Read Coming Together: With Pride Online
Authors: Alessia Brio
He kneaded her breast in his broad, stubby-fingered hand. Her cunt contracted, echoing each caress. "No, nothing like that."
Her hand closed on his swelling cock and squeezed hard. "What then? Tell me!"
Frank groaned, then giggled. "If you're trying to torture it out of me, you've definitely got the wrong technique."
"Come on, Frank! You can trust me."
"You promise that you won't be angry?"
"Angry? Why should I be angry?"
"Well..." He was suddenly coy. "You might feel that you've been manipulated. Just remember, though, what a good time we've had."
"What in heaven are you talking about? What is this project, Frank?" Kit was feeling more and more suspicious. Then he slipped his fingers back into her wet depths, and she nearly swooned.
"It's an aphrodisiac."
The pleasure welling up inside her was distracting. "What?"
"An aphrodisiac. More precisely, a hormonal augmentation trigger. It amplifies sexual responses in the subject and also in members of the opposite sex who are exposed to the subject."
Kit pulled herself away from him, struggling to sit upright as waves oscillated through the mattress. "And your subject is ...?"
"Myself, of course. I need to make sure that the substance is safe. And it does seem to be. None of the risks or unpleasant side-effects of Viagra or Cialis or Spanish Fly..."
"And I was the guinea pig
member of the opposite sex
? How dare you!"
He pulled her back down, hugging her to his chest. Despite her indignation, she couldn't deny the sense of peace, of physical well-being, that washed over her. His erection bobbed flirtatiously against her thigh, then slid toward her still hungry sex, leaving a trail of pre-come on her skin.
"Come on, Katerina, don't spoil it. Life is just too damned short. Take your pleasure while you can."
"But—it's not real. It's artificial pleasure."
He jerked his hips, embedding his cock in her folds, then rolled her over onto her back. "Not real?" He began to thrust, gently, rhythmically. Sensitized from her previous climax, she sensed a new orgasm hovering close. She arched, grinding her pelvis against his, aching for the release that was just out of reach. "What could be more real than this? This isn't plastic or electronic. This isn't cyberized or sanitized. This is flesh and blood, saliva and sweat and pussy juice and come, the whole organic stew that makes sex so glorious."
Kit was panting with desire, yet somehow she still struggled to keep up her end of the argument. "But—I'd never have wanted you... if you hadn't... if you didn't..."
Frank pulled his cock out of her, and she cried out, empty and disappointed. He raised himself off her, weight on his forearms. His blazing blue eyes searched her face. "Are you so sure, princess? What if I told you that I was just kidding, that there wasn't any aphrodisiac? That I just made it up to see how you'd react?"
Kit whimpered in frustration and confusion.
"Tell me, princess, do you want me now?"
"Yes," she moaned. Frank answered by ramming his cock into her with such force that the waves almost tossed them off the bed.
After that, there was no more discussion. Frank fucked her hard. She wailed with delight at every stroke, clutched as his shoulders, dug her fingernails into his hairy back. Her burly lover growled and muttered as he slammed away at her, knowing that the time for gentleness had passed. They grappled together, rolling from side to side, struggling to hold tighter, delve deeper.
Finally, Frank roared, and Kit felt a rush of liquid heat deep in her sex. It kindled her own climax, which raced through her like a forest fire fanned by summer gales, burning everything in its path: confusion, uncertainty, fear, guilt and regret. All that was left was an open vista of pleasure, swept clean, empty and peaceful.
****
The red-gold light filtering under the drawn shades told Kit that sunset was not far away. She had missed staff, missed a whole afternoon of work. She tried to summon the requisite spike of anxiety and failed.
Frank was lying on his side, his back to her, watching the patterns of light on the wall and humming to himself. She touched him lightly on the shoulder. He rolled toward her and swept her into a wet kiss that Kit felt in her fingers and toes, her breasts and her clit.
"Hey, princess, you're awake. Are you still mad at me?"
She snuggled up against him, breathing in his special scent. "No. I can't manage to stay mad at you. That first time, I came over to ball you out for making so much noise, and look what happened."
"Yes, well, there was some balling done..."
"Oh, you old goat!" She licked at his ear lobe.
"That tickles! And I'm no more ruttish than you."
"And who's responsible for that?"
"My lips are sealed." In fact, they were not; they were sucking energetically at Kit's nipple, making her squirm.
"But seriously, is it true?"
He paused briefly to look up at her. "I'll never tell. Anyway, does it matter?" Not waiting for an answer, he slithered down and began applying his agile tongue to her clit.
I suppose not
, Kit thought, as he took her steadily higher.
Either way, it was chemistry.
©
www.lisabetsarai.com
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
On the other end of the vid line, I heard a small sigh. The view screen showed nothing but the grille pattern signifying the confidentiality of the confessional's call-in line. Even so, I knew who waited on the other end. Father Raphe.
Of course, Father Raphe knew who he was talking to as well. "Hello Daniel. How long has it been since your last Confession? Two whole days, perhaps?"
"Not quite," I answered sheepishly. I settled back in my chair, relaxing as the older man's words floated to me through the speakers of the vid phone. The tone of his voice promised much needed admonition, and my cock twitched in anticipation. I clenched the arms of my chair tightly, trying to keep from touching myself for a little while longer. I was already half undressed, my shirt unbuttoned, exposing my bare chest to the cool breeze blowing through the bedroom window. My pants and briefs lay in a rumpled heap around my ankles.
"I thought we'd agreed that you would only call me for Confession once a week," Father Raphe went on. "During the day." His voice was mild, smooth with age, with only a hint of irritation to it.
"We did," I answered, "but this is sort of an emergency."
Another sigh from the vid phone speakers. I imagined Father Raphe sitting in his syntha-leather arm chair, rubbing at his temples. A real fire blazed in a brick hearth behind him, casting golden glints onto his wavy silvered hair. He would be wearing a nightgown, I surmised, something long and light that draped over his lean figure in fluid folds, with a robe over that to protect him from the chill spring night. Personally, I liked the cold. It made me feel even more naked as long icy fingers of night air plucked my nipples into hard little knots.
"What's the emergency this time?" Father Raphe finally asked.
I squirmed. This was the hard part of Confession, actually owning up to the crime. "It's my mother. She's dying."
"And?"
"And when her lawyer called to tell me she wanted to see me one last time, I told him to go fuck himself."
"Oh, Daniel."
I writhed beneath the gentle disappointment in his voice. It was both sweet and painful as hell.
"I couldn't help it," I went on. "I hate her. That bitch made my life miserable. You know what she did to me!"
"Yes, I do, but I also know that you make yourself even more miserable by hating her and by acting in such a poisonous fashion. Daniel, your mother was a cruel woman, but at some point you have to let go of your hate in order to heal."
Like that's going to happen any time soon
, I thought. Out loud, I asked, "Will you pray for me, Father?"
"That depends. Where are your hands?"
I blushed. Even though he couldn't see it through the confessional screen, I knew he could sense it. "They're on the arms of my chair."
"And your clothing?"
"I'm dressed!" I protested. "I swear. Would I lie to you?"
"Not lie, no. But you have been known to bend the truth. Really, Daniel, the purpose of Confession is to relieve the burdens of the soul not the genitals. Your propensity to masturbate while we pray is... disturbing."
I grinned, though still embarrassed. "I'm wearing a shirt, pants, underwear, and socks. I promise."
"All right then. As long as you don't remove any clothing, we'll pray, and then I'll give you your penance. But will you please promise me something, Daniel?"
"What?"
"Promise me the next time you feel the urge to call me in the middle of the night, you'll forgo the charade of Confession. It's not a sin to care for another person, you know. You've come so far these past few years. If only you could just take that last step..."
I sank back into my chair, really ashamed now. "I'd like to, Father Raphe. I really would. But I'm just not ready yet."
There was a pause and then, "Now that sounds like a true confession. At least we're accomplishing
something
tonight. Let us pray."
I imagined Father Raphe on his side of the vid line, on his knees, head bowed, hands clasped in prayer, robe and night gown gracefully spread on the floor around him. Holy words flowed from his full lips, spilling through the vid line to pour their blessings onto me. My dick swelled beneath the benediction, and I prayed right along with him, holding tight to the arms of my chair until I thought I'd die if I didn't touch myself. Through ten rounds of 'Merciful Mary' and one 'Lord Jesus Who Loves Us All,' I ran my hands over my cock, just barely stroking it at first, then squeezing my balls with one hand as I pumped my shaft into the fist of the other. I prayed hard, and I came hard, well before the final 'Amen,' and then I grew hard again, just in time for Father Raphe to give me my penance.
****
"God damn that priest anyway!"
My rented hydro-car sailed along the highway at a good hundred fifty clicks. I was going a little fast, but it wasn't like anyone was going to pull me over for speeding way out here. I was out in the middle of fucking nowhere, in Bible Land for Christ's sake. The place was nothing but an isolated stretch of rolling hills, dotted with only the occasional farm or fuel-cell station. Most of the hydro-cars I saw were at least fifty years old, and they sat abandoned in weed-choked yards attached to run-down houses I could barely see through the dust kicked up by my speeding. The fine grit coated the hydro-car's plaz windows and turned everything outside a lifeless yellow-gray. It reminded me of corpses. It reminded me of my mother. I shuddered.