Girl Fever (7 page)

I gasp. “I need to sit down.”

Marla hoists me off the toilet lid, plants herself on it then pulls me back down onto her lap. She rolls me over onto my belly, with my forehead resting on the cool floor, my thighs across her lap.

“This isn't exactly—” I start. Oh. Um. Fingers run up and down the backs of my legs and ass, making scratchy-nailed spirals on each upturned cheek.

“Don't start a run in my nylons,” I mumble.
Rip them off.

“Are you telling me what to do?” Marla's hand smacks my ass; my clit reverberates against her thigh.

“Oh, no, I'm just not sure this is the time—” I say.
Please, please, hit me again.

Her hand whistles down.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
I scream and moan and wriggle. All I see is red, a tent of red around my head.
The dress,
I realize,
she's pulled up my dress.
My head is swimming in it. I'm so wet.
Too wet.
“Your pants,” I moan. “They'll stain.”

“Fuck my pants,” she grunts. And I do. I hump against her leg. Her hands, my ass, all has turned red; I can feel it. I see it in the red around me. Whistling smacks, shrieks piercing air, her hand coming down, coming down, coming down.
I love you,
my mind whispers.
I love you, Marla, I love you, love you.

“Uhn!” It's her—her voice, sweating out the sound, muffled by my dress.

And a rip. There go my panty hose. And the high keening, is that me, like a siren as she pushes two fingers in? No matter. I writhe and ride, wailing, to the rhythm of her slaps and thrusts.

“Come now!” Her voice, suddenly rough, pushes me over. I howl, pulsing against her fingers. I hold her inside me, letting her feel my power, my inner strength, squeezing. Finally, opening.

My throat is raw. My cunt is raw. My ass burns. I feel fresh and spent, together. I can still hear the screaming.

“Ups-a-daisy,” Marla calls from somewhere above. She's trying to pull me up to her, but I just want to be a puddle on the floor.

“The floor,” I try to unstick my tongue. “The floor is soft.”
Soft? No, that's not what I meant.
I giggle, but Marla understands and is lowering me, on my side, to the bath mat.

“I need to turn off the kettle. It's a terrible thing to burn out a bottom!” Her voice retreats, the pounding of her feet shaking the floor. Suddenly the strident call is interrupted with a sharp chirp that fades into a hiss.

Marla's face, puffing, appears above me. “Just in time. That's why I decided to hurry things along a bit. Sorry about that.” She collapses with her back against the sink cabinet, her legs across mine.

“Oh, I didn't notice,” I murmur, feeling hair in my
mouth. The updo I'd spent an hour creating has come undone. Her pants have a huge cum stain on both thighs. My nylons are shredded. My dress is crumpled.

“What didn't you notice? The kettle? Or me hurrying things along?”

“Either. Neither. It was so fast!” I shake my head, “You were in, I was coming, you were out!”

“Well, you know what Heidi says.” She puts on a nasal, high-pitched German accent: “One day you're in, and the next, you're out!”

“True,” I answer. “But you know what you did back there, under those ‘tough time constraints'?”

We laugh together on the way back to our closets. “Made it work!”

 

 

 

 

 

C
autiously, I opened the heavy antique door and peeked inside. A huge gold-framed mirror was propped against the green wall, and, gazing into it on a plushy Louis XVI chair, sat the woman of my dreams.

She looked amazing.

Maybe it was the dramatic contrast of the sheer white silk and chiffon of her robe against her melted chocolate skin.

Maybe it was the way the sleek dark strands of her hair, adorned with small silk roses, curled on her naked shoulders.

But most likely, it was the happy glow on her face.

Now she adjusted the necklace I had given her for our five-year anniversary, and my eyes wandered down to where her V-neckline revealed the soft rounds of her apple-shaped breasts.

I breathed a sigh.

Olivia turned around. “What are you doing there? Out! Out!”

I smiled, shook my head and entered the sumptuous hotel room, locking the door behind me.

“But it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!” She giggled, coming toward me and wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Who says
you're
the bride?”

“Either way, it's bad luck.”

I pressed a kiss on her plump lips. “It can never be bad luck with you, baby.”

She purred. “Likewise, Mrs. Jewell.”

“I wish it were that time already,” I breathed against her lips.

“Only”—she glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner—“fifty-five minutes.” She fiddled with the buttons of my high-collared cheongsam. “Alva?”

“Mm?”

“You know what'd be great?”

I kissed her again. “What?”

“If it were our honeymoon already.” She peered at me from underneath her full lashes.

I bit my lips and lifted her onto a nearby mahogany table. The months of preparations for our big day had been strenuous and crazy. Some nights, exhausted and faced with a to-do list that didn't ever seem to get shorter, we had fought hard to remember why we were doing this.

But no matter what, she was and always would be the most wonderful woman I had ever kissed, and nothing could ever make me forget it.

I traced the outline of her silk gown from the shoulder straps down to her breasts. I could feel her stiffen though she didn't seem to move. I traced the shape of her breast over the material of her dress and lingered on her nipple, which poked out so enticingly that the certainty of having to wait another day to touch it, tease it and lick it consumed me with a yearning that needed immediate fulfillment.

Olivia's eyes followed my fingers as they tugged the chiffon aside. “What are you doing there, hm?”

“I'm giving you a little taste,” I said, slipping the dress gently off her shoulder and running my fingers over the white bra underneath.

“A taste?” she said, then held her breath.

“Of our honeymoon.”

I bent down and kissed her neck, her shoulder and the lace that shone against her dark skin. I took it between my teeth and nipped at it. When I got her erect nipple into my mouth and rolled it between my lips, she threw her head back.

“Alva, baby… You're scandalous,” she said, a wicked grin on her face.

I placed little kisses along her necklace and licked at her naked skin until finally finding her lips again. “
You
brought up the honeymoon,” I mumbled.

I nudged her mouth with my tongue, and she obediently
parted her lips. I showered devoted caresses on her tongue and her lips.

“I can't even remember the last time you did that to my pussy,” she sighed between two kisses, then grasped the nape of my neck and gave me an ardent look, followed by a quick kiss. “Don't leave me hanging like this.” She kissed me again eagerly, encouragingly.

“You want me to…?” I looked at her with disbelief.

“Yes.” She nuzzled at my lips. “Go down on me, babe.”

Her sassy voice made my body tingle. “Say that again,” I whispered.

Her eyes glimmered. “You like to hear me talk like that, don't you?”

“And it's even hotter when you're wearing that dress.”

She drew me closer to her. “Eat me out, babe.”

I knelt down and parted the layers of chiffon. She gathered them in her fist and watched my fingers follow the lace-top stockings up her thighs and gently nudge her legs apart. I traced the small birthmark on the inside of her thigh and pressed my nose against her skin. Running its tip up her thighs, my eyes closed, I inhaled her scent, that peculiar, bedazzling blend of rose oil, the starch of her crisp petticoat and the spicy musk of her arousal.

I tugged at her thong, a delicate garment she had bought specially for the occasion. Her breathing quickened as my fingers traced the roses woven into its thin mesh. I could feel her wiry curls beneath the thin material.

“Do it,” she panted and propped herself up so I could strip it past her thighs. “Please.”

I kissed her pussy and spread its folds with my tongue. Olivia leaned back and moaned my name.

Her cries spurred me on. I pulled my tongue away and licked every inch of her skin aside from her clit. Despite her pleading, I ignored that small pearl and instead laid my finger on top of her slit and ran it down very gently, evoking little gasps from her cherry-red mouth.

Her clit was exposed to me now, and I could sense her need just by the way her thighs trembled at my touch. Savoring the moment, I teased her with the tip of my tongue, sliding it over her most sensitive spots.

Olivia shivered. “Yes, oh…yes, taste me…” She stroked my cheek with the back of her hand. “Too bad I'm not allowed to mess up your hair,” she complained in joking desperation.

I pushed my tongue farther between her folds, puckered my lips and sucked on her clit. My thumb rubbed her opening, and Olivia pulled away as the sensations overwhelmed her. I grabbed her legs and steadied her, knowing she wouldn't last much longer.

Her fingers clenched around the edge of the table, and she rocked her body back and forth. Her moans grew increasingly high-pitched, a sound I had missed for far too long. With a long groan, she collapsed onto the table panting. “Baby…”

I gently stroked her naked thighs and watched her body quiver as my fingers brushed her skin, still so
sensitive in the aftermath of orgasm. Sighing happily, I slipped her thong back into place and rearranged the folds of her dress.

“You're so beautiful,” I sighed, overwhelmed by her rosy cheeks and radiant eyes.

She cupped my cheek and mouthed, “I love you,” as her breath grew steady again.

The grandfather clock chimed twice.

“Twenty minutes until the wedding march begins,” she said, stretching herself along the table. Her glossy lacquered nails tapped the silk of my cheongsam, right below my hips. “Want me to…?”

I felt incredibly naughty. “I do.”

 

 

 

 

 

S
hane had never been good at keeping in touch, so you can imagine my surprise when I received a phone call out of the blue.

“Hello?”

“Hey. It's me.”

Well, you could have knocked me over with a whisper, and suddenly it was as if I had lost the ability to speak. Finally I managed to croak, “What do you want, Shane?”

“Oh, now it's ‘Shane'?” the voice asked.

“Well, I could call you asshole, but I thought you might prefer your given name,” I replied smartly.

“Okay, okay, relax. I just called to see how you're doing.”

“Really,” I said, more as a statement than a question.
“In what way?”

“Are you seeing anyone? How's your sex life?”

Uh-huh. Well, if I'd had any doubt up to that point, I certainly knew now where this was going. Shane and I had a long history of quickies via the telephone. I swear, sometimes phone sex with Shane was better than live sex with whomever I was dating at the time.

“Yes, I am, and it's great, thank you,” I answered, tersely.

Liar!
my inner voice screamed in time with my pussy. Why did it feel as if my body and brain were ganging up on me?

“Hm,” Shane replied, “well, if you ever get bored, you know how to reach me.”

“Yeah, I do,” I said. “Good night.” I didn't wait for a reply. I hung up immediately and then furiously masturbated myself to orgasm. I dreamt about sex most of the night and woke up feeling frustrated and unsatisfied.

When my phone rang the next night, I didn't have to look to know who was calling.

“Hello?”

“Hi, doll.”

Yep, there was that voice again. “Twice in one week?” I asked, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

“Yeah. Aren't you happy to hear from me?”

Now there was a loaded question. Parts of my brain simultaneously screamed
Yes!
and
No!
My pussy seemed to be agreeing with the
Yes!
side. I tried to ignore them all as I attempted to calculate what damage would be
done by me giving in.

“Well?” the voice insisted.

Gawd, I could actually feel the cocky attitude and I couldn't decide whether to hang up, or come. Who was I kidding? There was no way I could resist.

“Okay, yes. I'm happy to hear from you,” I admitted. And just like that, as if my body needed permission, I felt everything heating up, my pussy getting wet.

“You know what I want, don't you?” Shane asked.

“Yes,” I said, whispering.

“What do I want?”

“You want me to come for you,” I answered, feeling my nipples harden.

“That's right,” Shane said. “Are you wearing panties?”

“Yes, red lacy ones,” I replied, spreading my legs apart slightly.

“Mmmmm,” Shane moaned. “Slide your hand down slowly until you're touching the outside of your panties.”

Truth be told, I probably didn't even need to touch myself; Shane's voice was enough to make me crazy. A few minutes of squeezing my legs together would probably do the trick, but obeying Shane's commands was so much more enjoyable. I did as she said, moving my hand ever so slowly until my fingertips came to rest on the very wet spot that now adorned my panties.