Zane Pella - Fanchon_s Book

My eyes snapped shut. I felt a billow of revulsion and yet my reconnaissance couldn't have been a total loss: behind sealed eyelids I recalled the precise location of the lovely domes and bent to drop a speculative kiss upon each. After a while, somewhat beyond the need for speculation, I browsed a little and luxuriated in the incredible softness, less fearful now and even a bit excited by the perilous proximity of that ominous and unsavory abyss.

The flesh stirred under my lips. I heard a small mutter, indistinct, indecipherable, and then the loud thump-and-rustle of the carelessly tossed magazine hitting the floor. And at last her voice, dripping sarcasm as it doled out the disjunct words in a deliberate drawl.

"Fanchon, isn't it about time you quit stalling? All I could manage was an inarticulate whimper. I didn't stop kissing, though. But neither could I cast out the sense of dread that made me shirk my task (and I did so much want to please her!) and go on shunning the unwholesome caress. Would she demand it? Was she really such a depraved little animal?

"Listen, lover girl, I'm not forcing you. But that tongue of yours is only tickling me and I don't feel like laughing. I've got a sensitive spot there-and I do mean sensitive-so if you're going to do it, do it right." I jerked my head away, piqued that she should channel her own frustration into a disparaging rebuke of me. "Uh-huh, sure, you're sensitive," I said chidingly, "but what you're asking for is sensual, don't you realize that? You're a sensual creature."

And immediately I could have bitten my tongue off, the same tongue that had been criticized for its failure to please. I had spoken in childish retaliation, but the words still rang with rancor. Stupid of me, slipping out of character like that, dissipating the erotic mood; whatever the provocation, I should have known better. "Me? Sensual?" She swung around and sat up, her expression grim. Then, dispassionately, with a shrug, "Hmm, maybe I am. Sensual. Let's find out."

"Huh? Miss Kristi?"

But she paid no attention to me. Without even a glance, she left me and strode to the big closet-door mirror; nearing it, her steps turned mincing, her body began weaving, almost dancing, an undulant sway-a come-on? It had to be. She made no protest as I sidled toward her. As if she had known beforehand that I would take the lure. Not until I sank to my knees in front of her did she acknowledge my presence, and then it was only with a single jutting movement, crude, angular, trenchant, abruptly at odds with the flowing dance: a lewd thrust of her pelvis.

Right into my face.

After that I couldn't tell if she was still dancing or even swaying; I had waited so long for this and now it was mine, mine, all of the engulfing succulence, and I drowned myself in its wet warmth and would have followed it to the ends of the"Fanchon!"

"Mmm?"

"Look. There." She rapped my head. "In the mirror."

I got one eye open in the right direction. A blur but I could still see enough. A crouching woman. Sucking. A slim young girl. Getting sucked. A monstrous picture, but oh, what a thrill! and I couldn't stop looking and I couldn't stop sucking and I couldn't stop loving the girl and loving the woman too: they were so exciting like that, together, a oneness, so sexy!

"Can you see yourself, Fanchon?"

"Ummm… "

"Answer me!"

"Uh… yes… yes, Miss Kristi."

"No, don't call me that. We're not acting, we're not mistress and maid now, we're just two women. Sensual women. Look at yourself. Look! Aren't you sensual?"

"Umm, yes… sensual."

"See for yourself what you are. Oh, such a sensual bitch. Isn't that right, Fanchon, aren't you a sensual bitch? Come on, lick me, lap me, suck me… " And she kept saying it over and over again, but then I had nothing to lick or lap or suck because she was whirling around and-"lick me, lap me, suck me," again and again, her hands behind her back now, cupping my burning cheeks, pulling me into her flesh but not all the way, no, I had to close the gap myself as her hands left me and gripped the separate halves of her buttocks and opened the path.

"Your tongue, Fanchon. I want your tongue."

I gave it to her. I would have begged her to take it.

Because I was a sensual bitch and I knew it, and the dark mystery held no terrors for one such as me. "Look in the mirror. At me this time."

It wasn't easy. My tongue wasn't that long. But I kept it wriggling and fluttering and squirming as best I could. Then I saw what she was doing. With her hand-in front of her now-the fingers dipping into the pit of her belly. Doing it to herself, and I wished that I had two mouths, but she didn't seem to need them; I could feel her body getting close to its climax-or is it mine?-and then she went into a slow convulsion and I heard her voice, a shrieking command.

"Get back in, Fanchon. All the way!"

In a frenzy of obedience, I plunged. All the way.

Wedging my face between the fleshy pillows, shooting my tongue into the depths of her body. Suffocating and loving it. Dying a small pleasure-death.

And then it happened. To her. And to me. Marvel of marvels, it happened to me-without being touched! As if I had swallowed her convulsive climax and made it my own. But I couldn't make the soul-shattering ecstasy last forever, I slumped down and collapsed and everything went blank and all I could remember was my face landing on the floor between the spread legs of my beautiful goddess; and one bare foot was close, so close, and I struggled feverishly to slide my head over so that I might kiss it before oblivion overwhelmed me.

My beautiful goddess. Gone? Light flashed in the black void of my mind long before I could get my eyelids unstuck, harsh light, searing, cruel-the blinding glare of panic. Where is she? I couldn't feel her near me. Such a terrifying moment, waking up on the floor and knowing that she had taken her presence away; oh, how I needed her!

I forced my eyes to function. There were signs of life, yes, but it was only the thing in the mirror, shaky, haggard, an awakening mound of flesh; naked Fanchon. That sensual bitch. Not much to look at, really, and I turned my head.

Ah!

A sluggish spiral of cigarette smoke climbed ceiling ward; in a spate of rekindled animation I crawled toward its source. No, she hadn't run off and left me. My love was still here. My love, my love. And how imperiously beautiful she looked on the chaise lounge, like a highborn lady taking her ease, the Maja Desnuda; wasn't it fitting and proper that I should greet my love by kissing her feet?

"So you're back among the living, eh, Fanchon?"

"I'm back. Was lout long?"

"A few minutes. You must be pretty' tired."

"I-I guess I am."

"Well, I'll let you go to bed soon. I'm not very sleepy myself, though. Be a dear and sit up with me for a while, will you? Pull up a chair or something." I rose to get the chair, moving unsteadily, just a shade bewildered. Our sex fantasy was over, apparently, and yet I was still doing her bidding. Not that I minded staying up with her: in this sweet aftermath of lust I was glad to remain close and bathe in the aura of our shared love. But she did seem a trifle too composed, indeed almost calculating. When I picked up the chair and swung around toward her, she was staring off into space, her face a study in pensive preoccupation, the cigarette between her fingers all but forgotten as it

The cigarette!

It was a mad dash, but I made it. In one breakneck scramble, I dropped the chair and grabbed the ashtray and slid it under the cigarette in time to keep the skin of her midriff intact. Another split-second and there would have been a badly scorched young woman.

I sagged to the floor to catch my breath and get my nerves untangled. Kristi nodded and patted my cheek, a gracious commendation; I glowed contentedly-and then the vivid memory impaled me, the barbed enlightenment, and I realized what I had just done. The significance of my instinctive gesture was Inescapable.