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“Feels good,” she gushed and whimpered in response to the way my tongue penetrated the inside of her. “Lick it. Lick it good,” she hungrily commanded as my tongue lapped her protruding clitoris into a rigid and raw mass of painful longing. “Christ, there’s never enough time with you!” she exclaimed, and I damn near choked; trying to swallow the juices from her climax.
It was all for her. Time had stopped just so that she could get off. At least that’s how it seemed when she was approaching her third orgasm of the night. She was quick, but I had yet to be released from my state of sexual animation. I lay completely naked under her, feverish and animalistic, uninhibited in the way I reached up to touch her hair, face, and neck as she straddled my thigh. And when I thought I could get some control over the havoc she was wreaking on me, she bent over, leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You don’t even know where you’re taking me; where you’re going.”
I didn’t understand her words. What I did know was the heat from her body, her breath against my ear, and the way her pussy had created a slip and slide of my leg, along with those words, made me feel like I was going to burst into liquid flames at any moment. I greedily lifted up and tasted the blackberry-colored nipples jutting from her breasts. My pussy jumped in retort to the stream of obscenities pouring from her mouth as she lost herself to the thigh-ride.
She seemed ready to hit her stride again, but paused a moment before maneuvering my body into a position in which she could slide between my legs. We half-lay, half-sat, scissor-like, opposing each other without moving. A wave of longing shot through my gut as I tried to catch my breath. I gasped at the feel of her engorged pussy, now delicately touching my own. I moaned at the agonizing stillness before losing myself to the first thrust against her. We fit each other in all the ways I could have ever imagined. It began as an unhurried steady grind. I could feel the definition of her outer lips, how they gave way to the cavernous hole of hot interior flesh. I felt my hood slicken and sloppily yield to the dewy velvet smoothness of her hood. Pussy to pussy, I lost track of time and found it again, using the throbbing and swelling heaviness of her clitoris mashed against mine. We gyrated strokes and cunt-fondled each other like the bitches in heat that we were. The car felt like a sauna. The smell intoxicat
ing. And nothing, not the impending cramps, nor the threat of being caught, could make us let go of each other until we let go of time.
I wanted to get under her skin, merge my whole body into the molasses that was Tempest’s black hole. Nothing I did could get me as close to her as I wanted to be, but I didn’t stop trying. She clawed at me and I reached for her, all without breaking the torrid connection of our timeless fuck. I caressed the nape of her neck. She tugged my hair while thrusting herself up and down against me. In my frenetic physical state and desire-clouded mind, I nonchalantly placed my fingers at the base of her neck. As she continued to buck against my pussy, the caresses of my fingers gave way to deliberate hands that pressured and encircled her neck each time she sighed “yeah” or groaned “fuck me.” And when I decreased the force or moved my hand to tease an erect nipple, she would painfully gaze at me with want for the weight of my small hands wrapping around her neck. Through some unspoken communication delivered via her eyes, as well as her pussy popping and clamping down against my snatch, I applied and reapplied pressure and squeezed her neck, understanding that it would bring me closer to the orgasmic frenzy I sought.
My voice had become hoarse from begging, then harshly demanding more of the pleasurable swell. I ached for release. Pussy was too soft. Too hot. Too damn good. I wanted the good hurt to be over. I wanted it to never end. It was a frantic, ugly, and mean fuck…but she was getting me high. It was seeing my hands, that had just been squeezing her neck, fade and slip into her flesh, rather than against it, that tripped me out enough for me to grasp the meaning of the words that she had whispered to me earlier. My hands were no longer corporeal but rather ethereal energy with force.
I could not tell what was real. The only flesh that I could really sense was the hard pearl growing between my legs. I could still feel her against me, hear her screams when she came, when I too slipped toward my own peak in which I could not stop squeezing or choking. I felt my hands at the back of her wet throat and then solidly against the back of her neck. I was touching her everywhere but nowhere. There but not here. And as I pussy-fucked myself into intense multiple orgasms, I saw myself, her, and my future memory of her. We were in another time in a blue room, and I was delicately stroking the nape of her neck before undressing her.
“Damn, you trip-time better than I did my first time. You were almost there.” She panted, our pussies still touching, each jumping at the disturbance of her voice.
“No, I came,” I said, breathing heavily as if there were any doubt on the matter.
“But I wanted you ‘becoming.’”
We weren’t in love, but we were lovers. Desire is infinite. It stretches beyond existence. That first night with Tempest I discovered that I could travel through time. With the right lover, I learned that I could change the past, see the future, and enjoy the present. Yes. We were lovers who fucked up the time space continuum every single time we kissed, touched, or tasted the timelessness of each other. We were lovers, partners against the collapse of time. She had come to show me how.
Lucille Gayles is the pseudonym of a teacher-critic-scholar and struggling novelist from Durham, N.C. She has been writing erotic poetry and fiction since she learned the alphabet. She currently resides and teaches at a university in Florida.
Jacqui
Jolie du Pré
W ho knew I’d end up at Regina’s Hair School? I thought I’d be at a top beauty academy, but one put me on a waiting list and another one flat out rejected me. Out of anger and desperation I enrolled, last minute, at Regina’s. I rationalized that since it was located down the street from where I lived, it would be convenient and that it was just a stepping stone until I could transfer out to where I wanted to be.
There really was a Regina. Dark brown and big, everything about her was big. Big earrings; sometimes they were bright green. Big hair that, at last count, was five different shades. Big breasts that hung down to her navel. Regina didn’t talk to her students much. She followed the “learn on your own” method. While we worked on the hair of clients, she sat in the back with a bucket of chicken and watched talk shows.
We each had pink booths that Regina bought to cheer the place up. On Mondays we didn’t accept clients. Instead, we cleaned our tools and organized our stations. I stood next to Jacqui. Today she decided to pick me apart.
“Girl, we need to do somethin’ about your hair.”
“I like my hair!”
“Your clothes ain’t right either. I’m gonna take you shoppin’.”
Shopping is fun, but going to the mall with a woman who wears furry baby blue boots would be a bad idea.
“Jacqui, I’m trying to concentrate here.”
“You so damn snotty, Michelle! I’m just tryin’ to help a sistah. I bet you ain’t gettin’ none either.”
Actually I had, but it was nothing to brag about. Gina and I had been together for five years, but sex with her had lacked passion for months. We still shared a lot of the same interests, but even that was waning.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Oh, girl, don’t tell me I gotta take care of that too.”
“I’m not interested in getting fixed up with a man, Jacqui.”
“Who said anything about a man?”
I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. She grinned from ear to ear, then she turned around and walked to the back of the room, her large ass stuffed in a pair of tight jeans. I had never told Jacqui that I was a lesbian. Was she into girls, too? My gaydar doesn’t always work, but the way she had smiled at me and switched her big behind were evidence enough. I’m a black woman who is attracted to black women, but me and Jacqui? I shook the thought from my head.
