French Cinema (Free Love)

Movie theaters are always dangerous places. At least, he had always thought so. Of course, movie theaters are also exciting places, fun places, romantic places. That’s what makes them dangerous. You go in, expecting something. You might find it, you might not. Movie theaters can also be disappointing places. Like popcorn that looks fresh and hot in the yellow lamp of the popping machine, smells of butter and salt and childhood, but there’s nothing worse than sitting down in that dark, expectant room and biting into a handful of yesterday’s luke-warm, flat bits mixed in with the good stuff.

Or not having your date show up. Especially to a movie like this. Third date was supposed to be the charm, right?  He had picked this movie, a French film about a knife-thrower and a young girl. It supposed to be romantic and sensual and, well, French. He had hopes that it would put the final touches on what had been a few weeks of lingering seduction, started out over a shared table at the (over-crowded) coffee bar in the middle of town. Going to this movie alone would be like having either day-old popcorn or cold coffee. They look the same, but don’t have quite the same effect on the tongue and taste buds.

Since he had two tickets and the movie was about to start, he gave one to a young redheaded girl who was just about to buy a seat. She looked like the starving college student type, and he remembered being there himself. What the hell, random acts of beauty and all that. Since the theater was small, and the seats big, he wasn’t terribly surprised when she sat down a few seats over but in the same row. After all, theaters can be dangerous places, and a strange guy who gives you a ticket could be a killer or could be the person to save you from one, so you wanted to be near him but keeping an eye on him as well, just in case.

While theaters and popcorn can disappoint, previews never can. The slight rush as the lights go out and the screen flickers to life has never ceased to thrill him. And the trailers, little glimpses of alternate universes that gave you just enough to think about wanting more. Even if it’s the worst movie in the world, you see the best pieces in 90 seconds. Like a hooker on the street, you get a flash for free, without having to spend the money for the entire experience, which can, like popcorn, leave a flat and empty taste in your mouth if you feel like you didn’t get your money’s worth.

As the film begins, he relaxes into his seat. The theater is a modern “art film” house: meaning small theaters but plush seating, with the kind of arm-rests that can either hold a 40oz. Coke or be pushed out of the way for a snuggled-up movie-going experience. He always picks the seat in the far corner of the back row, so he can lean against the wall if he wants. He can also see the rest of the seats, and he amuses himself often by making up stories about the other people sharing the theater. As the smallest room in the multiplex, there are only 30 or so spots, and besides him and his unintended guest a few seats away, only a few in the front rows are filled. So it’s slim pickings for his imagination, he focuses on the film.

Like most French movies, the older man and the younger girl in the show are having a passionate, but unvoiced, flirtation. As the knife thrower trains the girl to be his “target”, at first still, but later on strapped to a spinning wheel, the sexual tension between them mounts. Slow motion becomes the order of the day.

In one particular scene, the girl, clad in a filmy negligee that conceals nothing, is slowly tied to the wheel. First one hand is stretched over her head, the strap wrapped around it, and brutally tightened. She winces, but willingly stretches her other hand over her head to be secured as well. Next, her legs, spread and slightly bent, are secured to the spinning platform. Only her absolute trust in the knife thrower allows her to stifle what the audience clearly sees as fear tinged with anticipation. She bites her lip, and strains slightly at her bonds. Her breasts are damp with sweat, her satin covering darkening as the tension mounts. Although she is sweating, her fear is rapidly becoming arousal, and her nipples stand out against the cloth. She gives a jump as the first knife pounds home, just over her right shoulder. A gasp escapes her, and another knife sprouts millimeters from the flesh of her ankle. The knife thrower is very good. She tosses her head to the side when the man comes too close with a blade near her left ear. Her entire body strains against her bonds, and a final knife strikes the wood between her thighs, and unbeknownst to the knife thrower, draws a small trickle of blood from the soft inner skin. The act, and the scene, is over and the film moves on.

While watching, he has become entranced with the film. He enjoys French film, and speaks the language well enough that subtitles are more an amusement than a help. At the end of the knife scene, a movement catches his eye and he notices the red-haired girl leaving the theater. A few minutes later, she returns, misses her seat in the dark and ends up next to him, a small smile of apology on her lips for having clearly invaded his film going reverie. He smiles back, and thinks of the girl on the wheel.

The film continues, the knife thrower and his assistant quarrel, part company, re-unite in a Turkish marketplace. He leans back again, relaxing into the wall and his seat as the on-screen couple take their act onto a boat. Suddenly, a breath, smelling of popcorn and butter, whispers across his ear “Shhhhhhhh.”  The arm-rest is up, and a hand ferrets its way into his crotch, releasing his manhood with an expert touch. He catches his breath, and on screen, the couple finally kisses for the first time. His eyes on the screen, his peripheral vision shows a mass of red hair in his lap, and he is drawn into the mouth of this unknown girl. This is no playful teasing, this is absolute need as her tongue surrounds him, explores the shape and contours of his organ. She has placed a hand on his thigh, preventing him from moving as he starts to thrust softly. In his experience, this is a subtle reminder from his partner not to go too deep. In this case, it is only to prevent him from making noise, his entire length in buried in between her lips, and her tongue and throat stroke him from groin to tip. He has lost track of the action on the screen, although he hasn’t taken his eyes from it. The assistant is on the wheel again, this time the knife thrower is blindfolded. His precision is as good as ever, and his “target” gives free reign to her bound-up passion, chest heaving and head twisting with every throw.

In his seat, one hand is now wrapped in the girl’s red hair, and he is softly grinding against her. He can feel her saliva rolling down his rigid member, and the thought sends him over the edge. As the final knife strikes home, this time deliberately placed to draw blood between the French girl’s thighs, he gives a thrust which takes him even deeper than he was, and the redhead drinks him in, sucking more than he thought he had to give. He spurts into her mouth, again and again, and she swallows it down, each gulp clutching him from all sides and squeezing more out. He nearly faints, has to close his eyes against the desire to shout, and feels her tongue linger on a last drop as she draws away, and then she is gone.

As the lights come up, she leaves ahead of him and doesn’t look back. He sees his date standing outside the box office, she has mistaken which show they were supposed to see. She asks him what he wants to see now, and he replies that it doesn’t matter at all. Not at all.

(Note: This story originally appeared on, another early pioneer of the paid online erotica blogs.)


Free Love: Seeking (explicit)

The pub was well lit, one wall nearly all glass with floor to ceiling windows along one side, and Cassie was looking around the room with curiosity. With a central fireplace surrounded by a collection of well stuffed chairs and an outer ring of more intimate tables, the room invited as much or as little mingling as one would care to engage in. It also, she thought, made it very difficult to figure out if somebody was waiting for you or not.

Over at one table, the woman who could have been her appointment was chatting into a cell phone while looking at a laptop, so Cassie had to assume that she wasn’t the one she was supposed to meet. At a comfortable chair near the fire, another woman sat, and while there was an empty seat on one side, she seemed absorbed in a book and thus an unlikely candidate for the woman Cassie was to meet here. As she swept the room again, taking in the older but still attractive woman tending the bar and her elegantly bobbed graying hair, a warm voice seemed to speak of the air just behind her, startling her

“Cassandra, I presume?

Stilling her heart, Cassie turned to see who was speaking. A woman who could have been anywhere from 30 to 45, had materialized behind one shoulder. With a startled laugh, Cassie nodded.

“And I’m Nicole,” said the other woman. “It’s nice to meet you.”


Nicole ran her fingers gently through Cassie’s hair, who closed her eyes and let the sensation of the older woman’s nails gently massaging her scalp send shivers down her spine that were both warm and cold at the same time. The wine and the joint were buzzing in the younger woman’s system, and a sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as she relaxed deeper into the couch. Nicole brushed a stray lock of hair away from Cassie’s closed eyes and over her ear, then continued trailing her elegant nails along her soft cheek, down her throat and gently along her collar bone. Part of Cassie knew she should object, and a part was unsurprised to find that she couldn’t bring herself to do so. The room was so warm, and she felt so comfortable in the dim firelight that taking the energy to do anything other than tilt her head back into the cushions was impossible.

Taking the sigh as consent, Nicole placed her other hand on Cassie’s cheek, gently stroking the soft skin with the back of her fingers. The hand on Cassie’s collar bone traveled lightly down and across the swell of breast exposed by the open top buttons of her blouse, Nicole’s fingertips tracing the light pressure of the lace bra cup peeking through there.

The woman addressing Cassie was dressed as if she had just come from a business meeting at a bank-conservative skirt and jacket with a cream silk blouse underneath, tiny diamond pinpoints in her ears and a single diamond solitaire pendant showing at the open throat of her shirt. The suit was well tailored, not an off-the-rack ensemble like Cassie was used to seeing. Her perfume was just as conservative as her clothes, a subtle scent that seemed to alternate between spicy and floral as Cassie tried to put a name to it.
“Yes,” she replied to the question. I’m Cassandra, but please, call me Cassie.”
The other woman smiled, and reached out a hand. “Ok, Cassie, I’d invite you to call me Nikki, but I always feel about 10 years old when somebody does.” The two women shook hands politely, and Nicole gestured to the bar. “Can I get you a drink? I’m having wine.”

“Sure,” said Cassie, “whatever you’re having.”
“Ok. Grab a table and I’ll come find you.” Nicole moved through the growing crowd of after-work drinkers and deftly slipped up the bar. Cassie found a small booth in the far shadows of the pub and waited for the other woman to return.

While she waited, she thought about Nicole, and decided that she liked what she had experienced so far. Even after exchanging just a couple of words with her, Cassie felt at ease. She had an easy laugh and a relaxed air that was very comforting, and there was no awkwardness at all, which was something she had worried about. Cassie also liked the way Nicole had taken charge of the encounter, directing her to find a table for them both and taking care of the drinks.


You have beautiful skin,” murmured Nicole as she ran a finger along the top of Cassie’s other breast, one long fingernail dipping lightly below the lace of the bra. “I’d like to see more of it.”

Almost without thinking, Cassie found her own fingers swiftly undoing the buttons on her blouse. It seemed so simple, so easy to just let things flow. And it wasn’t just the pot and the merlot either; this had been what Cassie had been trying to figure out when she had placed the ad in the first place. She shivered as Nicole’s fingers wrapped around the back of her neck and pulled her head forward for a kiss, and as the other woman’s hand slipped along her side and behind her back to undo the clasp of her brassiere, she gasped at the slight rake of nails along her spine. Nicole took advantage of her parted lips to lightly slip her tongue against Cassie’s, and, moving herself along the couch she straddled the younger woman. Nicole kept their mouths connected and tongues dancing as she slipped the blouse down along Cassie’s slim arms, then finished removing the lacy brassiere and letting the woman’s breasts swing free.


When Nicole found the table that Cassie had taken, and deposited the bottle of wine and two glasses, Cassie took a moment to take a closer look and the woman. Her first impression, that of a corporate executive type, was reinforced as she took in well-manicured fingernails with a subtle pearlescent polish on them, cut and shaped so they were definitely feminine but not too long or brassy. Cassie also noticed that she wasn’t carrying a purse, but had a small device clipped to her skirt just under her jacket. It wasn’t the normal thing for women to wear, and Cassie couldn’t resist asking. “Is that a pager?” To her surprise, the older woman blushed slightly, and paused before replying.

“No, it’s a glucose monitor. I’m diabetic. I hate wearing it, and most people don’t notice. It’s not good to have any signs of weakness in my job, but it beats going into an insulin coma.”

Cassie found herself warming to the woman even more, with this confession of vulnerability. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just nosy. It’s none of my business, of course, but what do you do that you worry about looking weak?”
The woman laughed. “I’m a high school principal. And believe me, it’s the most hostile working environment there is.” Cassie blinked in surprise, and then laughed along with Nicole. The first-meeting tension broke, and they spent a few minutes pouring the wine, sipping, and lightly chatting like a couple of women who were just meeting over a drink after work. Cassie noticed that Nicole seemed content to let her do most of the talking, although she did share a few details about her job at a local all-girls school. Cassie spoke in particular about her upcoming wedding and how tricky it was to manage both her own large family and Tom’s overbearing mother, as the plans for the ceremony and reception went through all the permutations trying to satisfy everybody’s expectations.
Finally, the chatting reached a lull, and Nicole leaned over the table and looked Cassie in the eye. Cassie saw how intent her brown eyes could get, and wondered how any of Nicole’s students who were on the wrong end of that gaze could stand it without trembling. “Ok, I think I get it, the wedding and all, family expectations and trying to live up to an ideal others have of you. But I have to ask-which is it?”


Cassie’s fingers entwined themselves in Nicole’s dark hair, her mouth greedily open to Nicole’s probing tongue as Nicole firmly squeezed one of her liberated breasts. Under her hand, Nicole felt Cassie’s nipple stiffening, and using her whole palm she rubbed slow circles around the tender bud and the pink areola surrounding it. She broke the kiss, and running her own hands through Cassie’s hair, tilted the younger woman’s head back and looked into her green eyes. Cassie was breathing deeply, and a small smiled played on her lips, expressing both desire and invitation.

“Should we stop?” Asked Nicole, now gently teasing the nipple with her fingernail, “Do you need more, to answer your question?”

Cassie leaned her head back on the cushions with a sigh, “I need…no…I WANT more. Unless, you don’t want to? I mean…I don’t know if-” Nicole cut her off with a kiss, stealing the breath away from whatever Cassie was going to say next. Cassie shivered, and moaned again against the pressure of Nicole’s mouth. She covered Nicole’s hand with her own, guiding it down her breast, along her taught belly, and pushing the beautifully manicured fingers under the waistband of her skirt. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as she felt the gentle probing along the silk of the thong she was wearing, the fabric already soaked through by her growing arousal.


“I don’t know,” Cassie looked down to hide her slight blush as she answered Nicole’s question. “I just have this feeling, that I’m missing something. It’s not even the sex, Tom is good in bed, there’s just something that feels like it should be different.” Nicole nodded understandingly. She poured Cassie more wine, carefully keeping her hand from straying too close to Cassie’s. This is where things could get…sticky.

“I don’t know what kind of help I can be,” she said, sitting back in her chair again, increasing the distance between them, “But if you want to just talk about it, feel free.”

Cassie looked uncomfortable for a minute, and then took a deep swig of wine. Leaning forward, her hair fell over one eye and she brushed it back. The sweet smell of her perfume drifted across the table to Nicole, who watched her carefully, her own expression neutral. “I put the ad in because I don’t know, but I’m curious. And there didn’t seem to be any other way to meet somebody to…” Cassie paused, swallowing more wine, “Um, talk about it with.” She was blushing furiously now, but was resolved to keep going. Having come this far, she plunged on. “Do you mind if we go someplace else? I’m…not totally comfortable talking about this in public.”

“Sure,” said Nicole, taking a chance and this time touching the other woman’s hand lightly, I live just a couple of blocks away. And I have more wine, if it helps.” She gave Cassie a reassuring smile. “Just talk, if that’s what you want.” Cassie smiled back, nodding, and Nicole led the way out of the pub and along the sidewalk toward her place.


Nicole’s mouth moved down the path her hand had blazed along Cassie’s skin, lips barely touching the skin that glowed in the firelight, her breath sending both chills and heat along Cassie’s body. Her legs seemed to part without any conscious effort on her part, and Nicole now knelt between Cassie’s thighs and pushed her skirt up around her hips. She sent gentle, repetitive kisses moving maddening slowly toward the shadowed V of the other woman’s cleft. One hand on Nicole’s head, entwined in her thick hair, Cassie’s other hand was clenched tightly to the cushions of the couch, both to keep herself upright while the other woman continued her journey of discovery and to give herself an anchor as she began losing herself in the pleasure that was washing over her.

Nicole gently parted Cassie’s legs further, the full scent of the woman’s sex filling her senses and nearly causing her to lose her own control. Slowly, slowly, she traced her fingers along the insides of Cassie’s thighs, stroking lightly from her knees upward and giving the slightest of brushes against the soaking silk of her black thong. She did it again, and Cassie’s hips started moving involuntarily in thrusting motions, gasps coming from her in breathy spurts. Again, more firmly this time, and Cassie groaned, then grabbed Nicole’s head and pulled her face straight down into the dripping material.

Nicole felt the slightly rough texture of the silk, and slid her tongue around the cloth and directly into the waiting passage behind it, lapping at the pink flesh that was swollen and glistening with desire. She had barely parted the outer lips when Cassie’s thighs clamped tight against her head, trapping her against the pulsing sex. Though muffled, Nicole could hear the strangled cries coming from her new lover, matching the fresh flood of moisture and the shuddering ripple of the intimate flesh against her own tongue and mouth.

Cassie’s thighs relaxed, and Nicole could hear the short gasps becoming longer, steadier breaths, and she raised herself up, moving upward along Cassie’s body again. Her mouth found Cassie’s breasts, the nipples slowly flattening as her breathing steadied more. Gently taking one nipple into her mouth, Nicole could hear Cassie’s heart racing, the pounding beneath her ribs slowing as she suckled softly, giving Cassie time to calm and quiet herself after the orgasm had racked her body. Although Nicole herself was dying to be touched, to be released, she knew it might take time for Cassie to be ready for that.

Minutes or hours later, Cassie drew the other woman up, green eyes almost shy as they stared into Nicole’s dark brown ones. She seemed lost in thought even as she looked into Nicole’s eyes, as if considering her own reflection there. Finally, Nicole asked “Are you ok?”

Cassie took awhile to reply, and Nicole was preparing herself for the woman to get up, put her clothes on, and head home, question answered and behind her forever. But she was pleasantly surprised when the Cassie nodded an assent, and then pulled her in for a long kiss, tongue suddenly eager again, drawing in the tang of her own sex on Nicole’s lips.

Tentatively, Cassie’s hand slipped under Nicole’s top, resting against the cup of her bra, fingers shaking slightly but inquisitive as they began to massage the heavy globe of her breast. “That was wonderful,” whispered Cassie, her own eyes closed again as she grew bolder, both hands now kneading at Nicole’s chest, “And…I need more.” Nicole started slipping her own fingers along Cassie’s legs to pleasure her again, but Cassie clamped her legs tightly together. Here it comes, thought Nicole, she’s leaving.

“I need to DO more,” Cassie continued, “I need to touch you,” and she slid her fingers into the cups of Nicole’s bra, brushing the trapped nipples. “I need to taste you,” she moved her lips to Nicole’s neck, lightly nipping the skin there, “I need,” she said, groaning and suddenly opening her eyes again and looking directly into Nicole’s, “Oh God. I need to fuck you.”

As if the confession unloosed something in the younger woman, a new aggressiveness seemed to dictate her next actions. Nicole’s clothes were off, and Cassie was kissing her lips, her tits, her stomach and hands with an abandon that was almost overwhelming for the other woman. She cried out slightly as Cassie, in her inexperience, bit a little too hard on a nipple, but the pain was mostly pleasure and she tossed her own head back with a groan when Cassie slipped a hand between her legs and pressed it against her cunt. She placed a hand over Cassie’s, teaching her how to touch her, pushing both their fingers inside her passage, slick with arousal at the sensation of those slim fingers under her own. When she felt Cassie’s lips caress her inner thigh, Nicole opened her legs in pure invitation.

Hard as it was, Nicole resisted the urge to tug on Cassie’s hair or drive her groin against her lover’s face; this had to be Cassie’s decision, her actions alone. Nicole sensed her hesitation; while Cassie’s hands never stopped touching her, never stopped stroking her deep tunnel, the touches were still tentative, and Nicole knew that the next step was really where the question lay. Was Cassie just curious? Or was she ready to go all the way? Would tonight be a memory tucked away inside the “before I was married” file in the younger woman’s brain, or would a whole new world open up in front of her, making her reconsider her entire future?

Nicole’s heart was pounding, and she was eager for more, but she forced herself to relax. Her hand fell away from Cassie’s and left the younger woman totally on her own to decide what happened next. She kept her eyes closed, squeezing her own nipples to erect passion while her legs remained a trembling invitation to explore.

When Cassie used fingers from both hands to spread Nicole’s inner lips open, the younger woman gave a groan. Her own pussy still tingled from her earlier orgasm, and while she was nervous about what to do next, she couldn’t resist the sweet draw of the flesh in front of her eyes. Slowly, she leaned in, breathing in the musky aroma that was a perfect complement to the perfume Nicole wore. She moved closer, and suddenly found herself planting a kiss on that other, mysterious mouth, a kiss that grew deeper, her tongue darting out to be enclosed in the divinely textured flesh of another woman.

She loved it. Mouth working feverishly, she couldn’t get enough of the taste and sounds of the other woman as Nicole writhed against her, new groans accompanying each pass of Cassie’s tongue, and when she found the button of the woman’s clit with sucking lips, her own heart raced faster with the tremors that ran through her lover, tremors that SHE caused. Working her fingers inside Nicole and lashing the throbbing clit with her tongue, she was startled, then thrilled with power when the woman started bucking hard against her. Cassie felt an answering pulse inside her own body as Nicole came, screaming, against her tongue, fresh juices pouring over her fingers as they were clamped in the velvet squeeze of intense orgasm.


Nicole opened up the door of her condo, and Cassie stepped inside. The place was furnished simply but elegantly, a few art prints on the wall that Cassie recognized, and everything done with clean lines but warm colors.

“Make yourself at home,” said Nicole, “I’ll be right back.” She left, and Cassie crossed into the living room from the small entryway, settling herself on the couch. It was firm but comfortable, good for anything from watching TV to taking a nap, and she saw that a wine-rack with glasses was just off to one side, doubling as an end table.
As if watching her, Nicole called from another room “Why don’t you pick out a bottle of wine? I’ll be out in a minute”. Cassie picked a bottle of merlot at random, and found a bottle opener in a drawer that was part of the wine rack. She opened the wine, and was just pouring it when Nicole returned. She hadn’t changed, but had taken off the jacket and Cassie saw that she was no longer wearing the monitor. Without the coat, she looked younger, less formidable. Cassie reflected again that she felt very comfortable with this woman. Nicole lit a couple of candles and turned on the fire as she moved to sit on the couch near, but not too near, Cassie.
She was carrying a small box, and she opened it, offering the contents for Cassie’s inspection. “It might make talking about it a little easier,” she explained, “And I have a prescription”. Cassie hadn’t smoked pot since high school, but the same boldness that gave her the push to place the ad in the paper now pushed her to accept the offer. Nicole lit the joint and passed it to Cassie, who inhaled and held the sweet smoke in her lungs like she remembered.

Nicole leaned over, one hand casually on Cassie’s knee, once again taking control of the situation. “Your ad said ‘bi/curious seeking discreet encounter’, so I’ll ask you again. Which is it? Bi, or just curious?”

“That,” said Cassie, picking up the hand that was resting on her leg and holding it in her own trembling grasp, “Is what I’m here to find out.”

(Note: This story originally appeared on

Cougar on the Roof

(Note: this is part of my weekly series #freeloveFriday, where I bring back my early erotica stories for your enjoyment)

I love live music.

But I hated the guy who was playing at the wine bar.

His repertoire was some weird blend of wannabe scat talking and experimental chords that would have been fine with a college coffee house crowd, but were totally out of place in the wine bar.  It was like somebody gave a jazz-trained chimpanzee an electric guitar.  The sounds coming out of the little amplifier he was using seemed to have no connection to the song he claimed to be singing.

Or least, that’s what the woman sitting next to me said when she asked the bartender how long he’d be playing.  The answer, apparently, was all night.

I grinned into my wine, and she caught the slight smirk and had the grace to look a little embarrassed that somebody had heard her comment.  But she also looked a little pleased at the same time that her bon mot had been appreciated.  She gave me a small wink, and retired to the furthest corner of the lounge, a spot as far away from the little amplifier as possible, now that the guitarist was abusing it his esoteric version of Sea of Love.

I was in this small northern ski town for business, and whenever I stop here I make a point of coming to this particular wine bar.  It makes a change from the mid-level steakhouses I usually eat at when I’m on the road, and there’s usually somebody to talk to about more than just “the game” or Christian AM radio.

People, in fact, like the woman sitting over in the corner.  I saw that she was buried in a book, and I made out just enough of the cover to see that it was something by Colette.  The Ripening Seed, if my college French skills still survived.  She was dressed well, if casually, and she had an air that said she was perfectly comfortable sitting by herself in the middle of a crowd.  She also looked like she was in her mid-forties, and was taking great care of herself.

There’s a certain sensuality about some older women that I’ve always been attracted to, and this woman definitely piqued my interest.  But her body language and her book put something of a barrier between her and the world, plus the music was almost the pure opposite of mood music, and was killing just about any sense of atmosphere in the room.  I let the thought of any flirtation die and focused on making chit-chat with the bartender about the latest wines they were pushing.

There was a 2009 Rombauer Chardonnay that they were featuring for happy hour, which fit my Peyton Co. expense account just fine.  It was better than average, and certainly better than the regular Peyton sales guys were drinking, if they even drank wine.  Most of the guys who who travelled my region were burger-and-beer types, and more power to them.

“From the lady,” the bartender said, interrupting my reverie about the team’s drinking habits.  “It’s from the reserve list.”

Whatever it was, the wine was fantastic.  It sat on my tongue like warm honey and spices, and I raised my glass to the woman in the corner, who I could see in the mirror over the bar.  She smiled, and motioned me over to her.  I joined her at the distant table just as the musician, mercifully, took a break from the twisted chords of Strawberry Fields.

“Oh thank god,” said the mystery woman, “We can actually have a conversation.  I’m Sarah.”  She offered her glass in salute.

“I’m Fred,” I replied, and we clinked glasses and each took a sip.  Sarah motioned to the bartender, who brought over a full bottle of whatever we were drinking.  I caught the date on the label, and saw that it was a few years older than I would have thought.  She caught me looking, and smiled.

“It’s a little older than some people find appealing, but it’s fantastic once you uncork it.”

“It certainly seems that way,” I said, and gave her a grin that let her know I knew that she might be talking about more than the wine.  “I always think that with age comes ripeness and flavor.”  What the hell, I figured, let’s push the innuendo as far as it would go.

“I think,” said Sarah as she topped up our glasses, “We’re going to enjoy our bottle.”

We talked for a bit, about the town (small), her life (divorced, one kid in grad school), my job (regional manager for Peyton, covering four states) and then, at last, her book.

It was by Colette, and it was indeed The Ripening Seed.  I vaguely remembered it as story of first love, a boy and a girl on a seaside vacation.  But Sarah laughed when I told her what I recalled of the story.

“Oh,” she said, leaning closer as if sharing a secret, “Is that how you remember it?”  I saw a secret smile play over her lip as she looked at me over the rim of her glass.  “It’s so much more than that.”

Right as I asked her to remind me what else there was to the story, the musician came back from his break and struck up an acid-trip version of Begin the Beguine.

“Oh, I can’t take any more of this crap.  Come on, I’ll show you what I mean, but not here.”  Sarah grabbed the bottle and pointed at the table, “You get the glasses.”

Bemused, I obeyed her instruction and then followed her out of the main bar, through a smaller seating area and then through a door that led to a set of stairs leading upward.

“Uh, ” I said, “Aren’t they going to mind us going into the staff areas?”

“Hah!” Sarah snorted, the wine starting to affect her volume levels.  “Honey, I own the building.  Got it in the divorce.”


As I followed her up the stairs, I had a chance to admire her ass in the snug jeans she was wearing.  I love older women in tight jeans, there’s just something sexy about a woman who knows what flatters her shape and doesn’t try to dress too young.  A million twenty-somethings would have killed to look that great from behind.

Maybe the wine was going to my head as well, too.

At the top of the stairs, we exited out an access door and stepped out onto the roof.  While not a tall building, it sat in the perfect position to look out over the tiny downtown area and the lake just beyond, where the lights of the shoreside hotel were reflected in the calm water.

I could hear a gentle susurrus of water lapping on the sandy beach, and in the distance, a train whistle blew, although it was too far away to hear the rumble of boxcars yet.

Sarah set the wine down on a small table and I set the glasses next to it.  The table rested against a low wall that ran all the way around the roof to prevent anybody falling off.  It was clear that this area got visitors, and I imagined it as perfect place to watch the annual boat races or the Fourth of July fireworks.  In fact, as I noticed a set of patio furniture with overstuffed cushions and a long divan for sunbathing or sleeping, I felt as if was as if I was looking at somebody’s private deck or backyard, rather than the rooftop of a commercial building.

“Look there,” said Sarah, and pointed.  My gaze followed her raised finger, where I saw a bone white crescent moon hanging low over the hills on the far side of the lake.  She turned toward me, leaning back against the wall and picking up her glass.  “There’s only one thing better than a glass of wine in the moonlight,” she said, the tone of her voice sending heat directly into my groin.

“What’s that?” I asked, stepping closer to her.  She hooked her fingers into my belt and pulled me in even closer.  Snaking one arm around my neck, when her lips met mine I could could taste the wine we had been sharing, and when her tongue darted  into my mouth, I met it with equal energy.

Sarah broke off the kiss just as we both ran out of breath.  Grinning impishly, she said, “The only thing better than a glass of wine in the moonlight is the taste of it on a pretty man’s lips.”  She stepped back to consider me.

And I considered her words.  Pretty?  I think I’ve been called handsome, or good-looking before, but never pretty.  I decided that I didn’t hate it, but was distracted from the whole thought process as she reached up and unbuttoned the blouse she was wearing.

In the dim glow of the lamps that illumined the outside of the building, I saw the swell of her breasts over a black lace bra, and a faintly pale line where her tan ended and softer, whiter skin began.  Teasing me, she inhaled deeply as she stretched her arms over her head, and it was all I could do not to reach out and grab what was so clearly being offered.

“Come here,” she said, as she lowered her arms again and picked up her wine glass.  She swirled a finger in the dark liquor.  “How does it taste?”  Sarah trailed drops of the rich wine across the tops of her breasts, and pulled my head into in to her chest.

Like a baby being offered food, I lapped eagerly at the dark drops that glistened on her skin, my tongue rasping over the lace of her bra.  The musky perfume she wore and the honey smell of the wine made me suck eagerly at her flesh.

Leaning back against the parapet, Sarah moaned and pressed me more firmly against herself.  The lace was damp with wine, and I felt a nipple stiffen against my tongue where I nibbled at it through the silky cloth.

She gasped and tightened her grip on my hair when I drew the nipple in firmly, sucking wetly at it, drawing it tightly between my teeth, tongue moving faster against the fabric that held it captive.

“Mmmm,” I heard her murmur, “How does that taste, baby?”

I released the hard little nub and straightened up.  “Gorgeous.  I want more.”

Sarah laughed, and handed me her wine glass.  I took a sip, and watched her slide her jeans down her legs, and then step out of them.  Her unbuttoned shirt created an exciting interplay of enticing shadows where it draped over the tops of her bare legs, and I could just see the lace of a thong in the dim reflected light of the street lamps.

A wave of her perfume washed over me, and I was struck by how her choice of scent revealed who she was, and matched her so well.  It was not a light or flowery, but instead it was a deep, musky perfume, both mature and powerful without being overwhelming.  And yet, at it’s core, it carried a sexy erotic charge that stiffened my cock immediately.

Sarah gestured at the divan, and I obediently sat down.  I was now looking up at her half-naked, half clothed body.  She knelt, and looking me in the eye, slid her hands along my thighs and undid my belt and the buttons of my fly.  When my erection was freed and the rest of my clothes pulled off and tossed aside, she bent her head forward and lightly kissed the tip of my shaft, sending an electric jolt through my body.

I must have moaned as I reached for her, because she whispered “Shhh, baby, shhh,” and she took ahold of the hand that I had placed on her head, then moved it to one breast as she pushed me backwards onto the cushions.  She moved over me, straddling my chest with her knees on either side of me, sunk into the deep pillows.

I could feel the satiny texture of her thong as she moved down and brushed her sex against me, and it was all I could do not to tear the flimsy cloth aside and plunge myself into the heat I felt coming from between her thighs.

Instead, I found the clasp of her bra, and freed her breasts to the night air and my hands.  I covered them both, the nipples raising against my fingers as I kneaded them gently.  Sarah arched her back, her shirt slipped down off her shoulders and I moved my hands to the finely boned skin there, to pull her both into my kiss and down onto my cock.

Pressure against my chest stopped me, and I saw that Sarah was holding herself back as much as she was slowing me down.  She reached down to where our bodies almost connected, and I felt the cool slipperiness of a lubricated condom as she unrolled it down my shaft.

“Ohhh,” she moaned as she drew her hand away, tracing my length and, at the same time, spreading herself open, “Now…”  Her fingers guided me past the lacy strip of cloth and I was surrounded by the tight and velvety heat of her pussy as she sank onto me, one hand still on my chest for balance.  Once I was deeply inside, her other hand moved to her breast and she cupped herself, kneading and pulling even more firmly than I had been doing, her eyes closed and her mouth open as she pinched her nipple between two knuckles.

Sarah lifted up, and sank down again, her moans now punctuated by higher pitched cries, as each time she seemed to drive me deeper into her body.

Then she put her hands behind her, on my thighs, and I felt my cock press against the slick upper wall of her delicious tunnel.  She thrust against me in short, bucking movements that reached a quick, jerky rhythm, and her cries were now short, high pitched exhalations that reached a breathless crescendo as she finally tensed and quivered.  Her grip on my legs tightened and her nails dug into my skin as she groaned her final release.  The tide inside my own body receded slightly as she stopped moving, and I focused on slowing down my own breathing to keep control.

Still keeping me tightly inside, Sarah straightened up and rested her hands on my chest.  “Mmm, baby, that felt great!”  She locked her gaze on mine, and started to move again, slow and languid thrusts that stroked me from tip to root.

She paused at one point when I was fully buried in her, and I groaned when I felt her inner muscles tighten around me.  She gave a low laugh, “Do you like that, baby?  Do you like having your cock squeezed like that?”  I tried to answer, but could only gasp as she pulsed around me again, the exquisite pressure taking away any words I could have used.

“Feel that, baby?” she asked, tightening and then releasing me in time with her slow thrusting.  I nodded, and she sped up again.

I moved to put my arms around her and draw her down so I could kiss her while we rocked together, but in spite of being smaller than me, she managed to push my hands back down to my sides, pinning me to the cushions of the divan.

“Shhh baby, shhh,” Sarah whispered, as she held me captive inside and out.

Her head dipped forward, and her hair fell over my face as her tempo reached a faster rhythm, her breaths the only sound I could hear as they quickened, and her intense perfume surrounding me as I met her thrust for thrust.

I got lost in the rhythm of her body, and when she came again, I climaxed with her in a heated, pulsing rush that seemed to begin at my toes and pour out in lightning surges.  Sarah slowed, and milked me even more with the sensual muscles she had such exquisite control over, drawing out final spasms even as she sighed and sank down to lie on top of me, finally letting me put my arms around her as we both quieted down and our breathing settled.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, with the slim crescent moon and it’s companion star watching over us, but I must have dozed briefly, because I was woken by the loud rumble of freight cars as the train passed through town.  I felt experienced fingers circling my softening manhood as Sarah’s weight lifted off me, keeping the condom in place as she drew away.

She stood, and stretched, and I had a few seconds to admire her ripe body before she fixed her underclothes and buttoned up her shirt.  Then she drew her jeans back up over her hips in a languid display that was almost as sexy as watching her take them off.

She poured the last of the wine into one of the glasses, and raised it to me in a toast.  “Baby, that was fantastic!”  Her secret smile was back in place, and she drained the glass and set it back down on the small table.

I stood up, shivering a little in the night air.  “I’m in town for another couple of days,” I said, “How about breakfast tomorrow.”

She considered me for a few moments, then stepped up and gave me a kiss on the cheek.  Long after she left, I could smell her perfume, a strong, mature scent that stayed with me even as I considered her last words, uttered just as she walked away

“How about I call you?”

(This story originally appeared on the website  Sigh-we miss you, O&C!)

FREE LOVE FRIDAY: Crystal Ball (Trigger warning-knife play, consensual rough sex)

Welcome to Free Love Friday-here’s another of my stories from earlier days…one of the first stories I sold to the amazing team over at a now (sadly) defunct pioneer of erotica on the web. So…let’s step into the tent and see what the future holds…

Crystal Ball

Her crystal ball was murky. Not because the future was clouded, but because her last client had spilled his soda on the globe when he leaped back, startled by what he had seen there. She sighed and wiped it down with Windex and a chamois, contemplating how far she had fallen. From the beautiful assistant to the world’s most famous magician to the still beautiful but totally blackballed carnival attraction Madame Kriselda.

Staring into the ball, it was the past that she was seeing in her mind’s eye, as it had played out for her since the break up of the Amazing Anthony’s show. “Break-up” was the perfect word, since that what had happened when she discovered that his favorite trick had been making her scruples disappear through hypnotism while he sold the pleasures of her body to the rich men who frequented the front row of his many shows.

In this case, Anthony truly had been amazing, because she had never known it was happening. Her memory of most of the after-parties that were always thrown were a pleasant haze of good whiskey and the sweet smell of the excellent marijuana Anthony procured through his contacts in Mexico. She never questioned the presence of audience members, she assumed they were invited along with the rest of the cast, crew, and production staff at the end of the run in order to preserve the ego of the man that was Anthony. It was only because one of the men brought a camera to the back room which Anthony always had decked out like of a séance chamber that she figured what had often transpired to her falsely willing body. The man had dropped one of the Polaroids when he left and she found it the next day while packing up her costume trunk.

The image that flickered before her in the depths of the quartz was herself, dressed in her the standard revealing costume. She lay on her back, and the costume top had been pulled down to release her breasts to the fondling of the man who sat astride her. She had to admit that it she was doing a lot the fondling, although she was blissful forgetful of the event itself. In the picture, she was pressing her flesh together tightly around the organ of the man, whose own face was cut off by the angle of the camera. Her head was thrown back, and the ropy semen that spread from her chin to cover her neck revealed that the camera had caught what the French would call “le moment juste”, the perfect moment. Perfect for her unknown lover, perhaps, even though it appeared Kris had been enjoying herself. Her own face in the shot was the perfect image of a woman experiencing intense orgasm, eyes closed, jaw clenched, flushed. Her hands gripped her pale breasts so hard that her nipples stuck out like over-ripe cherries, and the head of the man’s cock was a dark purple from the pressure. That was one of the things that made her so very angry-Anthony had made her own body betray her by convincing her mind that she was having the time of her life. When she confronted him with the picture, his first comment had been “Well, it looks like you’re having a good time, what’s the problem?”

The sound of the rain coming down harder brought her thoughts back to the present. While the fairway wouldn’t close down completely, only the most thrill-seeking carnival goers would stay out in this, and those weren’t the types to visit Madame Kriselda. She considered closing down the tent, although the promise of at least one more client, or perhaps a couple seeking a romantic story to tell later (“It was raining, and we ducked into this old tent, and the gypsy told us we would live long lives and have two boys and a girl”) forced her to keep a lonely vigil while the thunder rumbled nearer.

And that was the real bitch of it all-she was lonely! Anthony had been the best thing to happen to her in a long time. At least she had thought so, and even might have been willing to allow him to use her like he had if he had just asked! She was no saint, liked a good screw as much (or maybe more) than the next gal, and had done worse things for money. It might have been fun, but he had taken away that possibility. When they had their last screaming fight he had turned cold.

“Really, Kris, maybe its for the best. After all, you aren’t as young as you were.”
Her threats to press charges and have him exiled from the Magician’s Brotherhood meant nothing. After all, how could she prove that she was doing anything against her will? When she began looking elsewhere for a position for the next season she found every door shut against her. Even the magicians who had been after her for several years to leave Anthony and join their show, hoping some of his “magic” would rub off on them, looked at her askance and muttered about how things were tight and it wasn’t a good time to shake up the act by adding a new star side-kick. Anthony had gotten to them before she had, and he painted her as a dangerous hysteric, prone to tantrums, who had finally become so unstable he had no choice but to release her from her contract.
So now it had been over a year, and she had had no contact with the Magic community, no boyfriends, no lovers. There was only the quartz globe, which seemed to actually give her visitors some sort of vision of things to come. It could have just been her own slightly hypnotic way of talking to them that made the things they hoped for, or feared, in their own psyche take form in the mists and occlusions within the smooth and faceless ball.
As she gave the crystal a final wipe and polish with the purple silk that it nestled in, a fresh roll of thunder startled her, and her arm knocked the ball off the table. It hit the hard packed dirt of the floor with both a dull thud and a ringing sound that was like a note pinged off a glass half filled with water. She gave a groan when she saw that her livelihood now lay in two halves, split evenly down the middle along one of the occlusions that had provided its mysterious character. She reached for it, putting both halves up on the table. A sharp edge caught her finger. “Fuck!”
“Sorry, maybe this is the wrong tent?”
She whirled around to see a mark standing in the archway created by an open flap of canvas, looking pretty much liked a drowned terrier. His blond hair was plastered against his head by the rain, and his sweater gave off the distinctive odor of wet wool.
“I was looking for the fortune teller…not a fuck…” He smiled tentatively, and she relaxed at his attempt to defuse the situation. She smiled back, relaxing into her mysterious gypsy pose by settling into the chair at the small table that held the pieces of the erstwhile tool of her trade.
“I am she. Have you come to seek the future?” A consummate actress, she moved without hesitation into the spiel, “I see far and tell much…please have a seat.”
The young man, as she could now see, was perhaps in his mid-twenties, slimly built. Under the damp bangs he had bright blue eyes that had a humorous light to them. She could tell he wasn’t sure whether he was going to choose to buy into the act, given her exclamation as he had walked in. He finally sighed and sat down. Leaning forward over the pieces of crystal, he looked around him, at the walls of the tent, the deep velvet draperies and red candles that gave the small space the appropriate séance air (all stolen from Anthony-she decided to take what small revenge she could by removing the dressings from the room she had been violated in. Having examined the room, he continued his inspection by looking her over. She had never found that kind of inspection disconcerting. It was part of the role.
Whether sexy assistant or mysterious fortune teller, part of the job was to have her ample bosom, flat stomach and fit but slender legs on display for the mark. Today she was wearing a loose fitting white shirt, open to the navel and exposing her the tops of her breasts and the red lace push-up that made them seem larger than they were. The lace barely covered the top of her nipples, which she realized were stiff from the slight draft that came in through the open door. She leaned back slightly, letting herself enjoy his inspection. As she did, she wondered what their age difference was. No more than five years, but he had a certain innocent air about him that made him seem younger. Maybe it was the drenched puppy look that he kept, in spite of taking of his soaking sweater before he sat down.
Shit! She realized that, without her crystal ball, she would have to change tactics. She drew a deck of battered cards from a hidden drawer in the table and began to shuffle them. After a moment, she stopped and moved the pieces of crystal across the table to give her room to lay the cards out.
“Actually,” he finally said, “I’m hear to ask about the past. My fiancée was in here last week, and she visited you. I don’t know what you told her, but she came home, said she couldn’t marry a man like she saw I would become, packed and left. I haven’t heard from her since. Do you get many single women visiting?”
The answer of course was “No”. Kris found that women felt having their fortunes told was a team sport. They invariably brought a boyfriend or a gaggle of other women with them. The woman he was talking about had to have been the redhead. She had been thin as a rail and kept touching the small crucifix at her throat. There was an engagement ring on her hand-a small stone, and very new. Kris had been prepared to give her the happiness-and-children routine, assuming she was newly engaged, and Christian.

Additionally it was clear that she was self-conscious about being in the presence of what would undoubtedly be called pagan and evil in conversation at church groups. She had been a sweet girl, no breasts to speak of and straight hair down to the small of her back. Kris had had her share of women in her bed, and had realized with a start that this woman, while not beautiful, had a definite attractiveness about her, made more poignant by her self-consciousness.
Kris dealt a row of hearts face up in front of the man. “Lost love…a difficult quest…” Suddenly the man startled her by standing up and sweeping the cards off the table. He didn’t have the puppy dog look any longer, it had been replace by a new fire in his eyes. He leaned over the table, and over her. She had thought that he was slightly on the short side when he walked in, but now he loomed above her and she felt her hands tighten on the twin pieces of glass that were in front of her, in case she needed to defend herself.
“Dammit, I don’t want card tricks or patter. I want to know what you said to her to make her think I was some kind of monster that she couldn’t marry. She was everything to me!” Deflated again, he sat back down in the chair, and she realized for the first time that he had a haggard look behind the youthful face. Unfortunately, she would not be able to help the man.

After chatting for a few minutes with the redhead, Kris had been prepared to paint her future in words, but the girl had reached out a hand to stop her as she stared into the crystal ball. Kris had felt a brief thrill of electricity in that touch, and ended up not saying a word. The girl had straightened up, sighed, dropped a $20 bill on the table and walked out with a determined air, like the attitude of a child who has resolved to take gulp of bitter medicine. Her exit was at odds with the initial impression she gave, but she had definitely seen something that meant a great deal to her.
Kris decided to take a risk. She picked up the cards and told the man the truth. “Your girlfriend was the redhead with straight hair?”
“Fiancée,” the man corrected her, “Yes, she was.”
“I never gave her a fortune. She read something herself in the crystal, and walked out. It happens often. People’s destinies are in their own hearts and their own minds. I just help them see the way.”
The young man looked at her intently. Kris realized that the same odd attractiveness that the redhead had exhibited was present in this man. Perhaps it was what had brought them together in the first place, and maybe the girl had seen that the initial attraction was not enough to build a lifetime relationship on.
“Was it a quick engagement?”
“It was love at first sight!” His gaze continued to rest on hers, and she felt that she was being challenged to doubt it. She also felt that his stare was perhaps too intent for the subject matter. She was just a woman who had met the unfortunate man’s former fiancée and spoken to her for a few minutes. Suddenly she realized that his intensity reminded her of Anthony, attractive and overwhelming and uncomfortable all at once. She felt an unwilling flush cover her face. Maybe the girl had been frightened of that level of power; after all, Anthony had abused the connection his gaze was able to create.
“What do you want from me?” she asked in a low voice, breaking eye contact quickly.
“I always believed she was my future. Maybe I was wrong, but I put a lot into the belief. Christ, we even decided to wait to…” this time it was his turn to blush.
A virgin? No way. In her years as a performer, she didn’t think she had ever met a virgin who was over 16, not a man anyway. Her own defloration had been the weekend she turned eighteen, to the director of the senior-year play. She smiled at the memory of the look of complete astonishment she received from the man as she walked into his small office at the back of the stage. She had been playing the role of Titania in Midsummer Night’s Dream, and while not quite inappropriate for her a high school, the costume certainly showed off her teenage body to perfection. It had not been a wonderful experience, but he had been gentle that first time and her orgasm had been a small introduction to the pleasures ahead. It was later that she learned to like it rougher and to encourage the director to act out his own theatrical fantasies on her willing young flesh. Again, the flush crept up her neck, and a corresponding heat moistened between her legs.
“Let’s see what your new future may be. No patter, a real reading.” She smiled, a little wickedly as vision of his immediate future had already started to form in her head. It had been a long time since Anthony, after all. She pulled out a real deck of Tarot cards, something she rarely used in her practice but had been using personally since before her on-and-off stage adventures in High School.
She dealt the cards in a simple three-lifetimes reading.
“First Card, your past. The Devil. Oh, don’t snort like that!” The young man had indeed given a snort, then immediately looked sheepish. After all he, he had come to the fortune teller, not vice-versa. “Notice how the man and woman are chained to the pillar underneath the demon. They are slaves to something-maybe addiction, maybe money,” Noticing that he was surreptitiously eyeing the expanse of skin left exposed by her bra she added, “Or perhaps lust. Think about the past that you had with your redhead. Was your ‘love at first sight’ perhaps an obsession for romance?”
“We did make a point of our waiting until we were married. At first we felt noble and self-sacrificing. To be honest, lately I’ve just been feeling frustrated.” He had finally relaxed into the reading. Kris’s honesty about her experience with the fiancée had paid off. And as she moved her leg innocently across his under the table, she felt her current ploy would pay off as well.
“The second card, your current life or situation. The Wheel of Fortune. An indication that what happens next is completely out of your control. You are at the mercy of the universe.” She felt a slight answering pressure on her leg and decided to raise the stakes a bit. The rain outside had made the small tent muggy, and she unbuttoned the remaining few buttons on her shirt and let it drape open as he picked up the second card to examine it closer. She put down the deck while he looked at the card closely, and by leaning back she allowed the cloth to gap open and reveal the small diamond that pierced her navel. Absently, she lightly stroked the two halves of the broken crystal ball that still lay in front of her. The completely smooth quartz felt oddly warm-almost body temperature. He put the card down.
“The writing around the edge of the Wheel in the picture, what does it say?
“R-O-T-A, or A-T-O-R, or even T-A-R-O. It’s a circle, so all those words are accurate. A reminder that every thing comes and goes in its cycle, but that chance always plays a role. Also, that the past and present continually come and go and even repeat themselves.” Now that her shirt was completely open, she leaned forward to give him a full view of her breasts, held proud and firm in the grasp of the blood-red lace. He looked slowly down, and unashamedly stared. After all, she was obviously showing them off. And he had been frustrated lately.
He pulled his eyes away from her pale mounds, and asked point blank, “Do you believe this stuff?”
His hand was laying next to the midnight purple silk that had nestled her ball. She turned it over and lightly stroked his palm. “Do I believe your future is written here? In lines and whirls of the flesh on the day you are born? No. If anything this would tell me more about the past.” She continued her light stroking, “I believe that we all carry an idea of our future in our souls. So the crystal ball or the cards give us a way to focus our minds on what the soul wants to tell us. Many people have come to me seeking answers. Of them, a good number wanted patter and predictions. I charge them their fee and give them what they want.”
“Many others however have seen something on their own, some echo of their future, that gave them pause.”
It was true. She had always told fortunes for fun and many people had returned to her to talk about what they had seen in the pattern of the cards or in the depths of the crystal. She picked his hand up. His palm was moist, and she could feel the pulse quickening in the wrist under her painted nails. “I believe that I may be the agent of that message, that I provide the conduit for those people to see something in their life clearly. Perhaps I allow them to see, not with their eyes but with their heart.” She pressed his hand, firmly held captive in her own, to her left breast, allowing his fingers to slip under the lace trim and come to rest against her taut nipple. He caught his breath and she held the hand there, trapped. A shiver ran down her own flesh, and her other nipple stiffened in sympathy with its twin. She pressed her advantage.
“Above all, the Wheel tells us to be prepared for anything, to seize what is offered up by the universe. Are you ready to grab opportunity?”
His eyes were blazing in the shadows. All her candles except one had guttered out, and the storm outside made the dim room seem even darker and closer that it really was. In one of those serendipitous happenings that make life interesting, as she turned over the last card, there was a clap of thunder and the final candle guttered out, leaving the pair in near complete darkness.
“What do you see in the future?” she asked, the cards themselves lost in the gloom. The smell of sandalwood incense, previously just a slight background scent, surged to the forefront as their senses shifted gears to compensate for the darkness.
She felt him stand, and his other hand came to her lips, and softly move down to cup her right breast gently. He whispered “I don’t…I’ve never…”
She thought of Anthony, who had removed certain choices from her, and of other lovers, many of them over the years. This was a novelty for her as well. She heard herself say “Whatever you want…seize the future.” When he hesitated, she pulled the straps of her bra down and squeezed his hands against her freed flesh, roughly squeezing both his hands and her own skin. “Do anything you’ve ever wanted.”

Suddenly she was pulled toward him. She fell to her knees and waited. She heard his zipper come down and felt a hand on her head guiding her toward her target. “Um…suck me, suck my cock.” She heard a note of hesitancy and stood up, almost ready to give up. Knowing he was a virgin was exciting, but if she had to work too hard for it never mind. Then she thought about that flash of anger he had demonstrated earlier, and wondered if maybe there wasn’t more of that same fire to be stoked.
She pushed him into the chair he had abandoned, and grabbed his head. She came to his eye level, barely able to see him but loving the contours of his temples in her hands. “Listen, and listen good. I’m offering you whatever you want. I know you’ve watched pornos, read magazines, and jerked off a million times to some fantasy in your head. Don’t be shy, fuck me any way you want, call me a whore, slap me around and tie me up, whatever. But don’t hesitate, don’t stop, or this moment will be gone. The wheel will roll on. If that’s what you’re going to, get your ass back into that storm and find some other girl to moon over.” For a moment, she thought he might just do that.
The slap surprised her, it was firm enough to sting but not to do any damage. She gasped, and then felt a sharp pain as teeth closed around the tender flesh just under her nipple where his hand had rested. She held his head in close, supporting him and herself as she pulled them down onto the pile of velvet that lay in the back of her séance tent.
No sooner was she prone than there was faint snick and she had just enough time to think knife! and the blade was under her clothes, cutting off her thong and gypsy dress in a single swipe. She felt the backside of the blade run along her skin and again she shivered, and this time she felt the heat between her legs like a pulse in her gut. She moaned, not in fear but in anticipation. She was spread open by the pressure of his hand, and the knife made a bright line of pleasure as he moved the flat along her thigh, brushed her female flesh lightly and ran up to her breasts. This was, unexpected, to say the least. Maybe the redhead had seen this aspect of him in the crystal and it was too much for her to accept.
Kris found the unexpected violence intensely arousing, as her heart pounded and her pussy flooded with anticipation. As she groaned again, she remembered that when aroused, she always slipped into thinking in the most vulgar terms possible. The knife rested underneath her tit, then slipped out of that salty hollow and the point circled her nipple, pricking just enough to tingle, adding to the general feeling of pleasure that was pervading her.

She cried out “Yes, more! Do what you want!!” She was stifled when his cock slipped past her rouged lips and, like a reflex, she circled it with her tongue and sucked gently. She learned at college to breathe through her nose, and this allowed her to take him deep into her throat, fighting the first quick reflex and then relaxing to the thrusts he was making. Suddenly, the shaft was withdrawn and she waited for the pressure again to open her, spread her and fill her. Instead, she felt the weight of him on her chest, slippery and hot between her throbbing mounds. She ran her fingers over his organ, and heard him gasp. Kneading her own breasts, she trapped him there, the friction almost as intense as if he was actually inside her, and she felt her orgasm building from the base of her spine and heading from there to enflame her nipples even more. She realized as his thrusts picked up speed that she must look very much like the Polaroid picture that had landed her here. Well, she had said that she might have been willing to go along with what Anthony was doing, and she certainly could have used a share of the profit.
Her nails dug so deeply into her own flesh that they hurt, but she felt the need to squeeze tighter and tighter. His cock was not huge, but it filled the space between her breasts so perfectly it might have been made for it. He stopped, and for an instant she thought he was going to come. Then she felt him at her lips again, and she drew him in, liberally coating him with as much saliva as she could, licking and sucking gently and her own pleasure, while slowed, continued to rise toward a peak.
When he forced himself between her swollen tits again, it was like nothing she had ever felt. Like losing her virginity without the pain and blood, but even more intense as she squeezed herself around him. Her back arched up as his whole length, wetted by her energetic mouth, slipped between and through the channel she created with her hands and breasts. The pressure mounting, his breaths coming faster, she opened her mouth in a silent shout of exaltation as he exploded onto her, triggering her own massive spasms as waves that washed from her toes to her eyelids.
He rolled off, breathing heavily. She mirrored him, matching gulp for gulp to get air. One of her fingers aimlessly spread the warm liquid of his explosion around one now flaccid and tender nipple. She heard rustling, as sound as if he was about to speak, and through the haze of her receding pleasure she groped to put a hand on his lips.
“No. Whatever you saw, whatever you felt, that was yours. I told you that the vision comes from your heart. Whatever you feel, take that with you.” Her arm dropped, and she drifted a bit. She wasn’t sure if she heard him leave or just felt his absence, but when she realized he was gone she startled, and noticed that the storm had gone as well. Wrapped in a length of velvet, she groped for a new candle and her lighter.
In the light of the small flame, she saw three things simultaneously. First, he had left the fortune telling fee on the table. It was exactly the right amount, based on the sign outside the tent. Second, he had taken one half of the crystal ball with him. Oddly, she didn’t feel angry, it felt….over. Like she wouldn’t need it or use it again. And lastly, the third and final card of the reading she had laid out. Kris laughed to herself at the image she saw, delighted. The card was exactly right. And she hadn’t even dealt it off the bottom of the deck!

(Note: this story originally appeared on