uncertainty, all restraint. Now she was free to touch him, and her hands stroked and plucked, kneaded and wrung his arms, the tattoo, his neck, shoulders and back, pulled at his hair.

She heard herself making noises when their mouths came together at last. These were unconscious and uncontrolled sounds—part gasps, part whimpers, part grunts. They were not feminine sounds, but she was far past caring. He answered her with responses of his own, deep and low in his throat, unleashing even more passion in her.

She was all over him, she tried to bite him, and succeeded at one point. The surprisingly metallic taste of his blood pleased her immensely, enflamed her further. She tried to swallow him, to eat him alive, to take him into herself, for herself. She wanted to crawl into him. Crawl into his mouth, lose herself in his body, his passion and energy, his taste and smell, his smoothness and hardness.

Just as she began to entwine one of her legs behind his thigh to urge her body upwards onto his, he broke their embrace, holding her shoulders at arms’ length, breathing hard. Roughly, he pushed her backwards. She gasped when the back of her head hit the wall.

He dramatically raised one hand and wrapped his fingers around the base of her throat. Fear and arousal fought for her attention.

Staring down into her eyes, his pupils completely dilated, he said, not gently, “All right, Joanna. Where were we? Your eyes have lured me into your room. And so here I am. You asked me to touch you, and so I have. Then you say you want more. So I kiss you.”

She couldn’t speak because of the force of his hand at her throat. She could barely nod, but she tried, although the back of her head scraped uncomfortably against the rough plaster wall. There was no question she would try to nod as best she could.

He continued, sternly, “There is one more very special way for me to touch you. Is this what you want?”

She tried to nod again.

Yes yes yes!

“Are you sure? Once I begin, you cannot change your mind. You know that.”

Her lips formed the shape of assent. He continued to examine her face for a few moments longer as if he were considering her surrender—or was it a demand—and all that it meant. He wasn’t smiling.
Fierce
was the only word that came to her mind.

Not loosening his grip around her neck, nor moving his eyes from hers, he slowly began to unbuckle his belt with his free hand. An involuntary noise escaped from her throat.

It was the single most erotic moment of her life.

Her insides had turned to fluid, her vagina contracting rhythmically. She couldn’t feel her arms and legs at all.

He undid his pants, shook them off. Again, she could have wept for pleasure. She couldn’t see his body, but she could feel his large hard cock as it sprang out of his shorts, its hot tip nudging her belly.

Ave Maria
marked the half hour again. He released her throat and backed away a little. She shook in anticipation as she watched him rip open a foil wrapped condom and unroll it onto himself. Then he was on her, over her, preparing to move inside her.

Nature had its way—she knew what to do next—she bent her knees, arched her back, opened her legs and thrust her hips towards her lover. Her French lover, to whom she had just given control. To whom she would have given her entire world.

Her arms encircled his neck. He met her, lifting her up from behind, his hands effortlessly guiding her hips towards his own. Knees bending, he maneuvered his cock until it just touched the swollen wet lips between her legs. She wriggled to help him enter her, every muscle straining to guide him home. Juices running, she moaned and wriggled some more, but her held her fast.

“
Non, non, non
. Don’t move.
Non
, wait, wait.” He kissed her long and hard, positioning himself to his own advantage so she couldn’t move at all. She strained against him, tried to push into him, draw away from him, thrust her hips this way or that way, any way to bring him into her. But he restrained her completely, she wasn’t strong enough. She was again pinioned, and dangling on the verge of such longing that she whimpered again in frustration. Her insides were beginning to open for him, to soften, in readiness.

“Luc please.
Please
. I want you,
please
…” She knew she was whining. She didn’t care.

But he didn’t move, holding her fast to the wall. He was in control, forcing her to wait. Again. She was completely powerless, and it thrilled her beyond anything she’d ever known. She waited. She had no choice.

Finally, finally he moved. Bending his knees more deeply, he asked, “Now? You want me now?” Her only response was a renewed burst of straining towards him, another attempt to engulf him, to swallow him. But still he held her off.

“Now, Joanna?”

“Yes, YES, NOW…Oh
please…
” And at these words he pulled back and plunged, once, directly upwards, deeply into her.

She gasped, or squealed, or shouted, made some kind of noise as the force of his thrust ground her back into the wall. He held his position deep within her for a few seconds, then slowly pulled away, leaving her breathless and unable to move.

She was truly shocked at the way her body was responding. Something deep inside her was slowly revolving or expanding, readying in anticipation of his next thrust, preparing to pull him into her, to swallow him.

“More, Joanna?”

She bit him, somewhere on his mouth, and pushed towards him with all her strength. “YES!”

Again he pulled back, again he drove himself deeply into her straining and shaking body.

Hard.

Yes—she was opening up inside like a blooming flower, petals unfurling to expose a secret center.

“
Mon Dieu—
you’re so hot. So tight and hot.”

Again he pulled back, paused, and thrust, impaling her as her arms and legs wrapped around his large body. She was held up against the wall by his hands under her buttocks and his cock pinning her fast.

And again. Again. Again. Words no longer necessary, she was completely open now, releasing herself. Relinquishing, becoming more inside than out, her body beginning to meet his rhythm, pulling him in deeper each time.

And again. Again.

Now she was shouting too loudly, or whimpering, or calling out something. He placed his hand tightly over her mouth and drove her harder.

She called out again, unaware of what she was doing, but the sound was caught in his hand. She couldn’t help shouting as he pushed her further and further into a wild, dark, rolling, grasping, sucking wave after wave of deep contractions. Her insides were sucking and sucking, and greedily sucking more, more, the most she could drain from him. She’d no idea there were such powerful muscles deep inside her body, muscles with a life of their own, trying to take Luc’s seed for their own special purpose.

Time, place, direction—they were lost in a rolling ride of such intense beauty and pleasure that she found tears streaming down her face. She wept for the joy of the moment, and for the sadness that she’d lived her life not having known such joy. She wept for the gift of awareness that her body could respond like this. And, she wept because she knew it was only through her deceit that she could experience this joy.

Her body involuntarily spasmed with contractions and sobs while she and Luc slid to the floor, still entwined. Then she lost a few minutes. The next thing she knew they were lying on the bed side-by-side but not touching, chests heaving, sweat-drenched.

Silent, both remained still until their heart rates and breathing began to slow. Jo, still trembling slightly, stirred first, wiping away the last of her tears and moving her face to a level with Luc’s. She kissed him, sweetly, sincerely, her kiss expressing a genuine awe at what they’d just shared.

He returned the kiss, saying softly, “And now you can say you’ve had a French lover.”

A slight smile played on his lips, which she kissed away.

She didn’t have to speak. He knew what he’d done for her.

Chapter Five

As her head began to clear, Jo wondered how much time had passed since Luc had come to her room.
Where were the others? Would anyone see him leaving?

She nervously anticipated the next installment of
Ave Maria
.

Reluctantly, she got up to use the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Again, she was grateful for the bidet. When she was done she walked back to Luc, still spread across her bed.

But he wasn’t sleeping—he was wide awake and appraising her nakedness as she sat down beside him. At once his hand was on her, caressing her breasts, still damp with sweat, nipples hardening under his touch.

“
Mon Dieu, que t’es belle
.” He lifted his damp head to nuzzle and lick until she moaned.

Ave Mar-i-a-a-a.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back? I mean, isn’t it getting quite late?”

She had no idea of the time. Instead of answering her question, he pulled her towards him and silenced her with a passionate kiss. Straddling her, his stirring cock pulsed against her.

“Oh no, Joanna. I don’t think we’ve finished with each other yet.”

Instantly she forgot about time as he kissed her again, his mouth burning her skin as it traced a path down from her neck to her erect nipples. He suckled them each gently, cupping both breasts in his moist hands, then sliding down her legs he kissed his way to her navel. Circling the little slit with his tongue, he forced another series of low noises from her throat. Powerless, she arched her back and pushed upwards, inviting him closer.

“Oh no. No, please. I can’t take any more of this. I can’t.” Yet as she spoke she was lifting her belly upwards, spreading her legs against her will.

He raised his head for a moment. “I think you can,
ma belle
. I think you can.” Still hovering over her he moved toward the foot of the bed.

With the tip of his tongue he parted her pubic hairs. She gasped as an excruciating spear of pure pleasure caused her insides to turn into liquid honey. Her entire body began to shake in expectation. His hands rubbed her belly as his tongue darted in and over the wet folds of her pussy. She remembered the limestone labia in the caves as she felt her own flesh swell again, every nerve on fire. Patiently, he waited until her moans were just the right pitch before he began to tease her clitoris. His gentle probing caused her to lose herself again. Her legs fell open, spilling her juices, and she was his.

To her surprise and delight, he didn’t bring her to climax right away. Instead he began to carefully and methodically lick and kiss every lip and fold, crack and crevice, everything from her pubic bone to her tailbone, and back again. At one point he turned her slightly on her side to do a thorough job.

It seemed to take him hours, but she was past caring about the time now. Nothing from the outside world could dull the pleasure of this intimate gift.

She gasped and wriggled and squirmed and spread her legs so far apart that she knew she’d walk funny for a week. Such an excruciatingly delicious and intense pleasure—she thought her labia and clitoris were able to taste him, to kiss him back, as if her cunt could suck on him like a mouth. She thought her engorged flesh tasted an overwhelming sweetness—a sweetness beyond that of sugar or honey. Waves of this sweetness flooded over and into and through her, saturating every cell of her body, causing it to jerk rhythmically as she called out in oblivion.

She pushed her face into the pillow and wailed as lights flashed behind her tightly closed eyes. She rolled and squirmed and shuddered, plunging into waves of orgasms that rolled through her as steadily and forcefully as the relentless surf.

He was expert in bringing her slowly to an edge, only to draw away and begin again, forcing her to higher and higher plateaus of excitement, each orgasm stronger and more delicious than the last until there was no strength left in her body. She tried to push him off, but she was too weak.

“No more! Stop! Stop! Please! I. Can’t. Breathe.”

Finally, he did stop, and towered over her, erection huge. He ripped open another foil package and deftly slipped on a condom.

His voice was low, ragged. “I’m going to fuck you now. And I might be rough.” The look on his face caused her to respond with a mixture of fear and arousal. Abruptly he fell onto her and rammed into her open, wet, still-sucking cunt.

She recoiled in pain and surprise. He wouldn’t look at her as he pulled back and once more thrust into her as far as he could. She settled her body to accommodate his thrusts, but she knew he would hurt her if he kept this up for long.

He pushed into her again, and again, his movements for himself alone. The idea began to excite her.

Just for him
, she thought as she felt her fear dissolve and passion begin to build again. His body was one big, hot, hard, wet, rocking muscle. Her lungs struggled to expand as he pushed and pulled, and pulled and pushed, with exquisite precision and force. He was a strong and beautiful skin and muscle and tendon and bone machine. The heat of the room and his exertion made his skin run with sweat. The ends of his long hair rained drops onto her face as he strained to control his pleasure.