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I don’t know what time it is when I hear rustling sounds in my room. My psyche without thinking, prepares itself for Analise, but it’s not her body that climbs in beside me and snuggles next to my aroused one. Perhaps a function of my sleepy state, I’m pulled back to another time as soon as I realize who it is that’s come to take my sleep away. Without so much as a tremor of hesitation, I explore Peach’s body as if we hadn’t been estranged at all, her willingness and sweet fragrance meet my welcoming arms.
For a few fleeting moments, no time has passed between us, no fear exists, or breach requiring repair, no Tasia, or Analise, just Peach and I, our breaths intermingling, the sweat from her body mixing with mine, our sexual energy flowing together as it so often has. She’s altogether more substantial than Analise, passion flows from her like rich burgundy.
I’ve been missing this bliss, this full bodied sensuality. Not since Miriam have I felt so much myself, and even then, I was so broken hearted that I couldn’t be content, not like this. Every inch of me shudders as she runs her hands along my thighs. I feel sharp darting arrows in my stomach and below, as she touches my breasts, and I bask in the fact that she’s here, really here, not some invention of my fantasy.
We roll on the bed so she lies on top of me, her breasts hang over mine, our hardened nipples play a teasing game of hide and seek. Her hot breath tickles my neck as she kisses me, and then moves with her as she moves her head to the center of my torso.
She lays her head against my throbbing belly and pauses for a moment there. I feel a sadness closing in around us both as she cries softly while I stroke her hair. I know she’s missed me.
Then with tears dripping, she continues to my slit below, her pressing tongue finding a hard clit to suck. She knows how I love her teasing where my labia part, just at the top where the ring pierces me. A single finger in my cunt and my juice flows freely. I tightened, gasp and cum, with a shocking rude jolt, like I haven’t come in weeks—as if I’ve only been living half of my sex. (I realize that something important slips between the cracks with Analise.)
For a moment I don’t even wonder why she’s here—of course, she’s here—until my cumming ceases and I have time to think again.
I want to return the favor to her, but my mind takes charge of the lust, and implores me to question her. Peach reads me. I marvel that the natural intuition between lovers does not easily disappear. “Shush,” she says before I speak, and she climbs back to my face and presses her mouth to mine.
I laugh, feeling with my hands how wet her pussy is. I play with it as kisses cover her lips, tiny toying amusing ones. She bites my lips, pulling them with her teeth. She presses her cunt against my hand and fucks it as one, two, then three fingers breach the opening. I wish I could get all of myself inside her, not just my whole fist, but my whole body. I want to be that close to her.
She tenses against me for what seems like an eternity. Her cunt throbs on my penetrating fingers with a ruthless hearty fervor. Oh! How I’ve missed this voluptuary, this siren sensualist! How I’ve missed passion, traded this hedonistic rapture for something so intangible that I’m often not certain it’s even happened at all. I want Peach and I to go on forever; I want her pulsing cunt beating at my hand, her raw need-filled body clamoring at mine without stopping.
I want to cry when her orgasm finally disappears.
Before we sleep, I undo the neat bow at her neck and pull Tasia’s ribbon away. Peach doesn’t object, she seems more intent on wriggling her ass end into my crotch, so that I can surround her with my arms as we drift off to sleep.
A commotion outside the bedroom door jerks me awake. The sun, well up in the sky, brightens the room with a sweet cheeriness, though the odious sounds in the hallway turn my stomach instantly. Peach jumps out of the bed and scurries to dress. Just a shift is all she wore, and all that leaves with her.
Not a single word passes between us. I feel the fear inside her knowing this visit was unauthorized by the mistress of the house, who’s now returned. Peach slips out the door with furtive glances at either side of the hallway, and I breathe easier when she’s made a safe escape. I hear no instantaneous conflagration that would occur if she were caught. But still fearing for her, I bolt from the room myself to hear better. To my relief, in the now quiet house, all I hear is the soft sound of a door closing.
In my room, I refuse to go back to bed without Peach. She’s left her fragrance here, and I’ll likely be content to enjoy that until I can’t distinguish it from any other fragrance that greets my nose. I pick up the blue ribbon from the floor; her one time collar, now just a wrinkled piece of grosgrain. Not willing to have this found inside my room, I pocket it when I dress, intending to toss it somewhere downstairs where it won’t do Peach any harm.
At lunch, we smile furtively at each other. I pass her briefly. “Were you caught?” I mouth quietly.
She shakes her head “no”, and we exchange relieved smiles.
I can tell that things are about to happen within these walls. The Bed and Breakfast rooms fill quickly with more vacationing guests, and those who are looking forward to Tasia’s midsummer celebration. I ignore most goings on; it seems I have my own drama to play out and have no time for the other madness. Though from what I can tell, the other revelers are not seeing the impending event through the same dark eyes I do. The lightness in their mood hardly matches the dire pictures that constantly come to my mind.
My night with Peach colors the whole day with lust, remembrance, and fear of another rude abandonment. A melancholy sadness takes me away when I see Peach collared again, traipsing alongside Tasia. I rebuff Analise twice, her insubstantial airiness too frivolous for me after making love to Peach.
“I’ll be with you later,” I tell her sternly, as I pat her bottom, making sure to feel the end of the dildo I pressed inside her days ago.
She sighs sorrowfully, though I hardly think I’m breaking her heart the way mine was broken. There have been few loving words between us; we’re affectionate sisters, but this is not a grand love affair, and she knows that as well as I do.
Late in the afternoon, however, Analise scampers to my side while I’m in the garden reading a magazine.
“C’mon, you have to see this,” she says, pulling on me. Despite my resistance, I finally follow her back down the basement stairs to the cellar we explored the night before. But instead of going into the stone chapel, she shoves me back toward the other door, the rounded one that we’ll have to stoop to get under.
“Hurry,” she says anxiously.
We enter the wine cellar. I can tell this more by the dank odor than by sight, for it’s nearly black inside the place, especially when the door closes behind us.
“Hurry, I hear them coming,” she says, pulling at me to follow her.
“Who’s coming?” I ask.
“Shush!”
I hear a shuffling on the stairs, as Analise leads me along a narrow aisle between two rows of wine racks. I feel the dusty bottles, and grab at the wooden frame to keep my balance. Where the wine rack ends, there’s a hole in the mortared stone wall.
“Down here,” she whispers very quietly. She pulls me to the floor of the wine cellar where she shows me a long slit of a hole between two stones. At first we can see nothing; but as we peer at the murky darkness on the other side of the wall, the stone chapel gets brighter, and we watch as several people appear out of the shadows.
