The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY (61 page)

“Hey, Wolf, you’ll love this,” she said and raised the spoon to his lips. She placed her other hand on his back.

He didn’t react. She pushed the spoon gently between his lips. No effect. She pushed it still further, between his teeth and onto his tongue. For a second, he seemed to take it in. Then he suddenly coughed, and the morsel went spraying onto the bedspread. There was a moment of complete stillness. And then he broke down and began to weep…giant racking sobs, which shook him to his marrow. Rochelle quickly pushed all the things aside and took him tightly in her arms.

And she cried with him, even as her heart swelled from the joy of his return.

.

T
hat night, Wolf had a surreal dream.

In it, he had been fast asleep, when his sixth sense alerted him to a strange presence in the room. He opened his eyes to the sight of a woman by his bed. She stood over him and he looked back at her quite stupidly. Slowly, he began noticing her. She wore a pink, sleeveless, V-neck dress. Despite her outfit he could tell she was slim and shapely and lithe. Her arms were thin and long and delicate and Wolf was certain he knew her from somewhere; in fact, she seemed very familiar. Yet, he could not quite place her right now. Nor, weirdly, could he see her face—for some unknown reason it was obscured, although he was sure she wore no veil or any such thing.

At length, she sat down beside him on the edge of the bed, and he could sense she was regarding him. She smelt nice—like fresh evening air on the grass…so very feminine, and Wolf felt an exited nervousness. Who was she? What was she doing here at this time of the night? What did she want? A thousand questions crisscrossed his mind as he kept looking at her. Oh, it was all so unreal. He saw her stretch out her right arm and she placed the hand on his chest. He tensed at her touch, the muscles of his torso stiffening automatically. He always slept with his shirt off and the feel of her on his bare skin sent a ripple of something up and down his flesh and he tensed even more.

But she persevered with her hand on him. Her touch was silken, like the caress of some angel. There was tenderness in it, and a luxuriant warmth, and Wolf felt himself gradually relax. Now,
he
wanted to touch her, to feel her…but he could not move. He was just too tired.

She waited a while more, then leaned over him without taking her hand off his chest. He looked at her searchingly, but her face still remained elusive. Oh, how badly he wanted to see her, to look into her eyes, to see who she was, what she was all about.

She now dragged herself on the bed and her face reached out for him. He instinctively shrunk from that, but she took his face in both her hands and held him—held him firmly, yet kindly, as if careful he shouldn’t be hurt in any way. For a second, she hung over him, breathing into his mouth, then her lips sought his. He could feel his own lips were stiff and dry, but hers were moist and reassuring and he felt himself calm down once more.

And then she began to kiss him proper, still holding his face between her hands, adjusting her body so she was now fully on the bed. He now found himself helplessly responding to her affections, as if goaded by some primordial impulse, kissing her back with equal fervor. Then his lips parted slightly, and as if that was her cue, her tongue rushed inside forthwith, between his teeth and into his mouth. She was a frenzied cat as she explored him, her tongue darting here, darting there, to his palate, over his teeth, to the soft insides of his cheeks. And Wolf found his tongue chasing hers, in some bizarre ritual that was all their own. Soon he managed to snatch her, and then he began sucking on it ardently, a parched man who had found an oasis after a lifetime.

Now it was her turn. She pulled her tongue back, and he sensed her need and he entered her mouth. They remained like that, locked into each other in a long streaming kiss that was hot and wet and relentless.

Her body now moved closer to his, then without breaking, she was atop him. He tensed again at the sudden squeeze of her against him. He could feel her inner fires reaching out to him through her clothes and something stirred in his groin.

When at last they broke, she gave a little sigh, and after a brief pause to catch her breath, she went down and began kissing his chest. Her breath on his skin was heavy and sizzling and as she sucked on his nipple, he felt a furious cramping of his bladder that made him gasp.

Suddenly she lifted herself off him. She knelt beside him and her hands went to her cotton dress. In one swishing movement the cloth came off, like some champion magician performing a patented trick all her own. She wore no bra, no panties, and there she was stark naked on her knees and Wolf caught his breath sharply. Her pale golden skin glowed dully in the semi-dark of the room.

Wolf’s eyes were riveted on her breasts. They stood firm and proud, defiantly holding their own against the ruinous forces of Nature. On a slender frame of neat, dinky shoulders and prominent collarbones, they looked bigger than their 34D size. The nipples complimented—farm-fresh raw-ripe strawberries in full bloom that stood up pink and crisp, a light brown halo around them bestowing an ambience of mystique and awe. All splendidly arrayed on a high ribcage, against a twenty-five inch waist that in turn flared up into thirty-four inch hips. He was mesmerized watching this strange exquisite woman.

They were throbbing with life—her breasts. To Wolf, they seemed to be beaming at him…and beckoning him.
Oh, come hither, come to me. Touch me. Take me. Hold me. Cuddle me. Love me. I’m yours, all yours, only yours. Made for you and you alone. Taste me—taste my nectar. Smell my fragrance. Feel my silk on your skin. Take me in your mouth and savor my milk.

And for the very first time, Wolf became proactive. With a sudden access of energy, his hands reached out for her. They clasped her naked waist and pulled her to him. She came easily, effortlessly, as if she had been waiting for just this invite, falling smoothly into his arms. He hugged her tightly and they kissed again. He could feel the fever from her loins pouring into him as she pressed down on him eagerly.

And then his instincts took over. The instincts of a big cat that does not need to be taught the ways of love. Instincts honed and perfected over centuries of custom and passed down unfailingly through generations. Instincts that run through every bone, every fiber, every cell.

She was grinding her crotch against his with increasing roughness, and he felt a sudden exquisite delight shoot through him from the foot of his spine to his head, making him quaver. His chest was tight and he could barely breathe, but oh, it felt so good.

Suddenly she raised herself off him for the second time. She lunged for his sleeping shorts and pulled them down his legs. In her haste, they tangled at the ankles, but with a muttered curse she yanked them free. And Wolf heard her gasp as she breathlessly regarded his erection, tall and throbbing and reaching out to her.

Very deliberately, she moved back over him, her knees on either side of his waist, and she lowered her upper body on his. The feel of her soft flesh against his hardness, of her cottony breasts against the muscularity of his chest, sent a shiver down to his groin. Her nipples dug into his and she began kissing him all over the face, her searing breath tingling his skin. She smelled of roasted almonds—crisp and exotic. He felt her hand groping him—down his lower belly, then down his thighs, then moving back up and he quivered as she clutched his erection. It felt so good that for a second Wolf shut his eyes. He moaned as she by turns squeezed, then relaxed, her hold on the head of his shaft.

He feared he would lose control and suddenly he wanted to run. He didn’t want it this way—didn’t want his first time to be like this, with a faceless stranger, who seemed so familiar.
No, no, no!
he heard the shouts from somewhere in his head. And then a terrible guilt possessed him, as if he was deceiving someone.
Run!
...the voice said.
Get away…go…flee…
But like before, he was unable to do anything about it.

Just when he thought he would burst forth, she let go of him, and so relieved and ashamed he was, he felt his erection flag. The naked body above him now suddenly repulsed him.

But she remained wholly unaware of it. She was in overdrive and her lips and tongue and teeth were expert on him as she kissed and licked, nibbled and nipped. She was back to his chest and she took his right nipple in her mouth and sucked on it warmly. At the same time her hand moved between his legs, cupped his testicles, then began to fondle them tenderly. Her heat was so overpowering that before long his guilt and shame were overwhelmed as pure passion took hold once more.

Her tongue was streaming over his stomach, tracing its own peculiar path, finally leaving no patch unaffected. His erection was bursting again, the head crimson and smoldering. His heart thumped erratically and his eyes were wide and wild as he stared in helpless wonder at the gray ceiling above. There was renewed pressure on his erection, and he stopped breathing, for this time it was wholly different. He felt encompassed, as if his very root had been seized. And that was so true, for when he glanced down for a brief second, he saw she had taken him in her mouth…deep inside her, to the base of her throat. He thrust his hands forward and dug them through her thick hair and grasped her head as pleasure and joy filled his core.

When eventually she let him go—and he was wondrous he had not come—she rose above him. He again marveled at her body—the stomach so flat, yet feminine, not muscular at all. She now lowered herself on his midsection, with careful precision, and he shuddered violently as he felt his manhood acutely enclasped. The wonderful warmth and the cozy wetness of the flesh around his hardness sent shivers through the length and breadth of his being…over and over. He sucked in a quick lungful of air, pressed his lips tightly together and grabbed her waist with both hands.

And then it happened.

“No!” she uttered in a fierce self-whisper.

And with that she trembled once and came off him.

But before he knew what was really happening, she had taken him by the shoulders and falling onto her back, she pulled him atop her with an incredible surge of strength.

And in that he understood.

She wanted
him
to work her now.

His first instinct was to reach for her breasts. While he possessively seized her right breast in one hand, like some prized trophy, his mouth went down on the other. Sucking eagerly, sucking like a child for his very existence. He felt the nipple engorge even more and it seemed that the slightest touch would now rupture it.

He suckled, and time lost all count. Vaguely, he could feel her fingers in his hair.

But finally she could bear it no more and gripping his biceps she lifted him off her.

He didn’t want to let go of her breasts, as if letting go would in some way take away his very lifeline. But there were other pressing needs.

Supported on both arms, he raised himself a foot above her. Automatically, she spread her legs, on either side of him, then bent her knees and spread her thighs even wider. He positioned himself carefully, his waist suspended over hers. He felt her hands reach over and grasp his buttocks.

There was no need to guide him. Throbbing vibrantly and pointing keenly, his manhood found the flawless route through air, plunging with perfect precision—an eagle diving down. The tip of him touched her, and for a brief second lingered there, as if suddenly uncertain. But the instincts were simply too dominant and with one final shudder, he glided into her, and then was deep inside her. Immediately he found his hardness fiercely embraced by her flesh, like some octopus clasping a pray. Only here, there was no hunter, no pray, only separated halves getting back together to form a homogeneous whole anew.

His movements were smooth and rhythmic, none of the frenzied pumping of a first-timer. His mouth sought hers again and it was
his
tongue that she asked for this time. She sucked on it hard, his oral juices flowing into her in a steady stream.

He could feel the burning urgency in her vitals and his pumping became brisker, the fires in her pulling him ever deeper into her.

And then…

His head was suddenly bathed in a mad shower of delight. His heart cramped for a second, then he felt himself flying crazily into a breathtaking brightness at breakneck speed. Quickly he was out of control. A sharp current electrified his whole being and he quaked. Instantly, his mouth pulled away from hers and dug into the crook of her neck. His arms went under her back and almost lifted her off the bed. He felt a furious squeeze on his buttocks. He trembled exquisitely, gave a little wail and erupted—spewing surges upon surges of something hot and sizzling and fundamental, flooding her very essence.

Promptly she arched sharply upward toward him. The breath whooshed out of her and her head jerked wildly back as her body went taut. A deep guttural cry emanated from her throat and she began to convulse violently.

“Oh, Wooooolf…!”

Somewhere distantly, Wolf had that eerie feeling again that the voice was so very familiar.

He kept pumping, pushing forth deep into her an unending stream of what he had so zealously guarded for thirty long years. But now, he could hold back no more…

.

P
anic gripped Wolf and with a leap of alarm he jumped off the bed.