On the stove, the callaloo bubbled and boiled, threatening to eject the pot cover. The strength in her pretty hands always surprised me. They lifted me, threw me on my grandmother’s old table. It was sturdy under my weight, solidly straddling the floor as she pushed my thighs open. Her fingers parted the moist hairs under my panties then slid home.
“I’m sorry I made you wait,” Alva said.
The fullness of her inside me felt so good that it hurt. Breath boiled in my throat. Soft, needful noises bubbled up in my chest and flooded out of my mouth as I held her close, not quite believing that she was there. Her coconut-scented hair brushed my face and I clenched my thighs around her.
“I should have come back sooner,” she breathed. “But I was afraid.”
The fingers inside me began to move. In twelve years of lonely nights I had dreamed of this, of her hands on me, the voluptuous wet of her mouth against mine. In a fever, I clutched at her shoulders. My nipples scraped against her shirt, sending electric heat burning through my body. She pushed into me, her breath coming in loud gasps as the table slammed against the wall and my dangling legs jerked in the air. Sweat churned to the surface of my skin, my insides tightened and swelled and my breasts tingled. I grasped at her one last time.
My moans sang out in the tiny kitchen as I twitched and shuddered in orgasm. Alva kissed my mouth and slowly withdrew her fingers. She licked them while I watched, limp from the table. The muscles in my thighs trembled.
“You’ve always been so effortless,” she murmured. “I forgot that too.” With quick, impatient motions she shrugged out of her clothes and tossed them on the floor. Almost as an afterthought, she twisted away to turn off the stove. My dinner was already ruined. “Show me your room.”
I laid Alva out on my bed and feasted my eyes on the newness of her. The clipped and neat pubic hair, her flat belly and the diamond-studded post threaded through her navel. Her fingers were manicured, cut close and polished a strangely alluring green. I kissed the backs of her hands, then her palms. My smell on her pulled a response, visceral and immediate, from deep in my belly. She smiled up at me from the rumpled sheets, all wet mouth and slumberous eyes. Oh, I missed this, her pliant, pleasure-seeking body under my hands, allowing me to do whatever I wanted.
Her skin smelled of a recent bath and baby powder and sweat. It yielded under my teeth and she moaned softly, arching her neck, widening her thighs. She whispered my name and asked for what she wanted. I slid my fingers against her slick wetness and she groaned, moving her hips against the sheets. The sound of my name on her lips sweetened the air again. I laughed with the pleasure of it and bent my head. She was a stranger to me, someone I had to relearn. I savored the lesson, cupping her soft hips as I charted the delicate geography of her forest and wetlands with my tongue. Hot sensation coursed through my body and pushed my hips against the bed in time to her groaning movements. Alva shuddered against my mouth, whimpering against the sheets as her body undulated and clutched, empty of everything except my love.
I knew she was not staying. How could she? Even now, her body under mine felt transitory, already in flight. Alva shifted until she was the one looking down at me, eyes tracing my face as if to memorize its every curve.
“Are you staying?” I asked.
“No.” Her fingers settled on my belly. “But I want you to come with me.”
I shook my head. Pain blossomed on my tongue from the fierce pressure of my teeth.
“We can’t live here,” she said, lacing our fingers together. “Not like this. Not like I want it to be. Come with me.”
I closed my eyes. After twelve years, she had finally made my dreams real. How could I give that up? Already my skin clawed itself at the thought of leaving hers. I turned to her in the small bed, the bed that I had bought for us, with one word on my lips.
“Where?”
STELLA LOVES BELLA
V. C. Clark
Two o’clock in the afternoon. I stepped out of the supermarket where I worked and into the real world; in the wet, cold, winter air; snug in my fuzzy black coat; my face hidden by my hood; my world suddenly changed. I forgot about my workday and remembered the reason I’d woken up this morning with ridiculously soaked underwear clinging to my hips and ass with warm sweat, my mind drowned by the images of a goddess.
That goddess is Belladonna. Yes, Belladonna, the porn star; Belladonna, the nastiest chica in the adult film industry; Belladonna, the object of my hidden desires. She’s the perfect example of the type of woman I want in my life: kinky, filthy, a butt-slut, a lover of ass gapes, a devourer of cunts, the mistress of fetish, the fearless sexual daredevil. She’s the kind of woman who doesn’t hide her raw sexuality, one who’s proud enough to share it not only with her lover, but with the world through the art of pornographic films.
In all honesty, if my girlfriend Mia was a porn star, stripper or exotic dancer, I couldn’t handle it. Part of me believes that it’s not right to share or sexually expose a lover to strangers. Yet, another side craves the spontaneity, the explicit high, the rush of seeing the one I love doing what she loves best: performing sex, fucking, making love, masturbating; dicks bulging, cum flying, cunts drooling; lesbian orgies, male and female gang bangs… I could go on and on.
I love Mia, but she’s not the most sexually adventurous person I’ve ever known. Hell, she doesn’t even like the idea of anal sex, a thing that she knows is my ultimate pleasure. She doesn’t understand how I can be aroused by half of the fantasies I’ve shared with her, some of them involving BDSM, animal training, rope bondage, veggie sex, tit fucking, pussy fisting, and just the simple act of role-playing in costumes—having sex with them on. She finds some of these humorous, the way she finds me humorous.
Mia gave me my first Belladonna DVD for my twenty-fifth birthday. She had no idea who Belladonna was but had heard about her from a friend who recommended the DVDs as a perfect gift. I popped the disc into my laptop and snuggled with Mia on our bed, my eyes glued to the screen.
First scene: a mighty fine dominatrix, reminiscent of Bettie Page, in control of a tied-up, gagged sex slave, teasing her, the naughty pet, and then fucking her with her fingers and then a medium-sized butt plug. I came in my panties, soaking wet; Mia was shocked, not too impressed, her pussy dry. Second scene: simply hot, my mouth watering, my pussy dripping; Mia not getting it, but kissing me, fondling me and licking my ear, acting like she was into it. Scene three: hella good, lots of toys and two hot gorgeous babes, fucking each other S/M style. Scene four: a trillion times better, the best! Belladonna, pregnant, with engorged breasts and round belly, gorgeous, horny, not giving a damn that the belly was in the way of her fucking and being fucked by another girl, the sorority type, the kind I disliked, but ooh honey, this chick was a wet dream. Belladonna and the other girl, reacting to their call to ravage each other, pillow fighting, nipple biting, booby sucking, pussy eating, ass fucking; huge dongs plunging in their tight assholes, Belladonna choking on a monster dildo: Oh, fuck, fuck me Belladonna!
“Okay, I’ve had enough,” Mia yawned. “It’s boring me now.”
The end. The best birthday present ever. If only Mia had loved it just as much.
Later in the evening when she was asleep, I watched the rest of the movie. Took out my eleven-inch rabbit vibrator that she despises because it’s too fucking huge and so fucking loud. I agree, but dammit, I wanted it. Crammed the bulbous head into my dripping cunt, turned on the bead rotation, the clitoral teaser buzzing, my eyes glued to the computer screen. Ooh, yeah, that’s it, the fifth and final scene of the movie: Belladonna stuffing humongous anal beads in this woman’s asshole—all of them, no holding back. I came; I screamed for more; I got more; I came again. I was convinced: Stella loves Bella. Mia squirmed, shook her head, giggled and muttered, “You weirdo,” and went back to sleep. A wonderful finish to a steamy evening.