1 comments/ 11267 views/ 0 favorites Calling By: Decayed Angel The sun burned a dusty orange; its incessant heat scorched the landscape even as it set on the distant horizon. Dust hung in the air choking everyone and everything. The only sign of water was the tear tracks on the children's faces, and yet he still had hope. Though the dusty haze he watched as an old man approached him, walking very slowly. "The fever... our children are dying," Inua, the elder, spoke between his deep breaths. Ebbe hung his head. "I know." "But your daughter, she dies too, yet you stand here doing nothing. You'll find magic in the distant plain?" Inua asked, pointing toward the last light on the horizon. "I know of nothing else. I call for rain to cool the fever, but the gods have lost their way and as much as I try they cannot find us." "It hasn't rained in six seasons, yet we wait for them. We wait for what? For your magic, for you to relearn your soul? Dance, sing, throw yourself from these rocks, do something. They're dying!" Ebbe looked down over the village as the long shadows stretched to night. In the twilight he counted the many sacred fires, each one showing where a sick child lay. One by one they were slipping through his fingers like the dust, becoming the earth once again. He could save them, he had saved them before, he could save them now, if only, if only... "The others, they all want to leave. They talk of a ghost doctor, a great doctor with welcome magic who came on the wings of the light, sparkling in the sky. Perhaps the ghost can cool the fevers and bring the rain." Ebbe kneeled slowly running his hands through fine dust. He held a handful skyward and let the dust sift through his fingers praying for the rain to take its place. Wondering of the ghost doctor he tried to picture his sparkling wings over the plain, perhaps with the rain sprinkling behind him. Yet the dust still floated to the ground and the children still died. "Will you do nothing?" "I cast my magic, I pray the gods find us, I reach for the water until my arms ache and I pray until my voice leaves me." "And yet you do nothing." "I've done everything!" Ebbe shouted and then coughed, spitting out a muddy glob. "I thirst too, and my daughter's fire burns tonight just like everyone else's." "Tomorrow we will leave to find the one with magic, the ghost doctor. We will walk and we will find him." "But you will die walking out there," he said pointing to the last of the orange glow of the day. "And like the darkness, death will cover you all, first the dust and then..." "And here?" "Here it will rain." "When, when will it rain? One by one we die and you say it will rain. Only the tears fall and soon we will have none to cry." "But they will find us..." "Who will find us?" "The gods, they will find us and give us rain, we need to wait." "If we wait we will die." "If you leave you will die, perhaps sooner." "Perhaps, but maybe the ghost doctor may save us." "Is he a god?" "He flies." "The birds fly too, are they gods?" "He flies and has great magic, your magic is gone." "You must have patience, the gods will find us, my magic will bring them." "Patience? The children die, your daughter dies and yet you wait, you do nothing." "I..." "You do nothing," the elder said, waving his hand for silence. He looked back at the village, "So many fires, so many fires. We will leave for the ghost doctor." Ebbe looked to the sky, seeing only the stars, he saw no clouds, no chance of rain. He looked to the village and saw only the fires and the smoke, no chance to cool the fevers. He looked at his hands; hands that once had power, that once made the sick well, that once made rains come, that once held his daughter high in the air. Now they did nothing, nothing but sift the dust. In the morning they would leave, all of them, including his wife and daughter, leaving him alone. Ebbe reached his hands to the sky and began calling the rain again. As he cast his magic, as he prayed the moon rose and the stars continued to shine on the crystal clear night. Calling All Girls When I turned on my computer this morning, I had an e-mail from a woman with whom I went to college. The message included an invitation to come and spend a weekend in Atlanta. Fortunately, my husband would be in Europe the weekend she suggested. This would be perfect. New Orleans is only about a ten hour drive from Atlanta. And it had been a while since I'd seen the scenery along the way. A late spring drive would be just lovely. I e-mailed my travel plans and counted away two weeks. I spotted her outside a rest station with her thumb out and a sign that read "Atlanta, please!" She looked young--19 or 20. Medium-tall, shapely in a pair of tight jeans with strategically placed rips, white t-shirt with no bra, dark sun glasses and a baseball cap hiding her hair and its color .She looked harmless. I could use the company, I mused. "Hi. I'm going to Atlanta. Want a lift?" "That would be great. I'll be glad to repay you," she answered, smiling. "But, sweetheart, you're hitching. If you could pay, you'd have another means of transportation." I was a little puzzled at her statement. Am I doing the right thing here? "Don't worry, I'm very normal. What I am is a call girl who deals strictly with a female clientele. I would only accept a ride from a woman such as yourself. It would be my pleasure to repay you with my expertise--if you so desire." Pretty speech, I thought. "Get in." She dumped her gear in the back seat and bounced in next to me, sticking out her hand. "Hi, I'm Eve." "Hello. I'm Katharyn. Nice to meet you. Do you have friends in Atlanta?" I asked as I pulled off. "No. I'm just looking for a different place to hang for a few weeks. I was bummed with New Orleans. "We didn't run out of women, did we? I'm from New Orleans." I asked, laughing. "No way. But one of my clients, a young lawyer, thinks I'm the only one left. She took me to Paris for a week. Man, we did it everywhere. But she wants me to quit my business and live with her. That is something I will never do. I'm letting her cool her heels for a while. So I dumped a few things in my duffel and on impulse decided to ride my thumb. I love an adventure." "So, Eve, I know what you do. But how did you get where you are?" Well, it began three years ago when I'd barely turned 18. When I told my parents that I only thought I was a lesbian, they cut me off financially. I dropped out of college after my first freshman semester to support myself. There wasn't enough money in the odd jobs that I did. A young woman propositioned me at closing time at a cafe where I worked. I'd never been with a woman--only lusted in my mind--and was nervous. She did me every night for the next week teaching me everything I now know. I walked away sexually satisfied for the first time in my life. Then I discreetly began to solicit women. My reputation grew by word of mouth. The rest is history." "That's very interesting, Eve." "I meant what I said Katharyn. If you decide you want my services, I'd be more that happy to oblige. At no charge, of course. You wouldn't believe the women out there, Katharyn, who want that softness and knowledge of sex that only one woman can give to another. I have had in my short time in the business young mothers with school-aged kids, bankers, librarians, college girls, socialites. You name it. One older lady once hired me to come out to her country home on a weekend. She never got undressed, but only wanted to raise my dress, put her hand in my panties and feel me up. I love what I do, I do it well and am paid handsomely. In my bag, I have a couple of little black cocktail dresses, high heels and discreet jewelry. And a few toys. I can sit at a bar, fend off men, travel to the ladies room several times and come out with client's names in my purse. Women see me, know what I am, and want to fuck with me. I have had women in their expensive homes, on love boats to Bermuda, in dumpy motels, on secluded beaches and in the backs of vans. I give women what they want--the touch of their own." "Well Eve, let's travel until nightfall. I'll get us rooms and then I will decide." "Cool." Heavens, I was getting all tingly. All this talk about women having sex with each other. Could I do this? I'm not bad looking, pretty actually. My body is strong and lightly muscular from daily swimming. I hide my 35 years well, if I do say so myself. My naturally dark red hair is medium length and stylish. But it has been a while since I had sex with my husband who is twenty years my senior. It takes him a week to get it up and five minutes to get it off. We traveled in silence for a couple of hours. She dozed but awakened as I made an exit. I explained that I would be checking us into a hotel for the night. A parking attendant took my Lexus after a hotel employee removed our bags. I checked us into adjoining suites and signed the register naming her as my daughter. Upstairs, we went to our separate rooms. I ordered room service for the two of us, then opened the inner door to our suites. We chatted as we ate, then separated again when the table was removed. Images of women touching occupied my mind as I took a nice long shower, dried my hair and donned one of the terry courtesy robes. As I was about to belt it, Eve came into my room. She was dressed like me. Her hair was a thick, curly honey blonde. It was glorious atop a beautiful face flushed from the heat of her bath. She licked her rose-colored lips when she saw me. "Katharyn, you are beautiful. I would love to have sex with you. You don't have to do anything. I will give you all the pleasure you can imagine." I nodded. She slowly walked to me, pulled the robe from my shoulders and let it drift to the floor. She stood back and hers followed. Her body was "lush." Orange-sized breasts with reddish-pink nipples, small waistline, wisps of blonde curls on a mostly shaved pussy with thick, full lips. God, looking at her made me hot. Eve walked back to me, took my face in both hands, and fucked my mouth with her tongue. Her hands traveled to my butt, then up and down my back as she still ravished my mouth. I got wetter than wet when she reached between us to capture my pussy. I moaned loudly as her hand made contact and began to rub. Before I could cum on her hand, she removed it and pushed me on the bed. Eve did not take my pussy gently. Did she perceive my need to be taken hard and quickly before I could change my mind? She yanked my legs apart, dropped to her knees and drove her tongue into me. I came right away. I felt enormous amounts of juice flow from me. But she was there to lap it up on that magnificent tongue of hers. She tasted, sucked, licked, fucked and held my hips down as I came and came. When she eased away, she left me spread-eagled, sideways on the bed, pussy wide open. Did she say something about later tonight? God, I hope so. Around midnight, Eve came back. She gently pulled at my covers and crawled into bed with me. Then she was on top of me, kissing me as before, devouring my mouth. I ran my hands through the golden curls, pulling her deeper in. At long last, she released my mouth, but did not stop her delicious assault on my body. My neck and shoulders were next. Then each of my breasts was taken into her mouth, the nipples teased and sucked to perfection. Her expert tongue traveled down my torso to my navel where it swirled wetly. I knew she would make contact with my pussy next. I could hardly wait. But she bypassed it and went down to my legs to my feet. Each toe was taken into her mouth and sucked, the soles of my feet licked. She made a wet trail back up to my left calf, then my right. Her explorations continued until she arrived at my wet pussy. Now, I thought, now! But no. She didn't eat my pussy. Eve aligned her body with mine and lowered her thick wet pussy on to my wetter one. The mere sensation of touching this part of me to her nearly drove me mad. Eve, Eve, Eve was all I could think as we rotated our hips, melding ourselves together. After long, long moments, Eve whispered for me to cum with her. She slipped her tongue in my mouth again and I lost all sanity. Eve removed herself, spread my legs and began sucking my pussy. As she did so, she slowly began to insert her thumb in to my anus. When I gently protested, she began licking my clit. As I enjoyed that sensation, she worked her thumb up to the hilt. I circled my hips as I enjoyed her moving thumb and warm tongue. As I was about to cum, she stopped both actions and told be to get some rest. I laid there, still wanting her, thinking about what I had let a her do to me and was pleased with my self. I soon fell asleep. Three-thirty a.m., Eve came back to my bed. She now sported a 8-inch strap-on dick. "I think you need this, Katharyn," she said, rubbing it. Was it possible for a girl to be so beautiful with a dick? Yes, it was! I was still wet from our last encounter when she drove it into me. This girl fucked me with an enthusiasm found only in the young. She lasted much, much longer than my husband's five minutes and satisfied me totally. When she pulled out of me, she asked me to grab some pillows and get on my hands and knees at the end of the bed. I did so. She spread my ass cheeks, entered my pussy from behind and fucked me until I came again. She pulled out and told me told me to hold my position. Presently, she rubbed a cool, mentholated substance at my asshole and aimed her same coated dick at the mark. "Take it easy, Katharyn," she said. "I want to get it all in. You need to experience this." I gritted my teeth as she pushed her way in. She let it rest in me motionless for a minute or two. The feeling of fullness and heat from the dick and the contrasting coolness of the menthol were almost as exquisite as when Eve began to pump me again. I never thought I could cum without something in or on my pussy. But I was wrong. How could anything so forbidden feel so damn good? Eve drove it in and out of me and I all I could do was rest my head on the pillows and screw my ass as tears of joy spilled from my eyes. I knocked on Eve's door the next morning to announce a forthcoming breakfast. When she didn't answer, I opened it and peered in. She was just coming out of her bath, shaking out her hair. I stood there mesmerized by this gorgeous young creature who just hours ago had given me the ultimate pleasure. My eyes dropped to her pussy. "Would you like to taste me, Katharyn?" "Yes, please." I managed to get the words past my lips. She smiled and assumed a position at the end of a chaise lounge. I lowered myself to the floor, grabbed the tops of her hips and lit into her like a starved woman. Her wetness tasted of musk and cherries, the feel of her pussy velvet to my tongue. I tried to remember the things she had done to me, but mostly I was on my own doing what came naturally. I, simply for lack of better words, "ate" Eve's pussy. My mouth brought her release as she pulled my head closer to her center. My pleasure was complete when I removed my wet face from her. When she went back into the bathroom, I quickly went into my room and grabbed my purse. I removed five 100 dollar bills and one of my cards. On back I wrote, "For your working wardrobe. You'd also look beautiful in dark red." I clipped the items together and slipped them into the bottom of her bag. The next night my friend took me out to dinner at a nice, upscale restaurant. My eye caught the beautiful Eve elegantly sitting at the bar in one of her little dresses--a deep red one. Her hair was worn up with a few tendrils escaping. Apparently my friend also spotted her. When Eve left for the ladies room, she excused herself and went, too. As we waited for her car after dinner, she asked if she could meet me for brunch instead of breakfast because she'd forgotten an early "tennis lesson." I smiled knowing that Eve would give her her money's worth. Read about Kathryn's further adventures in "Sydney with a Y." Eve surfaces briefly in "Bethel: The Epiphany." Calling Down the Moon My life is a B horror movie, Lindsay thought despairingly. I won't be surprised if there's a hook hanging off the door handle, ripped from a wandering serial killer's wrist. The internal mockery cheered her a bit as she tried the ignition again. Click. The rental's engine didn't even try to turn over, and she sighed, scowling at the steering wheel. Outside, it was dark as pitch, rain lashing at the windshield, flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder adding to the cliché. She'd been making good time, too, considering the weather and her total unfamiliarity of the countryside. She had pulled over to check her map, a little nervous about the narrow highway that seemed to stretch on forever. Wanting reassurance that she hadn't made a wrong turn twenty miles back, she had discerned she was on the right road and had just set the map aside when the car simply died. Ten minutes of patient attempts to restart the stubborn Chevy that she just knew was laughing at her somewhere in its metal depths, she admitted defeat. "Stupid car," she growled, smacking the steering column with enough force to sting her hand. "You couldn't break down somewhere near a town? The rental agency had better compensate me." She groped for her cell phone, fishing it out of a side pocket of her purse. Thumbing a random button, she scowled again when it registered there were no bars. Great. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, no cell reception, dead car for company. All she needed now was a maniac in a hockey mask to tap on her window. She was too angry to feel scared, and pitied any psychotic that crossed her path at the moment. Lindsay peered out the driver's window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a light that might mean there was a house or cabin nearby. From what little she'd been told of the area, she knew that private cottages dotted the wooded mountainside, mostly belonging to wealthy big-city professionals looking to get away from urban noise for a couple of weeks. She imagined that minus the ear-splitting thunder crashing every few minutes, it would be peaceful out here. It would be a perfect place to work, if she could find one to rent in her price range. Her career as a writer was taking off now, having published two novels and several short stories in prominent magazines, but while it supported her well enough, buying a pricey mountain cabin was still out of reach. Just renting would be a stretch. Her thoughts buzzing around her head, Lindsay stilled as she spied a possible light through the rain and dark. The electrical systems in the car were as dead as the engine, so she couldn't roll down the window; instead, she opened the door and levered herself to peer over the doorframe. Blinking the rain out of her eyes, she could just make out what appeared to be a lit window about a quarter mile away. She quickly popped back into the Malibu, slamming the door against the weather. Grabbing her laptop case, overnight duffle, and purse, then tucking her cell away and slipping the map into a side pocket, she took a deep breath. "If whoever's in that cabin is a homicidal maniac lying in wait for stranded strangers, it's your fault I'm dead," she informed the Chevy. "But at least I'll be dry when he dissects me." On that cheery note, Lindsay braced herself and stepped out into the storm. Michael had been peacefully sipping a beer and listening to nature's symphony for over an hour, not even pretending to be working anymore. He longed to be out in the woods, smelling the damp earth where the trees grew so thick that the rain only drizzled through. The full moon beckoned, even hidden behind storm clouds. It wasn't the storm that kept him indoors, though – a little rain never bothered him. No, it was something in the air that made his nose twitch and stay put. Something was coming, and he wanted to be ready for it. When the door banged, he jumped up to answer, only faintly surprised that someone was wandering the hills in this weather. His welcoming smile froze a little when he caught sight of the bedraggled woman on his porch. It wasn't her appearance – even soaked to the skin, wet hair plastered to her head and cheeks, makeup smudged and nose red she was remarkably lovely. It was her scent that went straight to his head, making it buzz as if he'd drank a six pack, instead of the single Blue Moon sitting on his coffee table. Rain and earth clung to her, which was expected, but under that she was vanilla and musk and warm bread fresh from the oven, with a tangy spice that hinted of a passionate nature. He resisted leaning closer to breathe her in, covering his sudden reaction with a hesitant smile. Before he could form any coherent greeting, she spoke. "Hi," she stared up at him, tilting her head to meet his eyes. Hers were green, he noticed, and approximately a foot below his. He estimated she was just over five feet tall. Just the right height to tuck under his arm, the perfect snuggling size. She'd fit in his lap with room to spare, leaving space for hands to wander over that small lush figure. He was so busy trying not look like he was staring and listening to his overactive imagination and just breathing her that he almost missed what she was saying. "Sorry to bother you, but my car broke down. Do you have a phone? Cell reception is crap out here." "Help yourself," Michael stepped aside and ushered her in. "It's probably out though. Where's your car?" "About a quarter mile that way," she waved over her shoulder. "I pulled off to check my map and it just died." "Well, if you don't mind waiting 'til morning, I can probably fix it for you," Michael offered. It was the last thing he wanted at the moment. He took another discreet sniff and felt tingly all over. "Could you?" she looked at him hopefully, and he cursed himself silently. "That would be great!" Way to go, Mike, he thought gloomily. You had to tell her you're a gear head? He watched while she kicked her muddy boots off and squelched her way to the single telephone on the kitchen wall. His clapboard cabin was mostly one large living/dining/kitchenette, with the couch and a battered leather armchair sectioning off the living area. She looked around, taking in the fire in the grate before lifting the receiver and scowling. Sighing, she hung up. "No dial tone," she said, shrugging. "Usually goes out during storms," Michael said cheerfully. "Great." She looked more resigned than upset. Michael tried not to smile too widely. "Let me get you a towel. Or better yet, the bathroom's that way and there's a robe hanging on the door. You're soaked," he added, stating the obvious. "Can't have you dying of pneumonia." He waved at the narrow hall that led to the bedroom, tiny linen closet, and three-quarter bathroom. "Thanks, but I've got spare clothes," she said, hefting the duffle slung over her chest. She set her briefcase down on the two-seater dinette table. It was dry; she must have huddled it under her trench coat. Michael called after her as she picked her way to the bathroom, "Can I get you a beer? Some tea?" "Tea would be wonderful, thank you," she said as the door swung shut. He couldn't blame her for not wanting to drink with a total stranger, but he still felt a stab of disappointment. He never got drunk; his metabolism was too fast. But he had a feeling she – whatever her name was – would be adorable with a couple of beers in her. Not to mention receptive. Total unworthy thought, and he knew it. Unrepentant in his own mind, he busied himself putting the kettle on and locating teabags. His sister left a box a couple weeks ago, where was it? Ah, there....fishing behind cans of tuna and beans, he snagged the Lipton's, hoping for a miracle. She smelled too good for him to behave long. Lindsay dug in her duffle, only to remember she hadn't repacked it at her last stop. Toiletries were there, comb, hairbrush, hairdryer, curling iron, but just a change of underwear and an oversized t-shirt she used as a nightie as far as clothes went. The night was just getting better by the minute. "Better than nothing," she grumbled to herself, catching sight of her face in the postage-stamp mirror. Her makeup was a total loss, and she sighed. The cabin's owner seemed harmless enough, perfectly happy to have a soggy stranger dropped on his doorstep. Lindsay realized now she hadn't even asked his name. He must think I have no manners at all, she thought as she washed her face and toweled her hair, combing the tangles out and leaving it loose to dry. She was tempted to blow-dry it, but didn't want to seem too concerned about her appearance. The guy was a complete hunk; he must be used to scores of women throwing themselves at his feet. The risk of seeming like a giddy teenager was too humiliating to contemplate. It had taken everything she had not to stare and drool. Topping her own five-two by at least a foot, his dark brown eyes, carelessly shaggy hair flopping over his forehead, and cleft chin were impossibly attractive. The two-day stubble just added to the allure. You've been single too long, Linds, Lindsay scolded herself. He's not that gorgeous. Liar, her brain whispered back. Shut up. It was a mark of how her day was going that she was losing arguments with herself. Shoving her thoughts aside, Lindsay bundled into the worn navy and green plaid fleece robe hanging right where he'd told her. It smelled pleasantly of wood smoke and musk. She slipped on a pair of footie socks and stepped out into the hall, feeling hopelessly frumpy. "Hey," he called cheerfully as she emerged. "You look much better in my robe than I do. But I thought you had clothes?" "Thanks," she said, horrified she might be blushing. "I do, but apparently I didn't pack my overnight today; the rest of my luggage is in the trunk of the possessed Chevy. The tea smells good." "I've got sugar and honey," he handed her a mug. "Possessed, hm? Well, now you've got me intrigued. I've met some stubborn Chevys, but never a possessed one. By the way, what's your name?" Lindsay added a spoonful of sugar and sipped it gratefully. "You must think I'm awfully rude. I'm Lindsay Sanders. Linds, mostly. Thanks for letting me in. Sleeping in the car in this storm wasn't appealing." He stuck out a big paw of a hand and grinned. "Michael Woods," he offered as they shook. "Mike to my friends. And no problem, honestly. I enjoy company. Especially pretty ones." Her hand completely disappeared in his, but he held hers with a gentle power that made her shiver. Resisting the urge to yank it away, she looked up and met his smile. At that moment, the lights snuffed out. "That's par for my day," Lindsay sighed. Michael couldn't believe his luck. The electricity going out during a storm was normal, but only this morning the generator had blown as well. He hadn't bothered to drive the fifty miles to town for the part, being up here alone. Service was usually restored by morning, he had plenty of candles, and food he could cook over the fire in a pinch. Tomorrow was soon enough to make the trip. He unerringly took Lindsay's hand again and squeezed it reassuringly. "This is typical," he assured her, trying not to sound gleeful. "We probably won't get power back until morning." "Where are candles?" she asked, sounding resigned. "Drawer next to the sink. Here, I'll get holders." Michael moved around her with ease, his night vision kicking in. Lindsay walked carefully to the kitchen, moving slow in the near darkness. He grinned, liking the sway of her hips in his robe as she groped along the small island that marked the kitchen boundary. He met her with a half a dozen mismatched holders in a box he'd snagged from the linen closet and the two of them lit utility candles, setting all six on the coffee table. They were surprisingly bright grouped together, merging with the mellow glow from the fireplace. Mike tossed another log on the fire, poking up the flames until it burned with a cheery, and hopefully romantic, glow. When he turned, Lindsay was curled in one corner of the couch, feet tucked under her, robe spread modestly to cover her legs. She was gazing at the flames, the candlelight making her skin glow. He was sorely tempted to plunk down beside her, but was afraid she'd think he was a complete player. He took the armchair instead. It kept her far enough away that he could only smell her in whiffs. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself otherwise, anyway. "So at the risk of sounding corny, what's a pretty lady like you doing out on a night like this?" Mike asked conversationally. "I'm meeting friends for a sort of reunion," she said, smiling faintly at his compliment. "Oh, man, I'm sorry about the phone then, they'll be worried," Mike said sincerely, as if thoughts of keeping her all to himself – preferably naked – weren't churning through his head. Damn, she really shouldn't smell like that. It was wreaking havoc with his better instincts. He caught himself wondering exactly how dark of brown her hair was when dry, and if it would look as good spread out on his pillow as he imagined. "I'm a week ahead of them," she said with a small smile. "I was going to use the time to work." "Work on vacation? What do you do?" he barely managed not to crack a stupid grin. How on earth he was going to convince her to stay until she needed to meet her friends, he had no clue. But the thought that she wasn't expected anywhere for a week cheered him. He didn't believe in love at first sight – or smell, in his case – but he utterly believed in lust and infatuation. She was in the space of forty minutes fast becoming an obsession. "I'm a writer," she said simply, looking a little embarrassed. "My most recent novel has been selling better than either me or my publisher had hoped, and they're demanding another as soon as I can churn it out." "That's great!" Michael said, honestly impressed. "I'm terrible with fiction, myself, but I read a lot. I write tech manuals, how-to stuff. I sell pretty well," he said modestly. In actual fact, he rivaled the "For Dummies" line in readability and sales. He had a gift for breaking complex processes down so that anyone could follow, and enjoy learning. Or so the marketing division of his publisher proclaimed. He enjoyed his work, and had enough feedback from customers to believe the hype was at least somewhat accurate. "It doesn't follow that writing non-fiction means you can't write fiction," Lindsay said warmly. "One doesn't exclude the other. I've written plenty of self-help articles. I'm sure if you tried, you'd be great at fiction." "Nah, but I appreciate the vote of confidence. I know good fiction; I don't do it." Mike smiled comfortably. "So have I read anything of yours?" "Probably not," she sounded amused. "I write historical romantic suspense." "How prejudiced of you to assume," Michael scolded playfully. "Do you use your real name, or a pen name?" "Pen name," she said, laughing. "Libby Sands." "Libby....wait. Libby Sands? As in The King's Ransom? I read that last month, incredible writing," Michael leaned toward her, elbows on knees. "I couldn't put it down." "You read it?" Lindsay looked flabbergasted. "It's marketed as a romance." Mike shrugged. "Some of the best writers are," he said with no trace of embarrassment. "I read all genres, but I will admit I'm picky on romance. They have to grab you right away, and actually have a plot. They did a great job with the cover blurb and art, it caught my eye. I was amazed it was only your second book." "I've freelanced for years, whatever I could get," Lindsay said, beaming. "I wrote my first over about five years, King in just under eight months after Duke's Denial sold. I'm working on finishing up my third now." "I think I'm in Heaven," Mike said, winking at her. "I don't suppose I could read the manuscript?" He gave her his most hopeful, charming look. "I don't know," she said doubtfully. "My sister reads for me sometimes, but mostly I wait until the editor gets a hold of it, after it's written. I find I have to write what's in my head first before I share. But maybe after I've submitted it. Least I can do," she added with a soft smile. "You've been so kind." I don't want to be kind, I want to be irresistible, Mike thought, smiling back. It ought to be illegal to smile like that, Lindsay thought savagely. They should post warning signs. Her host was gazing at her as if she was the most interesting person in the universe, and Lindsay was finding that look hard to resist. She wondered how many women had succumbed to his boyish charm, then started visibly at the pang of jealousy that followed. "Could you sign my copy of King's Ransom?" Michael asked suddenly. "Sure," Lindsay answered, surprised. He didn't seem the autograph type. Mike hopped up and disappeared into the shadows, returning shortly with a paperback and pen. Lindsay accepted both, hands bumping during the transfer. The electric shock that leapt between them made her flinch and her stomach grow a whole colony of butterflies. To cover her confusion, she turned to the title page, ducking her head and tilting the book to catch the light. Mike sat down next to her, leaning forward to watch her sign. "Mike, or Michael?" Lindsay asked a little breathlessly. Her heart was pounding hard enough that she was afraid he'd hear it thumping away. "Are we friends now?" he asked teasingly, giving her a swift sideways look. "I'm wearing your robe," Lindsay matched his light tone with an effort. "I think that qualifies." "So you are. Mike it is then." He gave her a quick appraising look, obviously pleased with what he saw. "Right." Lindsay dragged her eyes away from his and stared at the page blankly, groping for something to write. Smiling suddenly, she wrote fast, handing the book back and grinning. "To Mike, friend and exorcist of possessed Chevys. My hero. Yours, Linds. Oh, and you signed it 'Libby Sands' as well. This is great, thanks!" Mike grinned like a kid. "You're welcome," she said, grinning back. "I like how you signed it 'Yours'." He looked at her full on, expression changing from excited laughter to warm intimacy so suddenly it took her breath away. "It has a nice ring to it." "It's just an expression," she said, trying for casual. It didn't seem to convince him. He gazed intently at her for a long moment. "I love the way you smell," he blurted suddenly. She blinked at him in confusion. "What is that perfume?" "Soap," she blinked again. "I can get you a bar." "No. I'd rather smell it on you." With that, he took her face in his big hands and kissed her. It wasn't the hungry demanding assault she would have expected from the abruptness of his action. It was soft and gentle, barely brushing her lips, sweet and hesitant, testing her response. If he had been forceful, she might have resisted, perhaps even slapped him. To be fair, she wasn't sure at all she would have even then. As it was, that hesitation melted her on the spot, and she closed the gap when he pulled away, kissing him this time, her mouth softening, encouraging him to move closer. A sigh escaped her lips and her eyes popped open when he set her back and moved to the opposite corner of the couch. "I'm sorry," his eyes were dark in the flicker of candlelight. "That was unforgivably male of me. I don't expect you to sleep with me just because you're stuck here. I won't blame you if you don't trust me and want to go back to your car." "I wasn't complaining," Lindsay said gently. "I trust you. It just...happened." "You don't even know me," Mike said roughly. "I haven't given you any reason to trust me." Calling Down the Moon It's her last night in town. Susanna's husband, Cain, has accepted an internship in D.C. and she will work as a docent in the Smithsonian's National Gallery. We celebrate as if this is any other summer cookout- grilling hamburgers, tossing horseshoes, drinking wine and shooting the shit. Cain puts a brotherly arm around me and invites me to stay with them anytime. Susanna gives me one of her giant abstract paintings that reminds me of lilies and waterfalls in purgatory. There is a finality to it all. Being a writer, it's awkward to put any of my feelings into spoken word. A character without dialog, I stand on the fringes of the dancing bonfire light, smoking a cigarette. Cain and Stephen, my husband, sing a Scottish ballad on the virtues of ale and the vices of women. They're drunk and out of tune, interrupting themselves with laughter. It reminds me of a funeral durge. "Let's take a walk," Susanna whispers, a corona burning on the edges of her red hair. At the end of their dirtroad is a steep, downward path cut out from thick brambles. I'm scared to take it. Susanna traipses down into the darkness, calling for me to follow. I stumble down to the open field, where she's spinning around in circles. The smell of freshly mown hay and cow patties blend into a fecund aroma. "Dance with me! We'll call down the moon!" She leads me in a frenetic mazurka which slows down until we are waltzing. We're so close that her patchouli scent overpowers all others. I have to tilt my head up to see that she's looking at me, smiling wistfully. I laugh, self-conscious for some reason in her graceful arms, but she is no longer smiling. I feel giddy, like we're about to kiss. The boys ask us what we were doing when we come back. "Nothing," Susanna says. Stephen tries to make out with me but I hate the taste of gin and the way his teeth scrape against mine. Later, I have to carry our sleeping son out to the car and drive home while they both sleep. Was she about to kiss me or did I just want her to? When Susanna visits the next summer, she shows off her new fiddle with mother-of-pearl inlay. "A Russian gypsy woman sold it to me. I'm learning to play martele. It's when you attack the strings like this." They cry at each forceful stroke, filling my heart with angst. "She could play it col legno, like this but better," she demonstrates by whipping the strings with the stick of the bow. "And pizzacato." Susanna lays the bow down before plucking an eerie melody. She's been actively playing the fiddle for so many years, that I've begun to thing of Susanna in the context of her instrument. The color of her hair reminds me of varnished spruce, its texture unwaxed bow strings. Her hourglass shape is the silhoutte of a violin. When she sings I hear the chords vibrating in her larynx. With the addition of these violent techniques, her attire of a blouse and calico skirt become folksy, dominatrix gear. At dinner, I gaze at her across a table of mutual friends. I've barely seen them since the lynchpins of our little group- Cain and Susanna- have departed. I don't want to vie for her attention, so I eaves drop on her conversations. Something is said too quietly for me to hear. It's obviously too funny as well. "She's misses you too," Stephen reassures me over dessert. I nurse a cup of burnt black coffee because I don't want to ask for the sugar. My apple pie is cold. Susanna catches my eye when as she turns to help her daughter, Clara, figure out how to eat creme brulee. Once Clara figures out how to crack the shell over the custard, her stabs become more enthused. Susanna winks at me before chiding Clara for making a mess. "Mom- I want more milk," my own child says. I pour some half-in-half into his cup ito appease him until I can flag down the waiter. He decides to drink directly from the metal caraffe of coffee creamer instead, spilling most of it down his shirt. After we've satisfactorally split the bill, we gather in the parking lot to chat and smoke while our kids play around the cafe tables. I have to keep an eye out for my son, who's intent on scaring cars as they drive by a- his maniacal grin leering in the passing headlights. Susanna and I became wives and mothers together. I want to tell her, somehow, how much this still means. How much I admire the grace of her presence and the strength of her passion. She must not hear me when I call out good-night. Inside the car, I yell at my son louder than I mean to. I want to make up for not being heard. Stephen takes my hand and says it won't be the last time I see her. Will she see me? At summer's end, she invites me to the college campus where's she's been attending a music seminar. It's the first time she's traveled without her husband and daughter. Her voice is a teenager's on summer vacation. "It's less than an hour away from you. I'll be playing with a quartet and singing with the whole class. Emily's coming." I hate being the third wheel. Susanna can hear me frown. "She'll be leaving this afternoon after the performance but you can stay later. There'll be a contra dance. I don't dance but I like this idea better. I show up when she's singing. "You missed her play," Emily whispers. She's sweaty from the heat and her beer. I make an excuse about leaving to get a drink. I don't need to see Susanna to pick her voice out of the chorus. I sit away from the rows of chairs on a tree stump, tuning out everyone but her. "I looked for you." Susanna finds me later. "Emily said you sat down for a minute but wandered off. She says hi and bye. Are you okay?" I worry that Emily's mad at me. I'm afraid of offending people with my stand-offish nature. "Come on- let's get some chocolate," she says before I can think of an answer. Susanna keeps a supply of truffles in her purse, or sometimes a thick bar that she breaks off into pieces to nibble on at her leisure. In the dorm room where she's stayed the week, she has a cache of chocolates. Crumpled gold foil wrappers and brown fluted cups still litter the drawer they're in. When I select a bon bon, I feel like I'm holding something intimate. I allow each bite to melt before I swallow. Not for the flavor but the feel of its gradual dissolution. Susanna pours wine from a bottle lying on the student desk into plastic cups. I take a sip after we toast but I leave the rest untouched. I crave cold water. I would drink it by the gallon. "Clara says I have a pooch. Do you think I should lay off the chocolate?" Susanna has had a feminine swell above her pubis that was slightly more pronounced after giving birth. I remembered not too many years ago when a doctor had advised her to gain weight. I imagined her as a survivor of some disaster or tragedy that needed fattening up and had forced food upon her accordingly. Susanna lifts her tank top up and rubs her taut skin. There are a few pale pink stretch marks fading into silver. When we were younger, this would have been an opportunity to complain about our own physical flaws. But there is a more thoughtful question behind my friend's self-deprecation. Am I getting old, she's asking. Am I still beautiful. I lift up my top and show her my marks of motherhood. We've called down the moon and here she is, I'm saying as I lovingly caress my own soft belly. Full and worthy of worship. Susanna laughs and positions her belly to kiss mine. Since she's taller, her breasts press up against my collarbones. I detect a smell beneath her essential oils that I'd never noticed before. Desire. "I had this fantasy that we took a shower together. We get each other soapy and it's glorious. Can we?" I've never heard a lover's fantasy and made it come true. I consider my own fantasies too strange to ever mention, much less arrange. Susanna leads me to the communal bathroom. She begins to disrobe in front of the mirrors. I stand in a corner and immediately wrap a towel around my chest as soon as my top is off, and then slip my skirt down onto the floor. Just like I've done in girl's locker rooms since middle school. We choose a private shower stall. I don't know what to expect as we stand skin to skin under the falling water. So I learn to expect nothing. I taste her wet skin and lips as she massages my backside. I suck her nipples as she plays with my sex. I fuck her with my fingers as she leans her back against the wall in pleasure. I hear the rings of a shower curtain drawing nearby and urge her to be quiet. But she keeps riding my hand with my thumb on her clit until I feel her convulsing tightly around me. Susanna's high gasp descends into a throaty growl. I don't think I can come standing up. I quietly fake one instead. I leave the shower wrapped up in a towel- embarrassed to see someone who might have heard us. Susanna follows with her towel wrapped around her hair. Her skin is radiantly gold with hints of blue veins and glints of reddish hair. The outside air is cool on my skin. I feel raw and tingly. Susanna wants to dance so we go down to the bustling quad. Occassionally we change partners, but she always comes back to me. When Susanna's worn out, we find a stone bench to catch our breath. We catch each other's breath instead, kissing madly. It's secluded but still public enough for me to wonder what people will think of us. If anyone will see and tell Stephen. I become so engrossed in her that I decide we are too stunning and singular to be noticed by a self-absorbed world. Then I follow her down one of her favorite paths. We thrash through a large bamboo grove. The sun is setting and it feels like we're in the deep jungle.The trees thin out and become domestic. Now there's breathing room. I can see the purple sky and the first glimmers of stars. "Cain and I stopped having sex." Susanna says, as if this is coincidental to our recent perversions rather than its cause. "He says he's under a lot of pressure to perform at work. I don't think he can.... You know." I wanted say that it wasn't because of her; but that would suggest, somehow, that it was. We find ourselves in the agricultural portion of the campus. Another field. This time the smell of desire trumps all others. Susanna lies down and pulls up the front of her long skirt. I kneel between her legs on the fabric still beneath her rump. This time there is no rush, no spectators. Stroking the stunning architecture of her flesh, I'm reminded of the carved out scroll shapes on a violin. I lick Susanna's f-hole until I know I've hit the soul post- the part of her instrument that amplifies every delightful vibration. Sensing a need to increase tempo, I pizzacato the folds of her labia with my tongue. I play flourishes of con legno as I do, flicking her clit. Then, with my hooked finger for a bow, I reach the crescendo by playing martele. Susanna's aria rises and falls until I taste an encore of creative juices. It has been my greatest performance. "I want to make you come. For real this time." Susanna whispers, kissing me gratefully. I don't know if she says this because I wasn't loud enough or because I was faking. Susanna rolls on top of me. We slip our fingers inside of one another and make love. Susanna rides me slowly, like Stephen might. But instead of profanities, she breathes my name in my ear. I come hard, releasing a rush of fluid onto the ground. Susanna, fascinated by the moisture I produce, laps between my legs. I see the moon rising above. I close my eyes as Susanna worships me. For once, it is the moon who must call us up to her. Calling Down the Moon "I suppose that's true. But I do." "God, I hope you don't regret saying that." Mike was across the couch in an instant, dragging her to him and kissing her within an inch of her life. Lindsay's head was swimming, every cell singing, her mouth being explored in the most erotic kiss of her life. His tongue seemed to merge with hers, sliding sensuously along its length. She could almost feel his nerve endings pinging, snapping fire between them. He took her mouth, dragging her into a world of sensation and emotion that left her breathless and longing for more. Hands cupped her face, stroked gently down her throat, left her skin and traced the line of her body through the fleece robe. She whimpered into his mouth, clinging to his shoulders, her small hands caressing the back of his neck. He made a low growling noise and released her lips, kissing along her cheek and jaw, licking her throat and teasing her earlobe. "You smell like home," he murmured into her ear, almost to himself. "You smell like mine." Logic had taken a vacation. Lindsay could no longer access the part of her brain that knew this was crazy. She drowned in the sea of loneliness that washed out of them both, draining away and filling back up with the rightness of two becoming one mind, one heart. Throwing back her head, giving him her throat to caress and nibble and suck, she moaned deep in her throat, begging wordlessly. Civilization lost to complete instinct, and Michael growled as he bit just hard enough to make her shudder and orgasm under his hands. The robe was gone, they both were wildly tugging and yanking and throwing aside until only skin remained, hot and quivering. His teeth scored her breasts, gently nibbled her nipples until they ached, sucking strong and demanding her response. His hands stroked and cajoled and demanded, finding her hot slick center and plunging his fingers inside her. She gasped and moaned, bucking against his hand, feeling his fingers brush the spot just inside as she came again, soaking his palm. He growled approval and kissed her again, stroking faster, and she dragged her nails down his back. The sound he made was nearly a howl and he bit the hard peak of her breast, just enough pressure to make her arch and come again, hard. He moved down her body, licking and nibbling and sucking kisses that left her quivering and moaning. His head dipped, and he was lapping at her, making happy growly noises, his tongue driving her to frenzy. She clutched his head, bucking against her face, and he looked up, a wide grin beaming at her. "You taste even better than you smell," he informed her, and plunged his tongue deep into her. She shrieked in pleasure, calling his name as her juices flooded his mouth. He opened his mouth impossibly wide, encompassing her entire sex, and sucked strong as she rode the wave of her most powerful orgasm yet. When the last quivering ebbed away, he crawled up her body, kissed her hard, rose up, and eyes fixed on her face, plunged deeply home. "Look at me, Linds," he whispered. "I want to watch your face." Her eyes opened again, staring into the deep brown. They were lit from within, a spark that was almost red in the candlelight flickering in their depths. She stared, mesmerized by the tenderness mixed with wild, savage need on his face. She could smell him, a primal scent like musky fur and wild things in the dark, calling her, and she felt a tug deep inside. Their eyes locked, he seemed to be delving into her head, and she screamed as sudden white lightning pain struck her in the gut. Not just her gut; her whole body felt dipped in napalm and set on fire, and she howled, unable to break eye contact with Michael. He stared back, his face suffused with a wild joy she didn't understand, underlain with a deep sorrow. "I'm sorry," he mouthed through her pain. "I'll make it quick." He surged forward, taking her hard, brutally, slamming, once, twice, three times before adding his howl to hers and erupting deep in her womb, eyes never leaving hers. At the moment of his climax, he shouted her name in a deep growling command. "Come to me, Lindsay.....now!" He pulled out, sitting back on his heels, and Lindsay felt her body torn apart from the inside out. His hands and voice were the only point of sanity in her world, keeping her anchored as she was buffeted by an internal hurricane. It lasted for eternity, pain and roaring sense of becoming. Then everything snapped into place, unfamiliar and frightening but somehow, right. Lindsay scrambled to her feet, panting and sitting back on her haunches, green eyes puzzled but aware and sane, staring at Michael. He stroked the deep brown fur, nuzzled at her long nose, petting and soothing, letting her smell him. "You're beautiful," he murmured. "You didn't know, did you?" The wolf shook her head, whining a little. She stretched and lay among the now soaked and torn cushions of the old battered couch, nose on paws, eyes rolling to watch him. "This is the worst it will ever be," Mike promised. "The first time always is. I had to call you, you see?" She whined again, scooting forward on her belly, rolling so her belly and throat were bared. He smiled and shook his head. "You're mine," he said, stroking her long and gentle. "But I'm yours as well." Energy surged, and he changed, howling his release when he was bone and fur again. The Pack Master nipped his mate playfully, accepting her surrender. Bidding her to follow, he nosed open the dog door he'd installed years ago, and they ran through the passing storm, seeking the rest of their pack. Calling Her Bluff When a girl bets that you don't have the nerve to take her into her room and fuck her; what else are you going to say other than yes I do! We're about the same age, but she's a perverse little tease. She's average height, on the skinny side and has incredible shoulder length red hair. From what I can tell through her clothes, she has pretty small breasts, but they fit the package very well. We've had this verbal back and forth of "I bet you won't go through with it", "No, I bet you won't go through with it" for a few weeks. Hey, she started it. I'm just going along for the ride. Finally here we are in her house "studying", (all alone, thank you very much) and she starts in on it again. It's time to call her bluff. I grab her hand and pull her to her room and shut the door. She's standing there looking defiant, again daring me to do something. So I grab her shirt, lift it and her bra up and over her head. With her arms still over her head I'm now staring at the pinkest, most mouth-watering tits I've ever seen. The nipples are so big and puffy they're just begging for attention; my cock begins to stir just looking at them. And she's still standing there like she's expecting me to chicken out. So I dive right in and suck one of her tender breasts deep into my mouth, rolling my tongue over and around the nipple. This gets a reaction as she tosses her head back and lets out a long, breathy moan of pleasure. I can feel the nipple stiffening in my mouth as I continue sucking; now switching back and forth between breasts as I fumble to undo her jeans. Despite her positive response, I am quite nervous that she'll stop me at any moment so I don't let up and don't waste any time. I finally unbutton her jeans and peel them down past her hips and ass to reveal a sweet little pair of yellow cotton panties. They look so innocent against her fair and lightly freckled skin, but I can feel an incredible warmth growing underneath them. Still standing I slide a hand under the waistband and am rewarded with another moan from Heidi. She opens her stance slightly to accept my hand deeper between her legs. She feels very smooth, with only a hint of hair brushing against my fingers. I can feel her wetness as my hand slides further. My fingers trace the top of her pussy just below her fuzzy pubic hair but just above the separation into her tender outer lips. I reach the hood of her clit and press my fingers between her folds, feeling for her wet opening. I find it easily as my fingers become slick with her juices. She steps back and I'm afraid it's all over, but with a lustful stare she steps out of her jeans, and pulls down her panties never breaking eye contact. Now she is standing before me completely naked. If I was getting a little hard looking at her sweet puffy nipples, her firm naked body makes me rock solid. Not only is Heidi's pussy mostly bare with only thin wisps curling above her slit, but that little bit of hair is the same deep reddish color as the hair on her head. She reaches forward and rubs my hard cock through my jeans, pushes me down on her bed and begins undoing my fly to free my pulsating and solid cock. I lift my hips to help her slide my jeans down to my ankles and she swiftly places her succulent lips on my swollen cock-head, opens her mouth to briefly flick out her tongue then nearly swallows my whole shaft. I gasp and try to relax but she just won't let up. I open my eyes again and am greeted to this naked redhead kneeling at the edge of her bed licking me like a popsicle. Her wet tongue taking long wet strokes on my extra-sensitive underside, then swirling her soft pink tongue in circles over the head, all while grasping the base and massaging my balls with her delicate fingers before suddenly engulfing my cock with her mouth again and furiously bobbing up and down; sometimes lowering her mouth completely down to the base of my shaft where I can see her lips nearly reach my pelvis, then pulling back and sucking hard on the soft tip. This being my first blowjob, I am in heaven and very nearly ready to cum. I try to relax and hold off my impending orgasm, but she slips her finger down and massages the spot between my ass and balls while fully swallowing my cock. The extra stimulus blows my concentration and I explode deep in her throat. Hot jets of cum are spurting deep into her mouth as I thrust forward letting out a cry of intense pleasure. I can't believe how good it feels. I can see her starting to swallow my thick cum but then backs off, releases my cock from her mouth and starts jacking it furiously with her hand letting the rest of my cum shoot freely into the air. She is forcing thick jets of cum from my cock and it seems to be flying all over the place from her vigorous pumping. I watch it land in her hair, on her bedspread, her neck, with most of it landing on her chest where it slides down between her sweet, puffy nipples. She's smiling and really enjoying the result of her skillful mouth and hands. When I'm finally spent and catching my breath, she licks some off her hand and tells me it's my turn. She gets up on her bed and kneels on all fours pointing her ass in the air. I think I know what she wants, but I tease her some by rubbing her soft ass and kissing her firm thighs. Heidi lowers her head into the bed causing her ass cheeks to spread wide - fully exposing her soft pink pussy. I plunge my tongue deep in her bare pussy and begin twisting it inside her tight, wet folds. Pulling back slightly, I tease her more by gently licking the entire length of her slit from her swollen clit towards her upturned ass and nearly to her puckered hole then slowly back down. Tracing the folds of her opening, before opening my mouth and completely enveloping her. Every time I reach her clit she whimpers and begs for more. She begins rocking back and forth, creating her own rhythm as she writhes before me trying to fuck my tongue. She rolls to over onto her back and I continue lapping at her mound as I stroke my thumb over her throbbing clit. I easily slide a finger inside her and focus my tongue entirely on her hard clit, pressing the firm little nub against my slick thumb. Heidi is now thrashing her head and arms as I guide my mouth over her pussy and pull it into my mouth. I really want to make her cum and from her gyrations I know I am getting close but she had other ideas. She pushes my head away and says she wants to ride my cock just to prove that she didn't chicken out of fucking me. Her intense cries of pleasure and hot naked body have fully revived my cock from her blow job, so I was ready. She pulls me onto her bed, rolls me on my back so my renewed hard-on is pointing straight up as she straddles my body. I have a perfect view of her thin red bush as she steadies herself before allowing me to penetrate her moist lips. I enter her almost effortlessly as her hot pussy engulfs my cock. She slowly slides down to the base, resting her entire body on me, supported only by my cock deep in her sweet pussy. With my shaft still buried, she begins rocking back and forth. Her clit pressing hard against my rigid shaft and pelvis each time she pushes back. The combined sensation of her tight wet pussy and the entire weight of her body focused on my cock is tremendous and the sight of her slim body gyrating above me takes my breath away. Heidi's gyrations become more intense, as she begins lifting her body up and driving back down with remarkable force. Her pert breasts shake and bounce each time she lands with me buried inside. She bites her lip with each stroke and I begin thrusting up to meet her. Our bodies are frantically bouncing up and down on her bed shaking the entire frame. Heidi struggles to catch her breath and her cries are increasing in volume as we continue our frantic ride. I see her face reddening and feel her body tensing as the pressure of my cock on her clit drives her towards climax. Heidi convulses forward as I thrust hard into her. Her eyes open wide and she lets out one long cry of pleasure before her body explodes with amazing intensity. I can feel her pussy contracting and pulsating around my shaft as her orgasm sends wave after wave shooting through her body. The added intensity of her climax heightens the building pressure and my body starts reacting as well. Arching up, raising Heidi up off the bed, I shudder as this red haired vixen coaxes another amazing load of cum from my body. I shoot a flood of cum deep inside her already soaked pussy. As both our orgasms subside, she slides off giving my exhausted cock one last, long squeeze. I don't know if we'll ever fuck again, but now she knows if I say I'm going to do something, I'll stick to my word.