Looking Back (Reprise)

I have been writing this series for a long time as a lot of you know. A lot of characters come and go…Severine is one of those. I wanted to include her in a new story this week, but I was so struck by this old post. She may be coming back…or not…but I wanted to share this retro post about her…

I did not want her to not be mentioned at all…

Severine felt happy as soon as she was in Paris. She actually loved that people did not think Montparnasse was hip anymore. All the tourist guides that she ended up inevitably reading, said Montparnasse was dead and that it only had a hideous tower.
Montparnasse was her home, she loved it. She walked with her carry-on down the slick streets, basking in the happiness of being home. She turned back toward Port Royal station.
Looking back, she should have known that there was something with Rafe. R, as she called him affectionately with a lovely and very French roll of her ‘r’.’ Eleanora wanted to know his actual name, but what woman did not love having their very own Mr. Big?
Rafe was big from the time she met him. And everything that happened ever since was even bigger. When he called her the last time from New York, and said that he loved her, she felt finally. Because if he did not love her, then what exactly had she been doing all this time with him?
He said he wanted to see her soon, and she was flying into New York for the Day of the Dead. So she joined him for a Day of the Dead party. When he saw her, her face was in complete Calaveras makeup, with extra black shadow to make her look thin as the bones painted on her. He touched her waist, pulled her close to him. They canoodled, and she filled with warmth.
He buried his face in her hair, and whispered.
“You’re so beautiful, so very beautiful.”
She looked up at him.
“Even with a death mask?”
He grinned, looking down at her looking the Grim Reaper himself, and wolfish. Rafe meant wolf after all, and he was her wolf. She had read a novel once translated into French called Le Loup et la Colombe by a popular American romance author. It was a very passionate and sexual romance…she wanted Rafe to be her loup, and to be his colombe forever.
They circled each other the entire night, she never said a word to him about him saying that he loved her. She knew he would not, but after she went on and on about his declaration with Eleanora, she wanted the romantic element to be romantic, to be drummed up.
And it was, even at a party that celebrated death. Because after all human beings created death. If they created life, they also created death inadvertently.
They ended up later, much later making love in the house where the party was being held, where there were ofrendas all over the house and things inviting dead in such a loving matter, making love. Making love in a room where in the mirror, she could see Rafe taking her in his arms. Kissing her and entering her in Calaveras makeup, so it looked like death was taking her like on the cover of an old pulp fiction novel.
She had a flight the next day, and she was happy to have some time to look at Rafe without a mask of death in the morning. Even though their rendezvous was dying slowly.
Asleep, and still, he was more than beautiful. His breath was even, as he slept untroubled sleep. She cherished this because it was rare that she spent time alone with him, his scent warm. When he woke up, his wolfish grin threatened to eat her alive and she wanted to be devoured.
It was not perfect, it was never going to be perfect between them, she thought hours later when he was kissing her like the way that soldier kissed that nurse in iconic style in Times Square after the war. That was the thing. She was inaccessible to him, in a different way than he was inaccessible to her. But there was something there and looking back on it, she would rather have a part of him than nothing at all.
And with that thought, she sat down at her favorite cafe, with her carry-on and her favorite waiter bought her a grande cafe because he knew that was what she wanted. She smiled at him, and he pushed a chocolate into her hand like he always did. He was so kind to her after her long journeys, and she appreciated that as she sipped her coffee and lit a cigarette.
Paris was the most beautiful place to reflect and dream.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

picture taken in paris, while the author was “looking back.”

Triangle

Sabrina felt herself shiver from head to toe just thinking about Andres, and even more so because she knew that he could see her well from the poolside. She was completely naked because she could not stop now—it would look conspicuous wouldn’t it? Even after he had asked her to stop?

She could see the disdain on his face but there was nothing she could about it, because this was the way it was going to be. She already had Graham directing her life, and it was not going to be Andres’ turn now.

When she stood up, Gráinne was at her side immediately, and Andres and Paulo trailed them in the distance. Sabina knew she did not have to do much to exaggerate her walk, but she did. She could not look at Andres, but she knew he watched her.

Gráinne waited by the bathtub, waiting to see what she needed and Sabrina sighed. Graham was gone a lot but she was never alone–she was always with Gráinne, Paulo and Andres.

“You can leave me for a few moments,” Sabrina said with her eyes closed and felt the breeze as Gráinne bowed. When she was sure she had left, she opened her eyes.

Sabrina dried herself, threw on a gauzy housecoat and wondered for a moment if she had not always been trying to seduce Andres and Paulo? What had she been doing?

She fell asleep, and when she woke up she was surprised not to see Gráinne. Moaning outside of her window, made Sabina look up to see if it had been raining while she slept. When she went to the window, in the shadows, she saw Gráinne.

Gráinne’s opened blouse would have revealed her plump breasts, if they had not been crushed against Paulo’s chest. He held her bare shoulder and kissed her, while he fingered her. Gráinne’s moans were low, so low they were almost like the wind. A low consistent wind, as she rolled her head against the wall.

Sabrina touched the triangle below her stomach, but that was all. She ached, but there was nothing she could do about it. Swinging around, she crashed into Andres, and looked up at him with trepidation and longing.

He put his hand on her shoulder…

More Masturbation Monday here. For more sexy stories, try the new anthology I am in out today, Chemical Sex V. II, Just One More!

wind via wikipedia

One Finger

Jeanne was drowsy from the conversation she had had with Sabrina on the road, but she was mesmerized by the emphasis on the one finger. It seemed like that one finger—well Terrence’s one finger—waved before her like the hand on a metronome.

She pulled over deeper into the blackness of the road. Terrence had become her new Scheherazade telling her stories while she was driving so she would not fall asleep. She did not, but she was so horny as he told her what he would do with his one finger that she was wet and sticky. The throbbing from within her made her need to touch herself.

“Are you still driving?” he asked her, and she shook her head then realized he was not there with her.

He was so often not with her that it was painful, because they were together but he was on the road all of the time. It was this particular work project that took him back over and over to Paris. Paris where he had worked with Eliza–where they had fallen in love. Where he was now with Lila—a woman who he kept encountering after a long, thankfully not fatal love chase but now only for work.

But he loved her, he told her he loved her and she loved him so hard what else could she do but believe him?

“No,” she said into the pitch blackness. “I pulled over.”

“I want to see you.”

“You will barely be able to see me, it is black out here. Completely black.”

“I want to see you.”

Jeanne used one hand to Face Time him.

She could see herself on the screen–she looked like something from the Blair Witch Project. Not as frightened, but a bit anxious and her face was damp.

“Where is your other hand?”

“You know exactly where it is, I am

using one finger…”

In the blackness of the night, one finger and Terrence’s encouraging face was all she needed…

When she came, a light flashed randomly on a house numbered 23…

More stories about Jeanne here, more Friday Flash here:

object to be destroyed via wikipedia

Elaborate

“Can you please put the knife down?” Sally questioned softly, as she studied Eliza. It really was only then that Eliza realized that she was holding the knife menacingly.

“I-I had someone come into my apartment and they tried to…” Eliza began to explain.

“I know, I feel like I know everything about you because Oscar is always telling me something new about you.” Sally sighed.

Eliza shrugged, as she realized that she had drawn blood in her palm with the blade of the knife she still held in a non-threatening manner now.

“I came here to ask you,” Sally held her hands together as if in prayer. “Does he tell you so much about me?”

Laughing, Eliza tucked her hair behind her ear.

“No, because you have barely told him anything to tell me about you.”

Sally smiled ruefully.

“I am asking you not to interfere with our relationship. Your relationship with him was marred by a lot, and I love him and I want a chance—“

“To what? What do you want a chance to do? Elaborate!”

Sally sashayed before her, and Eliza watched her with incredulity.

“—to love him.” Sally finished.

Eliza was silent, to love him. She had loved Oscar, and she was not sure if that was the reason that she did not want to let go…or if she truly just could not believe that Sally would really love him.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

elaborate via wicked wednesday

Scheherazade

Jeanne only really drove in France, so driving in New York—not the city—was something she was not used to. But Sabrina wanted to see her — specifically to see someone who was not Graham.

The huge house was beautiful, but Sabrina standing in front of it looked like a lost princess. She looked like a modernized character from Game of Thrones—an anachronism and regal.

Sabrina walked toward her with a woman running behind her like a lady in waiting, and two men trailing them in the distance. Jeanne took in the scene, as her friend took her hand and walked her through the rooms of the house that looked like pages of Architectural Digest.

Nothing felt real.

Outside, Sabrina removed the vintage wrap that she wore to reveal a barely there swimsuit which she took off altogether. Jeanne knew how Sabrina hated the tan lines that swimsuits left, and seeing Sabrina naked was nothing new to her.

But it might have been to the tall male guards standing faraway watching her. Was her friend that oblivious, or was this some kind of foreplay? Knowing Sabrina there was always a story, like Scheherazade.

“Sabrina…” Jeanne started. “Graham is okay with you being naked in front of the two guards?”

Sabrina looked at Jeanne and shrugged,

“I don’t care anymore Jeanne. I told him I just want to live my life, and not be an object of attention.”

“Naked? The taller guard looks like he is going to burst. He is fixated.”

“Andres?” Sabrina turned and looked at the man. He continued to stare at her, took in every inch of her. “He’s our friend, he used to watch me before when I lived here. He is not even fazed by—“

“Sabrina, the way he is looking at you?”

“Not. Even. Fazed.” Sabrina insisted.

It was when Jeanne was driving back, and settled in a tiny café to Face Time her own man that she got a text from Sabrina:

Fazed?

Much later when she was done, and driving back in her car Sabrina regaled her like the Scheherazade she was. It started when Andres told her that she should not be naked and walking about the compound.

“Why?” she questioned, naked before him. Andres ran his finger—just his finger—from behind her ear, along her neck between her breasts and right below her belly.

“I was wet, dripping with sweat and between my legs from just his finger Jeanne!” Sabrina squealed.

Jeanne smiled as she drove through the sun setting, and thought of the black night that was to follow before she got back to the city.

She would settle for just Terrence’s finger right then…Sabrina was luckier than she was.

More Masturbation Monday here:

scheherazade via wikipedia

Blindsided

Eliza had just wanted to be home alone that afternoon. Rafe left after a really lovely night, and she needed the morning to recuperate. She was deliciously sore and content.

When there was a knock on their apartment door, she was startled. She grabbed a knife from the kitchen because after the last time someone came to their apartment with the desire to KILL she was more anxious.

She saw a woman through the peephole that she knew was Oscar’s Sally, because he had shown her pictures of the very beautiful, curvaceous woman that was standing outside of her apartment.

Eliza did not open the door.

Yes,” she said, her anxiety high.

Why was this bitch at her door?

Oscar and Eliza had had a semi-revival of their relationship and then Sally arrived. Eliza knew that she and Oscar would always be friends, that was not an issue. But the smoky way that Sally re-entered his life with barely an explanation to what had gone on before did not sit well with her, and she would be damned if Sally would ruin him.

Hadn’t she herself ruined enough of him? Oscar had picked her up, but she knew that she was more than he had ever asked for. He had been for her too…

“Eliza? You do not know me, I am—“

“I know who you are, can I help you?”

“Can I come in?”

Despite her better judgement, Eliza opened the door but did not let go of her knife.

Sally discreetly surveyed her. despite what her husband told her Eliza just before he left, Eliza was not dressed for company. Her kimono was floral and lovely, but not quite right for company she did not know.

She discreetly surveyed Sally, and did not let go of her knife. She was not going to be blindsided again.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

smoke via wikipedia

Filled

Charlotte could still feel herself on her fingers—a mixture of her own come and her cooling saliva from when she sucked it off of them. She kept glancing at her phone to see what Harry was going to say in response to her text. Was he going to say anything? It was taking long enough!

“Ms. Russell? There is a meeting in the west conference room.”

Charlotte really had forgotten she was at work. Putting herself together, she smoothed her hair and opened her door to address her assistant’s instant message.

“Carmen? Was there a meeting on my schedule?” she asked.

Carmen shook her head.

“No, it was added by Mr. Meyer’s assistant. I am not even able to look at the details, but it says mandatory,” Carmen added, with furrowed brows.

“Thank you.”

Running back into her office to grab her tablet, Charlotte headed to the west conference room which was barely used. She had been working on a project with Kenneth, but it was awhile before they had to really think about it. It was a long, dark walk to the room, after a point all she could hear was the echo of her heels walking down the hall.

That was until she was grabbed, just as she was going to turn the knob to enter the conference room.

“Spread your legs, you want to show me your wet pussy? Spread your legs.”

It took Charlotte a moment to gather herself, and realize she was in the stairwell with Harry. But it did not take her long to pull her damp thong aside, and to get on the cool floor below her and spread her legs. She used her tablet’s glare to starkly illuminate her wet pussy.

“Can you see?” she taunted him, and moved her fingers in and out of herself.

“Take your fingers out of there because we both know that is not what you want,” he growled.

Limply removing her fingers from inside her, Charlotte looked up at Harry.

“No,” she said quietly, and placed her fingers in her mouth.”

“Take your fingers out of your mouth, because you know that you do not want them there either.”

No,” she repeated dully.

The sound of him unzipping made her pussy clench. Instead of her two fingers, his dick in her mouth was a better option… When she put her hands on his thighs as she sucked him, he pushed them away.

“No hands,” he commanded, as he moved against her mouth.

Charlotte complied, waiting for him to fill her somewhere else. Harry turned her over and on all fours, she did not need her hands…

More Masturbation Monday here:

lips via wikipedia

Green

More Sinful Sunday here:

Primitive

Eliza felt like her own doppelgänger. In the mirror she saw herself sitting beside Oscar, but her hand was in Rafe’s as he kissed it. In the mirror was who she would have been if she was with Oscar, but her hand was in her husband’s as it should be.

Rafe nodded at Oscar.

“I thought you might need me,” Rafe said, taking off his jacket. He picked up the container with noodles and started to prepare a plate for himself, when Eliza softly took it from his hands and made him a plate. She could see that she had pleased him, like in the Sharon Olds’ poem.

He was primitive with her later in bed, and she knew it was a combination of their desire and him wanting to be possessive. She was his, she always would be. How many times had she tried to leave him, only to end up married to him?

She remembered who she was the night that she met Oscar. She was an overwhelmed fiancee—not to say that what she had had with Oscar had not been real.It had been.

But being overwhelmed as a bride did not mean she did not love Rafe anymore. Together or apart, they always had a connection like water turned to blood. She could not imagine life without him—she did not want to imagine life without him. Feeling the heat of his gaze on her, she looked at him in the dark. He did not say anything—he did not have to. The woman on this side of the mirror was his, and there was nothing that needed to be said to solidify that anymore.

More Wicked Wednesday here:

Open Mouth

Charlotte felt like Narcissus looking at herself, and the mirror she held was her body of water. Her body trembled from residual orgasm. She definitely preferred an orgasm with someone else—Harry in particular—but she knew how to work herself better than anyone else did.

Of course she only had to think about Harry, and she was wet. Her pussy throbbed, and she could not sit still. She was at the office so it was a bit daring, but she was so raw with lust she could not be bothered with that detail. All of the words on her paperwork blurred before her, as her desire became heavier and heavier.

Her hand slipped between her legs, she just pressed herself so she could stop the throbbing. Instead, her hand throbbed too and her fingers curled over her damp crotch. Feeling the wet spot, she picked up her phone and let it hover over her. She spread her legs wide, in front of the floor to ceiling window so she could see the wet spot and her glistening pussy lips. Charlotte almost wanted to go straight to video on her phone like a below average movie but she did not. She just intermittently took photos of herself rubbing her wetness, she was so horny she came after she just touched herself without anything at all.

Minutes later, she came again.

And again.

Swollen, open and wet, she slipped her thong over her thighs so she could take a picture of her still pulsing pussy.

Selecting all the photos she had taken–her fingers sweetly musky with her come—she sent them to Harry. Then she parted her mouth, and took a quick shot of her upper lips—equally swollen, open and wet.

More Masturbation Monday here, more Friday Flash here:

mouth via Rachel Kramer Bussel and Best Women’s Erotica!