Blood on Her Lips : PART I

Anything Could Happen (1)

Rose looked down from atop the stairs and inspected the small underground room that was drenched in deeply-saturated red and purple lights. The gold trims of the plush velvet sofas and chairs were twinkling. Large, tasseled Turkish pillows lined various parts of the room, their metallic embroidery glittering throughout the rich fabrics. The delicate scarves and luxurious upholstery draped around the small space muted the lights and gave the room an intimate, lush feel. It could have been a tiny harem or opium den, but the platform at the back that served as a stage suggested that performers ruled this realm.

The tall, gold-framed mirror that rested against the wall opposite the stairs reflected the patrons littered throughout the sofas and chairs, eager to watch the next show.

Madame LeClerc—owner, manager, and DJ at Theater La Chatte—pressed play and “Anything Could Happen” by Ellie Goulding filled the tiny showroom below. Rose descended, step by step down the carpeted stairs that led into the little room that resembled a bygone era, one where elegance and decadence commingled with natural ease.

A plush, burgundy divan sat at the back of the stage, and Rose began her act there. She wore a dazzling silver dress, adorned with sequins and her own small, round shoulders peeking out from behind the thin straps. She lounged languidly, her body stretched out across the length of the divan. She raised her legs so that each silvery, strappy high-heel was planted on the divan’s cushions. Her knees were spread apart. She traces her hands along her exposed legs, up her sequined torso, and through her hair that draped over the edge of the divan. The touch of her own hands on her warm body and through her silky hair were immensely pleasurable, and she let her audience in on this secret with a subtle parting of her lips and fluttering of her eyelashes.

Twirling herself upright, she faced the audience. She spotted the flash of a gold watch on a man in the front row. Men wearing gold watches often bought private shows from the dancers. Accordingly, she paid him some special attention with her eyes.

Her mirrory dress reflected the reds and purples of the lights as she strided into the audience. The man with the gold watch was sitting on the frontmost sofa, so it was easy to give him a little extra attention first. She perched herself on his lap, her back toward him, and reached her arms behind her and around his neck. She writhed in motion with the music, and the fuzz of her cheek just barely grazed the side of his stubbled face.

The song’s chorus—“anything could happen, anything could happen”—beat over and over again in her ears and throughout the cave-like room.

She could favor the man with the gold watch, but she couldn’t ignore the other clients. She also didn’t want to—it was too boring to focus only on the clients that were likely to buy private shows. About eighty-percent of these clients were older men, nice enough but less thrilling than the wildcards in the room. The younger men tended to be cute, with their shyness and eagerness mixed into confusing head clouds for them. Rose liked to lead them through those mixed emotions. The women in the audience tended to have a special glint of awe in their eyes, appreciating her talent and eroticism equally, which pleased Rose greatly. She felt a connection to them. Aside from the rare assholes who were loud, made scenes, or didn’t respect the rules, the clientele was generally respectful and kind, and Rose wanted to ensure that everyone—not just the private show patrons—had a wondrous, sensual, and exhilarating experience with her.

She moved to the back of the room, mingling with the audience. Sensually, she lay backwards on the soft yet sturdy back of a sofa. The backs of the sofas were constructed for this exact purpose, they were wide and flat and lined with red velvet. With her back arched, breasts thrust forward, and head thrown back, she closed her eyes and swayed as if under the song’s spell. She fingered the hair of a client beside her before getting up to move around the room again. She could touch them, but they could not touch her, unless she guided their hands. That was rule number one at Theater La Chatte.

She tiptoed around the audience’s realm for a bit, weaving in between chairs and sofas, stroking a knee here and gliding a finger along a chest there, before strutting back to the stage. There, in full view of the audience, she shimmied off her silvery dress to reveal electric blue lingerie with black straps.

In long strides, she approached the tall, gilded mirror at the side of the room. She turned to face her reflection in the large, ornate mirror and ran her hands over her body. Her skin felt smooth and soft and supple. The satiny electric blue of her bra, garter-belt, and panties shimmered reflectively in the red and purple lighting. She writhed as her hands explored her own body. Rose, and her doppleganger in the mirror, resembled brazen blue flames flickering wildly in the dark, warm, cavernous room. She looked supranatural, carnal yet in control, both the snake and the snakecharmer at once.

In the mirror she also caught the eyes of the gold-watched man on her and locked eyes with him through the reflection. She lingered just a second too long, adding an extra dash of enticement, before shifting her gaze. She smiled to herself—he was hooked. But she couldn’t show him that she knew that, not just yet.

She turned and swayed backward, pressing her nearly naked ass into the textured cushion behind her for support. Dancing made her feel sensual, and the raised golden stitching of the Turkish pillows that littered the room's chairs and stage area provided an electric sensation on her body—one of the perks of the job.

When she first started dancing she thought she would just close herself off for 10 minutes, focus on her technique, keep herself mechanically minded while the men drooled around her. She had been shocked that, instead, she too found it pleasurable. Not because of the men, who were mostly interchangeable and faceless. Instead, strangely, she awoke to the eroticism of her own body. Laying out on a couch between the rows of seats, lifting her groin into the air to catch the light, and looking down at her body, her tits framing her pussy… she became legitimately aroused during performances, and was often desperate to get home and rub her pussy to orgasm after a long day.

The room was carefully engineered to produce this effect. The dim yet saturated colored lights cast erotic shadows behind the dancers, and put off just enough light to seductively highlight the corners and curves of each dancer's body. Benches covered in red velvet for patrons provided space for dancers to recline just inches away from the audience, and she found it incredibly erotic to hold herself just barely out of reach while a nearby man's eyes brimmed with desire for her.

“Baby, I'll give you everything you need…” trilled the song.

Rose unbuttoned the back of her electric blue bra and slipped her arms out from the black straps, all the while keeping her breasts covered by the fabric of the bra. She swayed with the rhythm of the song. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a new client descending the stairs. It was common for clients to arrive mid-show, and dancers always welcomed additional audience members. She waited for him to find a seat before revealing her tits—a most gracious welcome.

He was handsome, she noticed. Very handsome. Dark hair covered one eye, but this accentuated rather than hid the chiseled face beneath. He appeared young, but unlike the typical young solo patron, who were often nervous and unsure, this man carried himself with an unmistakable yet unostentatious confidence. He chose a seat in a corner in the very back and crossed both his legs and arms. There was no anxious leg shaking or tensed shoulders. He was relaxed, yet sought to be hidden and guarded. His aura of mystery titillated Rose and she decided to indulge a whim.

She took her time getting to the back of the audience, where this new client sat. On her way, she traced a finger along the man with the gold watch’s leg, allowing a naked breast to come tantalizingly close to his cheek. She also gave some other audience members flirtatious little touches and looks as she meandered through the audience. Her tits bounces lightly as she hopped up the steps to the back row, where at last she made her way to the new client.

Standing wide-legged in front of this mysterious, darkly-clad man, she stretched out the thin straps of her electric blue panties with her thumbs and teased the motions of removing them. Her bare tits were at his eyeline and the edges of her pussy were nearly revealed, yet this man’s eyes rested on neither. Instead, his eyes were locked on her face. He did not look into her eyes, but seemed to focus instead on the lower edges of her face—her mouth, her chin, even her neck. Rose couldn’t decide whether it was sweet or unsettling that he wouldn’t lower his gaze to her body.

But Rose enjoyed a challenge. She picked up his hands and guided him to grasp the straps of her panties. It must be freezing outside, she thought to herself, feeling the icy temperature of his hands. She kept her hands over his and she helped him release her pantes down her legs. Hopping onto the back of the sofa behind her, she kicked off the panties and spread her legs, daring this young man not to lower his gaze and admire her exposed pussy.

But he merely looked away, turning his head. Rose shrugged in her mind and concluded that he was just not into her. She moved on, giving her attention to the other, more worthy audience members. Moments later, he got up and left, carefully weaving past other audience members and silently climbing the stairs.

Perhaps he was there looking for another dancer, Rose thought. Theatre La Chatte tickets were not cheap, but one benefit of them was that they were good for the whole day—patrons could come and go as they pleased as long as they held onto that day’s ticket. So sometimes clients only stayed for a short time, often returning later in the day. This was especially true if they were hoping to catch a specific dancer’s performance, which was fairly common for the regulars.

Rose finished her act, not giving it much more thought. “Merci, tout le monde! My name is Scarlette,” she announced, giving her stage name so that clients could request private shows with her. She had confidence in the man with the gold watch, who promptly stood up. This usually meant they wanted to hurry and be first in line to secure a private dance.

Rose gathered the clothing items she had scattered around the room and followed him upstairs, pulling on a silk robe at the top of the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” she heard Madame LeClerc tell the gold-watched man. “You’ll have to wait, this other man has already requested a private dance with Scarlette. May I invite you to watch the next performance while you wait?”

“Other man?” Rose questioned to herself. She looked over, and behind the man with the gold watch stood the mysterious young man. She could barely make him out; only his tall outline was discernible in that shadowy corner of the narrow entrance to Theatre La Chatte. This was quite surprising! Her pussy worked her magic after all—much faster than usual, it seemed. She was pleased, and intrigued.

“I want to go last.” All heads turned toward the young man. “At the end of the night,” he clarified. The surprises were compounding and the mystery around this person was waxing. Madame LeClerc took care of the arrangements and Rose took care of the man with the gold watch, though her mind stayed with the dark young man and his odd behavior. Her mind and body ached to explore this mysterious man further.

Desire, Desire (2)

It was finally time. Rose’s final private dance of the night. She was rattled by a sense of jittery nervousness that she hadn’t felt since her first days as an erotic dancer. But now, just like then, her nervous energy was not entirely fear-based; rather, it stemmed from excitement and eagerness. She was chomping at the bit, perched expectantly at the starting line waiting for the signal flare to go off.

Rose took a deep breath in an attempt to ease her shaking hands. She laughed at herself, how ridiculous to be nervous after all this time! She shook her hands as if drying them, in an effort to release her nerves through her fingertips. She glanced at the time—how could there still be 12 minutes left? She had been in this private dance room for nearly twenty minutes, ensuring that everything was prepped and ready.

Her phone was in place and set to play Anna Calvi’s “Desire.” She checked it again just to make sure. Everything was in order. She drummed her fingers restlessly and heaved an anxious sigh. Needing a distraction, she bolted to the long french-door style windows across the room, and propped open one pane. She pulled up a chair next to the window and took out her vape filled with liquid marajuana. She drew a few languorous puffs and felt the calming potion wash through her.

Her pussy also seemed to be hyper aware of this upcoming client. It tingled with readiness, seethed with anticipation. Would she fuck him? It had been quite some time since she had fucked a client, mainly because it had been some time since one interested her. Toying with the idea of fucking this mysterious, perhaps shy, young man gave way to toying with herself.

She was naked apart from a garnet necklace, black thigh-high fishnets held up by a black garter-belt embroidered with red roses and green leaves, and blood-red patent leather heels. This left her pussy exposed and accessible. Her fingers traced along the curve of her hip bone, over the sensitive skin of her stomach, and across the softness of her upper thigh. Her nails dug into the flesh of her thigh before moving over the delicate folds of her pussy. Her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted.

Her fingers explored the soft, exposed layers of her clit. She rubbed herself gently, gingerly at first, before intensifying the motions. Like the graceful legs of an ice skater, her middle and forefinger spread open and slid down along the grooves of the inner realms of her pussy.

She purred and moaned as her fingers picked up speed. Her pussy, made agap by one leg propped up with its blood-red pump on the windowsill, felt like it was glowing. It was true that if a passerby on the streets below should look up, they would catch an eyeful of Rose pleasuring herself, since she had opened the drapes and window in order to puff on her vape. This thrill of exhibitionism urged on her exploratory fingers.

Closing her two spread fingers into a firm arrow, she plunged them deep into her exposed opening, now wet and trembling with desire. At first, she let her hand take the lead, pulling her glistening fingers in and out of herself in heaving waves. But her hips quickly joined in, rising and falling, up and down onto the chair, her bent leg still steadied against the windowsill. The pointed tip of her blood-red pump peaked out past the window pane into the open air.

Rose withdrew her two fingers and darted them into her mouth, as much to gain extra wetness as to taste her own dripping pleasure. Her fingers lingered in her mouth for a moment, then rushed back down again. Her wet fingers licked the outer layers of her throbbing pussy, as her moans got louder. Her free hand clutched an uncovered tit, squeezing it tightly, while her hardworking fingers continued their dance inside and all around her beating cunt.

Her fingers rubbed and thrusted, thrusted and rubbed, exchanging focus from her inflated clit to her slippery cavern, and then back again. Rubbing and thrusting, clit to cavern. Thrusting and rubbing, cavern to clit. Cavern to clit, clit to cavern, until—with violent force—her body erupted into a paroxysm of pleasure.

She lounged back in the chair, her limbs draped languidly over the arms, both feet now resting on the ground. She felt relaxed and empowered, ready to perform.

~~~~

Finally, it was time to go downstairs and collect her client. Rose patted the sweat from her brow, fixed up her rustled hair, and covered herself with her silk robe. Her skin was hot and charged with the afterglow of sexual pleasure, and the silk felt sensual and cooling against it. Goosebumps flared and hard nipples protruded through the thin layer of silk wrapped across her.

The dark stranger was waiting in the narrow entrance of Theatre La Chatte. It was 11:30 at night, yet he wore sunglasses. Shyness could perhaps explain this, along with some of his other odd behavior, Rose thought. Or maybe he prized anonymity. Was he scared of a less-than-understanding girlfriend finding out, or perhaps he worried about crossing paths with a coworker? Irrelevant to Rose, these were common distractions that hovered in the minds of her clients. Her role was to distract them from their distractions.

"Bonsoir, chéri," Rose greeted him. In addition to the sunglasses, he kept his head bowed slightly, and all he gave in recognition was a subtle nod.

Rose always flashed a peek into the contents of her robe to ensure her client liked what he saw before going off to have their private dance. This one, however, turned his head away, averting his look. She shrugged mentally at his seeming disinterest, then took him by the hand and led him up a winding flight of stairs and into the private dance room she had arranged. She directed him to sit in the chair she had placed in the center of the room—the same one on which she had just pleasured herself—and turned to her phone resting on the music dock.

“Ready?” she asked over her shoulder. He nodded. She noticed he still did not remove his dark sunglasses.

“First, the rules,” she said, turning toward him. “Rule one: you must stay in that chair until I tell you that you can get up. Comprenez-vous?” He nodded slowly.

“Rule two: your hands are free to touch yourself, as you like, but they can only touch me when I guide them. Comprenez?” He nodded. She smiled.

She turned to play the music, her finger hovering above the play button, but stopped herself. She turned back around and approached him slowly. Coming close enough to touch him, she traced her fingers along the outline of his sunglasses.

“You would like these to stay on, or may I—” He answered by abruptly pushing her hand away from his glasses. This startled her, but she had certainly encountered much more bizarre requests from clients, so she shrugged and acquiesced.

Finally, she played “Desire” and began her act.

Rose tossed her robe off and gave the seated stranger a full view of her body. Her necklace dripped a trail of twinkling garnets between her exposed breasts. Legs in fishnets, hips in garter-belt, feet buttressed by heels, she rested in a standing pose. Her own hands caressed the lines of her body until they reached her tits. She could feel his eyes following the movements of her hands. She cupped her breasts, gazed down and admired them lovingly. She then coyly raised her gaze to his eyeline—this little trick typically gave her clients the titillating sensation of being caught looking at her, which in turn gave her a little thrill, but those damned sunglasses blocked this effect, at least on her end.

Anna Calvi’s deep, throbbing voice rang out: “But it's just the devil in me / The devil that's calling as I come undone.”

Rose had planned on dancing a good distance in front of him for a while longer, as she typically did in her private acts, before shifting to the portion where she touched him, but she felt herself compelled to initiate that part faster.

“The sky is getting dark tonight / Darker than the fear that's gonna pull us apart,” beat the song.

She stood directly over him as he remained seated, gazing up at her, his eyes blacked out by opaque rectangles.

Bending her knees, she sat down on his lap facing him, her legs spread apart and flanking him on either side. She ran her hands along her own legs, savoring the woven, binding texture of her fishnets.

“And it's the fire, the fire, the fire,” chanted the song. “It's heavenly, heavenly—”

Rose grazed the length of his neck with the tips of her fingers before tightening them around his throat.

“Desire, desire,” pounded the song. “Desire, desire.”

She released her grasp and let her hand fall onto his groin. Its hardness was unmistakable. She felt her own wetness respond. Rose undid the button and zipper of his pants, allowing the hard cock to spring forth. Propelling herself off his lap and onto her knees, facing him, she brought her mouth tantalizingly close to his erection, but refrained from touching, permitting only her hot, wet breath to coat it. She watched him writhe at this teasing, this hinting, this promise of touch.

He refrained from touching himself, for reasons Rose could not discern. This was rare, but it happened. Instead, his hands remained locked on the chairs’ armrests.

Gazing at that hard, silky cock that protruded just inches from her face, Rose noticed two sources of wetness gather like a storm within herself—both her mouth and her pussy salivated for this dick in front of her. She felt it deserved some touch, so she sprung up, twirled herself around, and perched herself back on his lap, this time sitting with her back toward him, the firm softness of her ass cheeks pressing and grinding against his penis.

A moan escaped his lips. He was behaving so well, Rose noticed, his hands still perched obediently on the arms of the chair. Yet, upon closer inspection it seemed that his fingers were gripping those chair arms with agonizing tightness, apparently in a battle to maintain control.

Rose was feeling generous. She gently clasped his hands with her own and lifted them off the armrests, brought them up around her and onto her tits. His cold hands triggered goosebumps on her exposed flesh and made her already hard nipples pucker even further. She gasped slightly at this shock of coldness, but continued on, pressing his hands harder against her chest.

“You don’t know how much I need this.” These breathy words were the first he had spoken to her, but it was as if they were not directed at her but merely fell carelessly from his mouth, almost unintentionally, almost against his will.

Reaching backward, she caressed the side of his face with her palm and turned her profile toward him, eyeing him compassionately out of one eye. “There’s more to come,” she uttered softly, sweetly, with a wink.

Rising from his lap, she turned to face him again. Standing, she bent herself at the waist, bringing her face close to his. Her hand reached down and grasped the hard cock below. She began with gentle, teasing strokes. Even his cock is cold, she thought with surprise. The blood filling it with stiffness was somehow not translating to outer warmth.

Still bent over him, she brushed her lips against his. He stayed motionless, apart from his breathing that had accelerated. She pressed harder and his lips parted in response; soon their tongues were dancing.

“It's coming, coming, coming for you,” warned the song.

She drew her face away from his, a single thread of saliva lingering between them before splitting apart. Pushing his knees wide apart, she crouched again in front of his towering erection. The garnet necklace glittered between her tits and cast a crimson gleam against their inner curves. Her tongue, still wet with his saliva, stroked the length of his shaft and tickled the tip of its head. She watched as it twitched with yearning. In a full sweep, she swallowed his entire cock, rested a moment with its entirety inside her, then released it with a slobbery backstroke.

Now that there was sufficient wetness, her hands joined in. Her mouth and hands stroked up and down in winding, twisting motions. She found herself getting lost in these motions—up and down, in and out—it was as if a cock-sucking demon had taken possession of her. She craved his hardness in her throat, hungered for his smooth head against her tongue.

She had gotten so caught up in sucking his dick that she lost track of time. The song was still playing, suggesting that not too much time had passed. But how was that possible? Had she put the song on repeat? The reality of the world around her was hazy and faded into the distance, as if swallowed by the walls encircling them.

Rose stood up and threw one leg over his thigh, a blood-red heel hanging over the side. This brought her pussy to just hovering above the tip of his penis. With the faintest of movements, she allowed the head of his cock to get a taste of the satiny wetness of her pussy, which now ached to be filled. Thrusting her hips back and forth in undulating strides, the tip of his dick was now coated with her pussy’s sweet nectar.

“I can go fetch a condom,” she offered in a whisper.

In a surprise move, he pushed her off of him. Had she completely misread things? A pang of panic and embarrassment rushed through her. But he was not finished. He picked up her entire body with startling strength and nearly flung her onto the perch of the half-open windowsill. Rose noticed, with both horror and delight, that she had forgotten to close the window and its drapes.

Her back was mostly against the closed pane, but one shoulder peeked out from the open pane. The coldness of the glass against her back reminded her of his cold hands. Through the ajar windowpane beside her, she smelled the cement and exhaust of the city below. Distant honks and motors chimed in her ears. A view from outside would have revealed her nearly-naked form framed by the tall, narrow window, with her hand pressed against the open pane to steady herself. She was both inside and outside. She was exposed yet secure. In this liminal space, she surrendered herself.

Now it was he that was crouched in front of her. The coldness of his hands on her inner thighs gave her a fresh thrill. The iciness of his tongue surprised her most of all. A sensation of prickly needles shot through her. It bordered on pain, but she didn’t shy away. She needed more. Her eyes clenched shut, as if she needed to dull all her other senses in order to fully and only experience this feeling of his touch.

His icy tongue stroked her engorged clit and whirled inside the depths of her pussy. From the corner of her eye, she caught passerbys going about their business on the street a few stories below.

“And it's the fire, the fire, the fire,” called out the song, climbing steadily toward its climax.

Then, in an unexpected turn, she felt the sharp clench of teeth upon her clit, like an oversized staple piercing into her most sensitive patch of flesh. This sent a lightning bolt through her and tensed her entire body. Fists tightened, toes curled, upper lip snarled, teeth clamped together. The pleasure tiptoed so close to ferocious pain that she felt as if she were dangling off the ledge of a skyscraper. This intense rush of this quasi-dangerous pleasure ignited every cell in her body. She felt life flush into every extremity, every inch of her skin tingled with an electric charge. Usually, she had to ask her partners to bite her clit. It was a bold move to try this without being prompted.

“It's heavenly, heavenly—” the song was nearly at its climax, and so was Rose, “Desire, desire / Desire, desire!”

With one final icy thrust of his tongue inside her, a primal scream erupted from deep inside Rose’s throat, and her body spasmed violently, causing her hand to slip from that opened window pane. She was in no real danger of falling out, but nearly a quarter of her body hung out the opened side of the window.

“You don't have to be lost,” the song concluded.

A frosty hand pulled her away from the window and onto her feet. “My hero,” she teased.

With a start, she noticed that his sunglasses were gone. Had he taken them off, or had they fallen off? When his gray eyes finally, at last, met hers, she felt an aftershock of an orgasm rattle through her body. He seemed embarrassed and quickly averted his eyes. Had he noticed her aftershock? What’s to be ashamed of? He had pleasured her with surprising alacrity!

“I should go,” he muttered, stuffing his still hard cock back into his pants.

“Wait!” Rose ran to him and gripped his shirtcollar with both fists. This forced his eyes back into hers.

He blinked rapidly, either alarmed or thinking over something very serious. He chewed the side of his lip. Then, finally, through quickened breath, he asked: “Do you live nearby?”

Rose nodded with a wry smile.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Get dressed, I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

~~~~

He was smoking a cigarette as he waited for Rose outside Theatre La Chatte. He threw it on the ground and stepped on it without a word when she came out.

“It’s this way,” she said as she began walking. He followed her.

“Wait!” Rose explained, glancing at her phone. “It’s nearly midnight.”

“And?” he responded. “Do you turn into a pumpkin?”

She smirked and took him by the hand. By now, she was not startled by the cold temperature of his skin. She pulled him along with her as she made a sharp turn down a sidestreet.

“Let’s go to the river. I like to watch the Eiffel Tower twinkling,” she explained over her shoulder.

After a few blocks, they arrived at a bridge stretching across the Seine. The Eiffel Tower could be seen in the distance, through the mist and darkness of the night sky. They arrived just in time to watch it transform into a dazzling display of twinkling lights at exactly midnight.

Rose leaned her elbows against the bridge’s railing. Reflections of the lights danced in her eyes. They watched the full five minutes of the show in silence. When it finished, Rose escorted the man back toward the direction of her apartment.

“How long have you lived in Paris?” he asked her as they walked side by side.

She was surprised to hear him make small talk; he was usually so stolid and silent. “Two years,” she answered. She chuckled slightly, “And I’m still not sick of these light shows at night.”

“No? I’m sick of all things night-related.”

“All things?” she quipped.

It was the first time she saw him smile. Leaving her question unanswered, he remarked: “You know, most Parisians would be ashamed to admit they like the Eiffel Tower’s lights. Most call it kitschy and gauche.”

“Sometimes I feel like a Parisian,” she said thoughtfully, “and other times I feel very, very different.”

“I know what you mean.” He said these words almost without thinking.

“Where are you from?” Rose asked him.

“East,” he replied.

“Eastern France? Or…farther east? I swear sometimes I can detect the faintest of accents when you speak, but then other times I’m not so sure. But I guess I haven’t heard you speak very much yet, you’ve spoken very little really…”

“Do you mind if I smoke as we walk?”

“Not at all, we still have a few blocks to go. Mind if I vape on my pot pen?”

He shook his head. They each pulled out their smoking devices, and the irregular-shaped cigarettes in the silver case he brought out caught Rose’s eye. “Do you roll your own?” she asked him.

“Yes. I like to add extra tobacco.”

“Health nut, eh?” Rose joked. “Would you care for a puff on mine in between pulls on that death stick of yours?”

It was a silent chuckle expressed solely through his shoulder motions, but it delighted Rose because it was the first time she had seen him laugh. “After,” he replied.

“How about we switch for a few puffs?” she offered.

“I thought it was a ‘death stick’...”

She shrugged. “As I said, sometimes I am Parisian.”

They stopped at a corner and traded smoking devices, each taking a few puffs. “You’re very mysterious,” she told him through the billowy white clouds of smoke released past her lips.

He looked at her and his demeanor changed. He quickly exchanged her vape for his cigarette back, but instead of smoking it he threw it on the ground. “I have to go,” he stated starkly. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why?” He had already begun walking away as Rose called out these words. She ran after him and caught his hand with her own. Again, the coldness of his palm did not startle her.

He stopped and turned toward her, but he kept his face turned away from hers. He didn’t speak, but the fact that he stopped made Rose optimistic.

“Look,” she said, “obviously you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but I was really looking forward to spending the night with you. Did I say something wrong?”

“No…” His lips remained parted as if he had more words to say, but instead of uttering them he closed his mouth and ran his hand through his hair. He was holding something back, Rose suspected.

“Do you not want to come back to my place?” she asked delicately. “It’s just around the corner.”

He looked at her for a drawn out length of time without speaking, then cast his gaze off into the distance. He chewed his bottom lip, as if words were trying to escape and he was fighting to hold them in.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Rose continued. “We could have a glass of wine, smoke some more, talk…”

Without warning he took Rose by her shoulders with both hands and pushed her against the stoney wall behind her. “I don’t want to talk,” he said, then pressed his lips firmly against hers. The cold of the stone behind her matched the icy slickness of his lips and tongue.

They continued kissing, deeply and hungrily, for several more minutes. He pulled up her skirt and slid a frosty hand past her panties and cupped her pussy. She felt an icy finger pierce into her, and she let out a moan of satisfaction. He fingered her rhythmically as they continued making out. She threw a leg around him to help spread herself so that his finger could go deeper.

“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Don’t cum in me until we have a condom, but you have to fuck me now. Please! Fuck me…” It was a plea, she was begging.

He did as he was told and released his hardened cock from his pants, then slid it into her soaking wet pussy. She groaned louder this time. The hard, freezing dick inside her gave her an unusual, new feeling—like being fucked by smooth, solid steel.

He continued fucking her against the wall, neither of them checking for passerbys or open windows in close range. With each new thrust, she felt something rise inside her. The fuse had been lit and it was rapidly reaching the explosive. Her pussy clenched around his thrusting, steel-like cock, and she pressed her hips harder against him so that her clit felt the full force of his body against it. The fuse was crackling and burning, quicker and quicker. Her pussy tingled hot and every inch of her skin sizzled with the approaching pleasure. Then, at last, the explosion erupted like a volcano. She pulled his hair and dug her nails into his arm and she released a fiery, hot-breathed scream into the misty night air.

She kissed him energetically, still overcome by pleasure and desire. “This way,” she said confidently, knowing instinctively that he would follow her without protest as she again took hold of his icy hand. She led him to her apartment and welcomed him inside.

The Morning Hunts You Down (3)

Rose’s place was small but charming. A large bed took up about a third of the wide but oddly-shaped studio apartment. Two sets of tall, narrow windows were draped with sheers and black-out curtains, and each opened-up to its own tiny balconette. As with many Parisian apartments in aging Haussmann-style buildings, this one was complete with unexpected nooks and inexplicable wall angles. But it was also adorned with beautiful artistry, ranging from the ornate designs of the crown molding to the flourishes of the wrought iron balcony railings. Rose liked to smoke her vape pen and have her morning tea on the balconette closest to the kitchen. The kitchen, furnished only with the basics, and a minimalist bathroom, nestled into a single corner, occupied the area opposite the bed. A small, round table and chairs sprouted from the middle of the room, like hospitable mushrooms inviting you to sit and rest.

Still holding onto his cold hand, Rose led the mysterious young man—whose name she had not yet learned—up the five flights of stairs and into her apartment. Her drapes were pulled open and the twinkling lights of the city at night glittered through the tall panes of glass.

“Would you like some wine?” she offered. “Or more vape?”

He contemplated for a moment before responding: “I’ll take another hit on the vape.”

She brought it to him and opened one of the large window panes. He leaned against the open pane without stepping fully outside. After pouring herself a glass of red wine, she leaned against the opposite pane, facing him.

“What’s your name?” she inquired.

He drew a long puff on the vape and exhaled a white stream of smoke that dissipated into the night air as it mingled with a gentle breeze. “Can’t we keep this anonymous?” he asked in response.

Rose sipped on her wine. “As you like,” she told him with a shrug. Anonymous could be sexy, she thought to herself. She downed a large gulp of the crimson liquid and set down her glass. She approached him languidly. Keeping her eyes on his, her hand explored the air for his until she found it and gently purloined the vape pen from fingers. She slipped the pen into her mouth and sucked. Using her finger, she opened his mouth and then blew her vaporous clouds into his agape lips before sealing his mouth with her own.

The melange of their lips and tongues and smoke played a cloudy melody of passion and desire. The intensity of their making out amplified when Rose felt a faint bite on her lip. Her nails clawed in response, digging into the flesh that she desired with ravenous hunger.

With a knowing smile, she pulled herself away from him, grabbed the bottom edges of her shirt and pulled it over her head, revealing the fleshy mounds of her tits peeking out sumptuously from a black-lace bra. She grabbed her wine glass and finished what remained. Then, with coy come-hither finger strokes, she instructed him to follow her to the bed. She took out a condom from her nightstand and tossed it in his direction.

Both now sitting on the bed, she took hold of his icy hands and placed them on her lace-clad breasts. He squeezed them eagerly and released a pleading moan, then pulled her forcefully toward him and reengaged her lips with his own. Reaching behind her, he unclasped the hooks of her bra and released her tits with a tantalizing bounce. He brought his lips to each nipple, licking and sucking and biting ever so gently each in their turn.

He took hold of her body with both arms and laid her supine on the bed. Together, they yanked off the remainder of their clothes. His cold hands spread her legs open, and he dove tongue first into her exposed pussy. His tongue licked and flicked the spiraling contours of her clit; it twirled and tangoed inside the deep cavern of her cunt. A finger joined in, then another, to add rhythm and bass to the symphony of pleasure he was performing. The occasional bite added a staccatoed harmony.

Rose’s eyelashes fluttered shut as she allowed all her focus to parade down to the wild sensations her pussy was experiencing. Each lap of his tongue, each thrust of his fingers, each electric tease of his teeth sent a bolt of pleasure through her body, radiating from her pussy outward like a nuclear bomb detonated in the ground zero of her erogenous zones. When he triggered her g-spot, she could not hold back an explosive cry, a mad scream signaling climax.

Rose collapsed in satisfaction, her lungs gasping for air and beads of sweat collecting like dew on her forehead. “You’re very good at that,” she chuckled. “You must have had a lot of practice.”

“I’ve been around for a long time,” he muttered under his breath as he unzipped his pants and released his erection, now thick and hard and pulsing with desire. He hovered over her for a moment and inspected her body. He clenched his eyes shut and bit his lip, as if trying to hold something back.

Before his eyes reopened, he felt a warm hand grasp his hard cock. Rose had unwrapped the condom and was sliding it onto his erection. She then guided his sex into her own, and each released a moan of intense pleasure. Having been invited in, he began with slow plunges, sliding in and out with ease thanks to the dripping wetness of Rose’s eager pussy. He pulled himself mostly out and teased the inflamed petals and foregrounds of her pussy with the head of his cock, inviting her to moan uncontrollably in anticipation.

The thrusts then got harder and more determined. He propelled his dick into her and pumped with ferocity. Her tits bounced and her headboard rattled as she again sang out cacophonous cries of outrageous pleasure. Bit by bit, these cries increased their volume, each new one encouraged by the last to go louder. The rising pitch and volume of her screams filled the small apartment like air being blown into a balloon until the whole thing burst with the final, wailing scream of utter ecstasy.

Rose’s head fell back and buried itself in a pillow. She could barely open her eyes. Her head swam with a toxic mixture of pot, nicotine, wine, and orgasmic sex. She could feel herself breathing heavily, she could feel her pussy tingle with the tiny aftershocks of cumming. The haze in her mind was blissful, the electricity in her skin was exhilarating.

She felt his thrusts resume and accelerate. Already so charged up and aroused, it didn’t take much to ignite the short fuse of another orgasm. She felt the build up inside her, the race to the finish line, the shot to the target, the storm clouds propelling themselves toward a thunderous clap.

He felt it rise up in her too. He felt her body clench and tighten, he felt the walls of her pussy contract around his dick. With a final, fatal thrust into her pussy and grind against her clit, he brought her to and then over the edge of dazzling climactic thrill. And just at that precise moment, he plunged something else deep inside her. A bite, quick and powerful, into the skin where her neck met her clavicle. She winced, not from pain, but from an overwhelming sense of pleasure. At that same moment, he came inside of her.

~~~~

He explained that he couldn’t spend the night. Unsurprising, Rose thought, for someone intent on remaining anonymous. She stayed naked in bed, her hair tousled and knotted, as he dressed and let himself out.

Rose was still feeling a bit out of it, her head was still cloudy with intoxication and sex. Though her mind was fuzzy, she felt herself radiate a golden halo, a sparkling afterglow of pleasure and satisfaction. Though entirely content, her muscles felt weak, her body exhausted.

Through the tall windows, whose drapes were still pulled open, she admired the indigo and aurulent of the night’s landscape. The city was quiet at this late hour, apart from pockets of revelers and drifters.

She allowed herself to stay in bed and drift off to sleep without completing her usual bedtime chores: brushing her teeth, washing her face, tidying up, closing the drapes, etc. She knew she would likely regret the aftertaste of wine and cigarettes in her mouth the next morning, along with the various other unpleasantnesses of leaving chores undone, but she was too tired to dwell on that too much. Her eyelids were heavy and the morning was only a few hours away anyway. Surely things could wait.

The blaze of the morning sun through her windows was always an unwelcome intruder. Hence, her purchase of the black-out drapes. But on the rare occasions she forgot to (or simply didn’t) close them, the fiery streak of the morning sunbeam on her sleeping face was a stark reminder of why she had bought them in the first place.

But this morning, the flash of sun on her face felt especially excruciating. She awoke with a scream, and she swore she even heard the insidious hiss of a sizzle emanate from her cheek. Shielding her face with her arms proved insufficient, as her whole body seemed uniquely sensitive to the morning rays of this brutally glaring sun. Ducking the sunbeams, she frantically pulled the drapes closed.

She then ran to the bathroom to throw some cold water on her face. The splash of water was refreshing after the sizzling sun, but upon opening her eyes she realized she was facing an even graver problem than sun-sensitivity. She looked in the bathroom mirror—the same one she looked into nearly every morning—but something was different, something was missing, gone. All she could see was the towel behind her that she had hanging from the back of the bathroom door.

Rose shook her head in disbelief. She hadn’t smoked for hours, but was she still high? She had barely had any wine, but was it possible she was drunk? She scurried from the bathroom and ran to the full-length mirror propped up next to her bed. Nothing. She scoured her apartment for other mirrors—hand mirrors, compacts, anything with a reflective surface. Nothing, everywhere. She opened up her phone camera, switched it to selfie mode and, with much shock and relief, saw her face looking back at her. She had no reflection; but at least she was not a ghost.

Footnotes:

1. Goulding, Ellie. (2012). Anything Could Happen [recorded by Ellie Goulding]. On Halcyon [album]. Polydor.

2. Calvi, Anna. (2011). Desire [recorded by Anna Calvi]. On Anna Calvi [single]. Domino Recording Co Ltd.

3. Cave, Charles, Jack Lawrence-Brown, & Harry McVeigh. (2011). Strangers [recorded by White Lies]. On Ritual [album]. Fiction Records.