Vixen

I spoke: "step into the light."

But she stepped back, once, twice, three times, four, and the darkness swallowed her entirely. The image of her outstretched hands retreating into the darkness burned my eyes when I awoke. I lay still in my bed for some moments, staring at the stucco on the ceiling, watching the morning light crawl slowly over my ceiling from the cracks between the Venetian blinds. I finally rolled out of bed and walked slowly to the shower, somewhat dazed. When I tipped my head back under the flow of water and closed my eyes, I could still see her hands, beckoning to me, could still see the hem of her skirt ripple forward and then pull back as she pushed one last time off the ball of her foot, as she moved into the darkness. The symbolism was not lost on me, and my stomach ached with longing and with shame. God, be merciful. Please do not let her be in church today.

She wasn't. My stomach clenched even tighter in disappointment. She didn't turn up late, during the worship set. I know because I scanned the crowd for her at 30 second intervals, and every time the heavy doors at the back of the sanctuary opened, I turned my head, hoping for her, hoping that it would be anyone but her.

After the worship set, I moved to my seat. I didn't hear the sermon at all. I kept seeing her hands pulling away into the darkness, kept imagining the fabric around her face rustling as she whispered my name, kept imagining my hand resting on her hip as they ticked from side to side while she walked, by my side. Kept imagining the salty taste of sweat on her neck, imagining her smooth skin under my tongue.

I was the last to rise for the closing prayer, as I had not heard the pastor request that we do so, only realized it when I heard the rustles of 400 people as they stood. I bowed my head, begging silently under my breath God, remove this thorn from my side. To no avail. When I opened my eyes, I saw her hands resting on the seat back next to me. I turned to look at her, and she gazed back—I assume anyway, by the direction of her head. I stood staring at her, stunned for a moment, and then stretched out my hand.

"Hi, welcome. My name is Jayce."

Her hand felt cool and delicate in mine, but she gripped firmly and shook my hand resolutely three times.

"Are you new in town?"

Her hand rose to her throat and she touched her fingers to the smooth skin there and shook her head.

"You can't speak?"

She nodded, her black veils shifting slightly

"Oh," I said stupidly, having absolutely no idea how to proceed.

She picked up a Bible and fished a pen out of her purse, then opened it to some page in Nehemiah and circled seven letters.

"Semele?"

She nodded.

"Nice to meet you, Semele."

And again, I had nothing to say. I wanted to ask her why she wore the veil, but aside from the inappropriateness of the question, I thought it might take her forever to circle out the answer, and I didn't really feel right about her marking the Bible that way, using it to spell out her own—probably sordid—stories.

I felt awkward, and increasingly desperate. I wanted so desperately to take her home with me and watch her walk up the stairs to my room, her hips swinging, the line in the back of her black pantyhose shooting straight up into the back of her skirt, losing itself somewhere warm and dark, somewhere I wanted to lose myself as well.

That image stirred in me so strongly that I asked her, without thinking, "can I take you to lunch?"

She nodded slowly. I wish I could see if she smiled at all.

"OK...well, come with me." I led her out the back door and she followed quietly. I turned to look over my shoulder at her.

"Did you drive?" She shook her head.

I led her to my car, and opened the door for her. She slid in and reached out her hand to me. I moved toward her instinctively and she squeezed my fore arm. In thanks, I suppose. When I shut the door, she reached over to unlock mine.

"Where do you like to eat?"

She took her pen out of her purse again and wrote the name of some Thai place on the back of the bulletin from the morning service.

I smiled at her, "all right," and swung the car out of the parking lot.

She sat straight with her hands in her lap, palms up, one resting in the other, and gazed through the windshield. I felt awkward again and began cursing myself for my rashness. What was I doing? I certainly couldn't speak to her, and I suspect that had not been my motivation in any case. I felt fear at the pleasure of the simple physical contact we had shared in the parking lot, and despite myself, began to think that I wanted to feel her hand again.

As if she read my mind, she reached out her fingers and touched them lightly on my fore arm. I jumped a little in surprise, and her fingers lifted, as she turned her veiled head toward me. I looked at her, but didn't know which expression to compose my face into, having no idea whether hers was asking permission, or apologizing. She let her fingers drop again dragging the tips from my wrist to my elbow, and I immediately felt heat and blood rush to my cock. I should have moved my arm away, I should have said something, but I didn't, I left it there. I looked at her again, longing for some kind of reading on her intentions, but found only the rough fabric staring back at me.

She continued tracing her fingers over my arm, and then slowly up to the sensitive skin on the inner part of my upper arm. I felt paralyzed with apprehension, but more still with desire. She reached up and slid her fingers under the collar of my shirt, tracing them along my collar bones, pressing them into the notch between them. She leaned her head over, into my neck, and after she was out of my range of vision, she caught the bottom side of her veil on the back of my neck, lifting it away far enough to allow her to lay her mouth on my neck, slowly drawing in my flesh with her lips and her tongue, sucking slightly. My cock was rock hard, and I immediately exited the freeway and turned back toward my house. If a man is condemned only for looking at a woman with lust, I had certainly already committed the sin, so I might the hell as well really stick it in her. If God knows my heart, then he's certainly already seen me play this scene out a hundred times in my mind. I don't see how acting on my lust would make it any more a sin.

When she realized what I had done, she squeezed my arm tightly and began pulling harder at my neck with her mouth. Her hand pressed into my chest, and slid heavily down to my pants. She pulled her face away form my neck and began to slide my belt through the buckle. She undid the button on my slacks and pulled down the zipper, pushing the fly to the side as my cock stood up eagerly. She slid her soft, cool hand around my shaft in a ring and began pumping up and down. I moaned, and she stretched her head toward mine and licked me once hard from my collar bone to the corner of my jaw. Then she leaned over and touched her tongue lightly to my tip. I could feel the rough fabric of her veil against my shaft, and it tickled the skin across my hips every time she lowered her head to take more of my cock in her mouth. When she came to the top again she swirled her tongue around the tip, and then lowered her head, taking me in her mouth almost to the hilt. I came violently in no time, as I had not experienced that gut-wrenching sensation since the last time her mouth was on me. Except I didn't realize that this was the same woman. This woman was some beautiful enigma. Some speechless siren. Some phantasm, some she-devil sent to drag me down to hell. As my cum filled her mouth, I felt more than willing to go. No kicking and screaming necessary.

I pulled into my driveway, closing my fly over my now only semi-hard dick. She opened her door and stepped out of the car as she had just stepped off of a cloud. She bore herself so well. Her shoulders straight and strong, her back tapering down to her waist and then swelling back out into her hips. I paused, watching her through her open door, until she closed it behind her. She headed up the front walk without even looking back at me, without waiting for me at all. I jogged a little to catch up to her and laid my hand on her hip, sliding it over her ass, walking next to her, lost in the tick tock of her steps.

I unlocked the door and stood aside to let her in. She came to a stop in the middle of the living room, her head pointed in the direction of a framed picture of my family. My father's face made my heart ache with guilt. How could I do the things I so desperately wanted to do to her in his house, saturated as it was with the memory of him, burdened as I was the by the example of his guiltless life. My eyes dropped to the back of her head, following the cascade of thick hair down to her waist, the came to rest on the alluring swell of her hips, and the tension between my desire for her and my awareness that I had long ago surrendered my cock over to the Lord nearly reduced me to tears.

"Fuck it," I murmured under my breath as I moved toward her laying my hands on her hips and lowering my mouth to the muscular ridge where her shoulder sloped up into her neck. She inhaled sharply and her hand came up to my hair, her fingers twisting and pulling. Fuck it, I thought to myself. Fuck holiness, fuck purity, fuck commitments, fuck forgiveness, fuck eternity. Honestly, at that moment, with the taste of her skin on my tongue, I felt that I would gladly burn forever just to hear her heaving breath, just to watch it move that veil, just to feel her snatch tighten around me. She began to grind her ass into my crotch, circling her tight, taut flesh over my rapidly hardening dick. I slid my hand down one of her ass cheeks, squeezing hard. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right, just exactly how I imagined it.

"Go upstairs," I whispered in her ear. She pulled away immediately and walked toward the staircase. I almost came just watching her swinging hips move up the stairs, the straight line in the back of her pantyhose, her calf muscle tightening with each push. When she got to the top, she turned her head over her shoulder to look down at me. Was she biding me to join her? Waiting for more instructions? The ambiguity of the gesture set my nerves on edge. From where I stood, I could see her jaw line and a hint of her lower lip under her veil, and I felt like I had seem something more private and sacred than her breasts or her snatch. I had a raging hard-on.

"Go to the right, the room at the end of the hall." I commanded her, and she obeyed. Her acquiescence had me leaping up the stairs, two at a time, as if I my dick had just taken some bait and I was being reeled in against my will. She stood just beyond the door way when I came in the room and I laid my hands on her waist and her arm and steered her over to the desk under the window. With out any prelude whatsoever, I pushed her forward so that she had to catch her self by grabbing onto the desk. I flipped up her skirt and pulled down her pantyhose with one hand while I undid my belt and my fly with the other. Within the space of five seconds, I had my cock buried deep inside of her juicy snatch, exulting in the sound of her sharp inhalation as I penetrated her. I wrapped my hands around her waist and fucked her with long, even strokes while she gasped and heaved. She never moaned, that clever bitch, as that would have given away the fact that her vocal chords worked just fine. But, by god, the way she breathed! Pulling short bursts of air into her lungs every time I pushed into her, releasing guttural sighs each time I hit the right spot, encouraging me to press further and push harder by turning her head to me and expelling air from the roof of her mouth and her nose, exhaling in a high pitched plea.

In the relative quiet, her ass smacked against my hips with a satisfying slap and the desk creaked softly, like the muffled sound of my protesting conscious, but I forgot about that immediately as her breath become more and more ragged and her snatch began to tighten around me spasmodically. I felt the flow of her orgasm flood around my cock, and my fingers dug into the supple flesh of her hips as the rush of my cum added to the deluge of her orgasm. She had her forehead resting on her crossed arms and I leaned forward and lay over her back, breathing heavily for a time. Eventually, I sighed luxuriously and pulled out of her slowly. She pushed herself upright, and peeled off her pantyhose entirely. Balling them up, she stuck them up under her skirt, wiped herself clean, and then dropped them on the floor. She put her shoes on and moved toward the door without looking at me once.

"Where are you going?"

She looked back at me over her shoulder but continued out the door. I fastened my fly again and followed her, a little dizzy and really in no mood to chase her around. She started resolutely down the steps before I caught her arm and pulled her to me.

"Where are you going?" I demanded.

She pulled herself free of my grip and walked back toward my room. Taking a pen, she grabbed my bank statement off my desk and scrawled over the front. "Home."

"Were you going to walk?" I asked her.

She nodded.

"Do you want a ride."

She jerked her shoulders up slightly to indicate her indifference.

"Let me take you."

She nodded in agreement.

"Where do you live?"

She bent over again to write. She had beautiful hands, and her long fingers looked strong because of her short fingernails. The indentation on the thumb side of her wrist flashed as she wrote, and purple-blue veins snaked over the back of her hand, beneath her warm tan skin. She showed me the message on the bank statement: Take me back to church.

Well, fuck me.

The silent drive allowed me too much time to ruminate over what I had done. By the time I pulled into the parking lot, my stomach was writhing with guilt. I chose the same spot we had left from earlier, and she stepped out of the car without a word and walked toward the street. I wanted to say something to her, but I couldn't stand the thought of her veil staring back at me blankly, so I let her go.

I got out of the car and watched her walk down the sidewalk for a while until a voice at my side startled me out of my guilty trance.

"Jayce! Where were you?" My mother demanded.

"Why are you still here?" I asked her evasively.

"I stayed for Sunday School. Where did you take that girl?" Over my desk, in my bedroom.

"To lunch." I lied. Add it to my tab.

"Oh, that's nice. What's her name?"

"Semele."

"How pretty."

"Did she enjoy the service?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't ask her?"

"She can't talk."

"What?"

"She's mute."

"Oh. Well, why didn't you drive her home?"

"She wanted me to drive her here."

"How do you know."

"She wrote it down. Look mom, I gotta go," I said sharply and turned to get in my car. Dishonoring my mother. That's three for ten today. Adultery, lies, dishonor. Actually, I have also failed to keep the Sabbath holy, and I suppose I let my dick be god before God, and I desperately covet that woman. Six, I just need idols, murder, theft, and the name of the lord in vain. Goddamn.

I felt nauseous and restless, so I turned out of the parking lot toward my house. By the time I entered the street, she was gone. She might have ducked into any one of the shops near the church, but she wasn't on the street anymore. I drove home fervently repenting under my breath, trying not to cry. God, forgive me. I don't know what came over me, but I am so, so sorry. Please see me through the blood of your son and forgive me my lust, please God, in the name of Jesus Christ. The prayer devolved into an obsessive and murmuring chant. Please forgive me, please forgive me, please forgive me.

When I arrived home, I ran up to my bedroom and closed the door, falling to my knees in the middle of my room I opened my palms to the heavens and cried. God, I repent of my sin. It won't happen again. Please forgive me.

My resolve remained strong throughout the week, and by Sunday, I had manufactured a strong distaste for the wicked temptress. She would not seduce me. By the grace of God she was not at church that day, and I prayed throughout the service that she would not return. As I was driving home after a particularly pointed service about the evils of extramarital and premarital sex, I saw her, walking down the street, this time in a sapphire blue dress with the same yellow and blue veils from the first day. Her low cut dress, the swell of her cleavage, the straight line of her shoulders, the proud lift of her chin, the sway and pop of her hips, her arms swinging at her sides, her strong legs and quick strides: the sensation of her beauty smashed into my consciousness, through all my defenses, crushing every objection and obliterating all resolve. Without thinking, without fighting with myself for even a moment I pulled over, aware only that I was relieved to see her and that I had to get inside of her as soon as possible. I rolled down the passenger window and called out to her.

"Let me give you a ride."

She stopped and her veiled face turned toward me. She regarded me for a moment and then walked toward the car. She leaned over and peered in the window at me.

"Please," I said to her unintelligible face.

She opened the door and slid in. I put the car in gear and drove home quickly, thinking all the while about the things I would do to her when I got her into my bed. She would not leave this time, not until I wanted to let her go. We pulled into the driveway.

"Get out."

She obliged. I came around her side of the car and grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind me into the house. Some trick of fate would have it that my mom was out of town for the weekend and the house was empty. I pushed her through the door, slammed it behind me with a backward sweep of my hand and led her into the living room. We had one of those huge overstuffed chairs and I bent her backwards over the arm, so that the small of her back lay over the arm and her head and shoulders rested on the cushion. I lowered my head and licked one wide swath from the center of her sternum up to her neck. I kissed her neck gently once, then harder, pulling her flesh into my mouth and biting her softly, sucking long and hard on her skin. One of my hands slipped in the front of her dress and closed around her breast. She wasn't wearing a bra and her nipple hardened eagerly under my touch. I pressed my hard cock against her through my pants and her dress and I heard her breathe in sharply. I sucked more eagerly at her neck and she began to rake her fingers through my hair. She opened her legs a little, to better feel more through the material of our clothes and I my dick began to pulse with anticipation. I pulled away from her and knelt down between her legs. She wasn't wearing any pantyhose this time, and after I lifted her skirt, I found she wasn't wearing panties either. She was already practically dripping with juices and I put my face into her crotch, breathing in her smell and her heat for a moment before I began to tease her clit with my tongue. She breathed in sharply again as I opened her lips with my fingers, she cooperated by pulling her feet up and placing them on the arm of the chair and then scooting her hips closer to my face. I smiled and then licked her lips a few times before sliding my tongue into her. She gasped again as I wriggled my tongue around insider her and pushed it in deeper. I repeated the sequence a few times and her hips tightened and lifted as she neared her orgasm. I rubbed her clit softly as a pressed my tongue into and out of her rhythmically until she came and a quick gush of fluid slid over my tongue. She moaned expansively and I jerked away, surprised by the sound. I stood up and pulled her to her feet.