Thor'sday Night - Paranormal Erotica (6 page)

‘It hurt when I squeezed your nipple, didn’t it,
Carmen?’

‘Yes,’ she agrees fervently.

‘Yes?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘But you liked it. You felt it between your
legs, didn’t you? You’re nice and wet.’

It feels like a terrible loss when he slips his
hand out from between her thighs.

‘Sit on the edge of the bed, baby, then lie back
and spread your legs.’

The thought of safe sex crosses her mind like a
shooting star, and promptly vanishes. She wants this man in her
life. From the moment their eyes met she has wanted him inside her,
so she obeys him now without a word.

He comes to stand before her, and unzips his
pants.

Apparently, he has no intention of taking off
his own clothes, and she can’t understand why that turns her on so
much, and why it makes her want him even more.

‘Would you like me to fuck you, Carmen?’

She stares breathlessly up at the dark ceiling
as she feels his cool helmet just barely touching her pussy’s
soaking warm lips.

All she can do is moan her assent as all her
thoughts fuse into a longing so profound there are no words to
express it.

‘Would you like me to fuck you, Carmen?’ he asks
again, parting the slick lips of her labia with his dry, almost
detached helmet.

‘Yes,’ she whispers.

‘Say it, and let me hear you.’

Her heart racing, it is the hungry mouth of her
cunt that answers and not her normal modest self. ‘I want you to
fuck me!’

He penetrates her slowly, letting her feel how
wet and warm and welcoming her body is. She takes a slow, anxious
breath as his erection slides into her, and lets it out in a sigh
of contentment at how beautifully he fills her, giving her pelvis a
wonderful feeling of fullness without strain. She spreads her legs
as far as she can to take his whole penis into her vagina. ‘Oh,
yes…’

He leans forward, grips her narrow waist with
both his hands, and begins driving into her, sustaining a powerful,
pounding rhythm while ramming his entire dick in and out of
her.

No man has ever used her like this before, with
such undisguised selfishness, and at first she is too stunned to
know how she feels. But then she discovers that her back is arching
like a bridge over the almost frighteningly deep pleasure her body
takes in his unrestrained force. She spreads her arms wide,
clutching the comforter to brace herself, as if he is nailing her
down on the cross of what begins to feel like an almost mystical
ecstasy, because his relentlessly violent strokes shouldn’t feel so
good – she shouldn’t want them never to end. It doesn’t make any
sense, and yet it’s true, she doesn’t want him to stop, not even
when, physically, she starts reaching the point where she can’t
take much more…

He whips out of her.

She lifts her head, and sees the ghost of his
climax rising over her womb as he pumps himself, coming silently
and intensely.

Moaning languidly, she caresses his creamy sperm
into her skin like a lotion that will help keep her beautiful
forever.

Chapter Three

Unbelievably, it is almost cold outside, which
makes the warm arm Jay drapes around her feel even better.

During the short
trip up Ponce de Leon in his small black sports car, she recommends
several nearby restaurants. He chooses
Bankhok-Bankhok, because, he says, they can sit
closer together there than anywhere else.

They slip off their shoes and follow the hostess
onto a raised platform, where traditional knee-high tables and
cushions are arranged over the spiraling designs of a plush red and
gold carpet.

They sit cross-legged next to each other beside
a window that reflects them like dark water.

‘Good evening.’ A smiling Oriental girl in a
form-fitting silver dress kneels beside their table, and hands them
both two large red menus.

‘Good evening.’ Jay returns her smile with a
rare one of his own. ‘We’d like some sake to start with,
please.’

‘Most certainly, sir.’

When the porcelain decanter arrives a moment
later, he fills both small white glasses to the brim. ‘To us,
Carmen.’ He downs the rice wine, and she follows his example. ‘It’s
nice and warm,’ he comments in an undertone, pouring them both
more, ‘but nothing compared to you.’

‘Jay, I hope you don’t think…’

‘I’m usually not so hasty myself, Carmen.’

She asks softly, ‘Why were you this time?’

His right hand reaches under the table and
squeezes her left thigh.

She has to close her eyes to keep from crying
out.

‘Because, you bring out the devil in me,
baby.’

She opens the menu, and forces herself to study
the selection.

Italic cursive describes exotically matched
ingredients not entirely to her taste, but at the moment she could
not care less. She is too consumed with the memory of that brief,
yet utterly fulfilling experience, in her bedroom. Somehow it bore
no resemblance to the ‘fast-food’ sex she has so often endured, and
which always leaves her feeling sick at heart. She hardly knows
him, yet already he has taught her some serious things about her
sensual palate.

Their waitress falls gracefully to her knees
beside him again. ‘Would you like order now?’ She asks happily.

‘Carmen?’

‘Um, I’ll have the shellfish pasta, not too hot,
please.’

Jay hands back the menus. ‘I’ll have the beef
teriyaki, very hot, and more sake. Just keep it coming.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘You don’t like spicy food, Carmen?’

‘Not really.’ Profoundly conscious of his hand
coming to rest on her thigh again under cover of the table, she
studies the light blue pattern of vines decorating the porcelain
carafe.

‘What do you like?’

She glances self-consciously around the room at
the other diners. ‘Lot’s of things.’

‘Really? I thought you were very
particular.’

She dares to look directly into his eyes.
‘Excuse me, but I thought we were talking about food.’

‘I’m curious about your appetite in all its
forms, Carmen.’

She succumbs to an exquisite sense of falling
against gravity into his stare, and reaches for her cup to brace
herself. ‘I like this stuff.’

‘Drink up, tomorrow’s Friday. Unfortunately I
have to fly to Washington for the weekend.’

Her stomach plummets through an invisible hole
in the earth. ‘You do?’ The warmth of the sake radiating out from
her chest, and the hot memory playing itself out in her mind, had
mingled deliciously up until that moment.

His tone is cool, hard, ‘I don’t want to, but my
father’s dying.’

‘God, I’m sorry.’ The truth is, she is more
sorry for herself.

He doesn’t look at her as he pours them both
more wine. ‘I have to see him, try to patch things up with him
before it’s too late.’

The mysterious graph of his profile seems to
fill all the spaces of her consciousness. It leaves her speechless
with contentment; yet also desperate never to feel those empty
spaces inside her again, what she is fast realizing was the
inexpressible void of his absence. ‘Why is it that no one I know
seems to have a good relationship with their father?’ She covers up
her real feelings with this question.

‘Because, generally speaking,’ he downs another
full glass of the fermented grain, ‘men tend to be more selfish
than women. Our mothers really care about us as a special part of
themselves. To our fathers we’re often just an abstract
burden.’

‘Why don’t you and your father get along,
Jay?’

‘Let’s just say we don’t share similar
interests.’

‘What sort of things are you interested in?’ She
returns to the only subject that interests her at the moment.

‘Besides fucking you to death? Not much. You
could say I’m obsessed with the subject.’

She frowns. ‘Does that mean you get a lot of
practice?’

He laughs. ‘On the contrary, Carmen,’ he removes
his hand from her thigh and picks up his napkin, ‘when you’re so
intense about something,’ he unwraps his silverware slowly, as
though undressing it, ‘you’re never easily satisfied.’

His response is so perfect that for a magical
instant it lightens the weight of the earth’s gravity on her
bones.

‘You see, Carmen,’ he spreads the dark red
napkin across his lap, ‘it’s my theory that sexuality is a force
humanity hasn’t even begun to understand yet. Take, for example,
the marriage of sex and violence in contemporary films. I believe
it is a primitive, subconscious way of grasping sexuality’s
metaphysical motive.’ He looks at her. ‘You know, orgasm as the
soul’s release from the body at the moment of death, and a woman’s
womb as the earth in which a man’s spirit is buried even as he
rises.’ He reaches for the sake as he adds casually, ‘I’m into
Bondage and Domination, Carmen.’

A young man dressed entirely in white places a
large silver chalice of steaming rice on the table before them.

Jay reaches for her napkin, let’s the silverware
tumble out of it, and snaps it open across her lap. ‘Do you know
what I’m talking about, Carmen?’

She stares fixedly down at her fork and knife.
‘I’m not sure.’

‘I’m not talking about anything really
distasteful,’ he caresses her long hair reassuringly, ‘so don’t
worry.’

‘That’s nice to know!’

‘I’m flying back late Sunday night.’ Changing
the subject, he kisses her cheek like a grown man comforting a wary
child. ‘Shall I wake you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Even if it’s as late as two o’clock in the
morning?’

‘I don’t care what time it is.’

‘But you might not hear my knock with the air
conditioner going full blast, and four cats purring around you,’ he
teases.

‘I’ll give you a key.’ She takes the problem
seriously. ‘I have an extra one at home.’

‘All right,’ he caresses her hair again
complacently, ‘I’ll let myself in.’

Their dinner arrives, and they eat for a while
in silence.

Carmen scarcely tastes her food as she mulls
over what he said. Bondage and Domination. The term seems a
natural, inevitable part of the meal’s exotic seasonings, a spice
she is afraid might prove too pungent for her, that might burn not
just her tongue but her whole body. Part of her is relieved now
that he is going away for a couple of days; it will give her time
to think. Yet a more honest part of her knows perfectly well there
is nothing to think about. She obeyed him once already, and how
much she enjoyed the result is going to make it impossible for her
to resist whatever else he has in mind. She understands now that
was only an appetizer, his way of giving her a taste of what was to
come to see how she liked it.

‘Talk to me, Carmen.’

‘This is delicious.’

‘You haven’t even tasted your food. You’re too
busy thinking about what I said.’ He cleans his plate, dabs his
lips with the napkin, and flings it onto the table. ‘Aren’t you?’
His stare captures hers with its intense gravity again.

‘Naturally I am. You can’t say something like
that and just leave me hanging.’

‘I can’t?’ He smiles. ‘And why is that?’

‘Because, you just can’t.’

His right hand finds her thigh again. ‘I can do
whatever I please, Carmen.’

This time she is ready for the breathtaking pain
of his fingers seeming to reach for her bone.

‘Say it,’ he whispers.

‘You can do whatever you please.’ There doesn’t
seem any point in denying the truth, much as it might worry
her.

His thumb lightly strokes her throbbing skin.
‘Don’t be afraid, baby, it’s what you want.’

Her tone is soft, submissive, ‘Don’t be afraid
of what, Jay?’

Once more he removes the warm, steadying weight
of his hand from her thigh to pour them both some more sake. ‘How
long have you been working for Mike Peterson?’

‘Almost a year. Why do you ask? And what was
your meeting with Mike about, anyway?’

‘Have you ever really thought about the miracle
of petroleum, Carmen? We use it to move around in ways no one could
have imagined a century ago. We use its derivatives to manufacture
machines, fertilizers, plastic, paints, clothing, and the list goes
on. And, of course, we use it to generate electricity. Modern
cities are the direct result of ample supplies of petroleum.’ He
glances around at the restaurant’s false oriental luxury. ‘Life as
we know it is made possible by the decomposition of marine
organisms that lived in the sea millions of years ago.’

‘Then you can’t really say modern civilization
isn’t organic, can you, since it depends on this rich organic
deposit, another name for which is fossil fuel, right?’ She is
possessed by an irresistible desire to argue with him. ‘I mean, all
of a sudden there’s an explosion of life in the ocean, which is
where humanity has its origins, and all these tiny organisms merged
with sand and silt after they died to form this black magic called
petroleum. It’s like an inheritance we left ourselves in some
mysterious way.’

‘I was right,’ he says to himself.

‘Right about what?’

‘I was right about you, Carmen; you’re beautiful
all the way through.’

To avoid the cool gray shackles of his eyes on
her pulse, she picks her fork up again and shyly bats a shrimp
around her plate.

‘But unfortunately,’ he goes on, ‘humanity is
squandering this mysterious inheritance, as you call it.’

‘There’s always the sun, Jay,’ she refuses to be
drawn into a depressing environmental discussion, ‘that big golden
coin worth the whole world.’

‘Solar energy isn’t the answer to everything.
You don’t want children, do you?’

‘Not anytime soon.’ Her eyes glance off his.
‘I’m too selfish. I want to experience everything I can myself
first. You don’t want children, do you?’ she asks belatedly.