“See?” she said, “You can feel it too! I think this is what God really is.” Her moist eyes penetrated mine, offering an enormity that unhinged me. A bell rang marking the start of fifth period. A car alarm bleated anxiously from the parking lot. I teetered on the edge between worlds then tipped involuntarily. Even as the heat of her hands worked at my hips, I could feel a cold rod move up through my butt toward my head, filling the space she had just revealed in me. It pushed me upright, as Sister Abigail said it would, and forced Sharon’s hands away. Pressing my skirt back along my legs, pressing the rough fabric back into my skin, I swung my legs across the bench and pressed them together to face the proper direction out toward the field.
Sharon stayed straddling the bench. She reached one hand toward my back, sensing the coldness that had filled me, but I shook it off. For a moment all was quiet as I rehearsed carefully in my head. The words that finally formed had such certainty that I knew they must be true. “This is not God working through you, this is confusion, the Devil, temptation… but this is certainly not God. We must be strong.” I spoke all this toward the field, as if giving a sermon. I could imagine Sister Abigail nodding her affirmation from below. I knew Sharon would be devastated and ashamed; she’d need my compassion. I was holding God’s will and he would guide us through this. I turned to face her finally, prepared to be strong enough for the both of us, even as I expected her to be in tears.
She was not.
She shook her head as she stared at me, those same brilliant eyes fiery and not the least bit ashamed.
“You’re wrong! This is God… in all his glory!” she shouted, tossing her arms and gaze skyward in imitation of a holy-roller preacher. “And you felt it too! You felt the sound of the bleachers cheering vibrating up through your ass. You felt the heat from a thousand suns flow through my thumbs into your crotch. You felt the sky unfold on my tongue, the earth compost us through the press of our lips. You felt the world screaming with delight as we touched… and it scared the shit out of you!”
“Did not!” I said defensively and looked away. “Sure, it felt nice but it’s not real, Sharon. It’s not how it’s supposed to be.” She was quiet so all I could hear was the sound of my own breath, air flowing into the top of my lungs and then quickly back out again. I felt safe in this tiny container.
“Don’t do this,” she said, gently placing her hand on my back once again. This time I didn’t shake it off. “You know, there are moments when we make choices that matter. Like when the football players are down there,” she said pointing to the empty field. “Run or pass? Cut upfield here or over there? Dodge that tackle or run right through it? They never know for sure but they’ve got to choose, or the game chooses for them. You’ve got to trust your instincts too, or you’ll never know what could have been.” She pulled her hand away but I could still feel the heat of it searing through to my heart.
“You know now, you’ve felt it, but you’ve got to choose for yourself.”
Sharon stood and shook herself nose to tail. She ran her hands down along her sides and across her butt, smoothing her jumper. Reaching down, she pulled up her kneesocks, smoothing them into place with a slow touch that made my belly ache hollow.
“This feeling, this is God, and nothing you or Sister Abigail or anyone else can say will make me feel any different.” She grabbed her book bag and hopped down the bleachers then trotted back toward school.
Despite the heat of the fall day, everything seemed to wither and turn cold before my eyes. The green of the grass dulled and a thin haze washed the blue from the sky. The wood of the bench turned silvery and a splinter tore at the back of my leg. I sat steely, straight and still, watching her depart, yet inside I could feel some crazy longing still cupping the tiny ember she had ignited in my belly, protecting it until a day I too would catch fire.
HEARTFIRST
Kiki DeLovely
I don’t know if I’ve ever witnessed anything more sexy than the intent and intensity in her eyes as she shakes her head no, slowly, side to side, when what she really means is “Fuck, yes.” As though she’s disbelieving of just how incredibly right it is. As if everything about me is so right that it’s wrong. She takes her sweet time with that simple motion, as if she hasn’t the slightest need to rush, despite the fact that other parts of her may be moving at much greater velocities. This apparent discord—between both the unspoken verbal and the pace of the physical—although seemingly misaligned, has a radical effect on my desire and even brings a sort of asymmetrical balance to my lust. It’s allowing my passion to course wildly through my mind and, hence, my body—blood pounding like wild ponies through my veins and racing to deliver an aching throb of need to my cunt.
Though she’s only known me a few months, she has this madness-making ability to cut me to my core with little effort.
We’re surrounded by people waiting to be seated, but once she’s locked me in her gaze, all I can see is her. She takes a slow gander at me; eyeing my feet dangling on the last rung of the bar stool, trailing up my unladylike-positioned legs, fixing briefly on the lacy frill at the hem of my skirt (just long enough to lick her lips), before continuing upward. I wrap one of my patent leather heels around the back of her leg, innocent enough for public purposes, and pull her in a little closer. She closes her eyes, keeping them closed a little too long, and inhales deeply. A lecherous grin creeps across her mouth.
Leaning into my face, she pauses for several seconds—my heartbeat quickens in my clit—then makes her way to my ear. “You know that intoxicating scent of yours?” She waits just a beat for her rhetorical question to sink in and then continues, “I can smell you from here.” My blush is hard and immediate, wondering: if she can smell my cunt in a crowd of people, who else can? And not caring in the slightest—feeling so gorgeous and cherished, so very pleased to please her with my scent alone.
I close the door behind us and she doesn’t make me wait—thank heavens she doesn’t make me. No romantic foreplay, no taking her sweet time, no making love to the goddess inside me. No. Thank my luckiest stars. No, she shoves inside me fast and hard. Faster. And harder. In and out. And in. And out. So many times, so fucking fast, I feel like I’m about to lose my mind. She knows I’ve been needing this too damn long to have to wait even a second longer to have her. So she pounds away at my cunt like she wants to break me in two, like a rapacious beast. And I thank the planets for aligning our worlds, calling forth this limitless ravaging.
She slides two of her free fingers into my mouth and I begin to suck. As I take them in, she grunts out of euphoria but still wants more. Plunging her fingers deeper down my throat, farther until I’m gagging, she leaves me trying just as hard to suck in air as I am willing more of her into me. I need more of her inside me. Obligingly, she adds another finger and takes me over and over again and won’t stop after I’ve come once, twice, ten times. I lose count as I go out of my mind because she won’t fucking stop, won’t give me a chance to catch my breath, and I no longer care if I ever breathe again. She pounds me like she’s furious at the universe for having kept us apart so long and she has to make up for all those lost nights of passion and sweat, the days of lust and pure bliss. I scream and writhe and cry out until I have no voice left.
It is only later, much later, quite a while after she’s fucked me into oblivion, that she doubles back, retraces her steps, straps on her cock and takes her time. Slowly. So excruciatingly slow. She teases me to a point of so much more pain than her more violent actions could ever cause. I can’t stand it, and it’s only then that the tears start to rise. I can sense the first one welling in the corner of my eye, feel it catch in my throat, as she pushes into me so I can feel her going on forever. Do they even make cocks long enough that you can enter someone for days before hitting a wall and then withdraw for the following week? That is how long it feels like it’s taking her to complete just one thrust. And the intimacy of it all is terrifying.