Black Opal Magic

My heels clicked on the asphalt and I was at the door before it registered that I'd left the keys in the car. The maître d' opened the door wide.

"Bienvenue, Madame. Bon soir. Welcome to Le Maison."

He smiled one of those tight, haughty smiles that only French snobs can really pull off, even though he was clearly of Vietnamese descent. He looked me over, deigning to withhold his judgement until he heard my reply.

I didn't disappoint his assumptions.

"Merci." Even to my ears, my accent was horrible. I quit trying. "I'm sorry, but I don't have a reservation."

"Oh, madame, not to worry, your party is waiting."

"Of course."

I looked around the dining room, and saw only a dozen tables. Each was tiny, clearly meant for two people only, with generous space between them, to truly offer some privacy. Not that I'd need it, because there was only one person in the room.

He was seated sideways to the door, almost at the back of the restaurant. All I could see at the moment was a lean blond man in an elegant black suit, casually perusing a newspaper that was neatly folded to show only the article he was reading.

As I approached, he glanced up.

He greeted the maître d' as an old friend, in what sounded like fairly fluent Vietnamese. The man replied in French, and my soon to be companion switched to that language with ease. Only then did my dinner mate bother to look at me.

He nodded, rose, and as the maître d' melted away toward the kitchen, the man pulled out my chair and helped me to sit. That's when I noticed that the newspaper was written with the Cyrillic alphabet.

He sat across from me, and we appraised each other. His eyes were such a dark brown that they looked black, and his skin was pale. His face was thin, with a long nose, but a full mouth shaded with a neatly trimmed mustache.

He moved slowly, languidly, as though he knew he had all the time in the universe to do whatever he wanted. His arms were long, and I'd gotten an impression of height in the moment we'd both been standing.

Once I'd settled, he reached for my right hand, and touched my fingers to his lips.

"Enchante," he said, smiling.

I blushed, stopping myself from giggling because I knew he was serious, and I was meant to be serious as well.

Before I could say anything too uncouth, he said, "I'm Lucas. It is such a pleasure to finally meet you."

I withdrew my hand as smoothly as I could. "I feel the same," I replied.

My mouth opened and closed again, a hundred questions and statements competing to get through the narrow paths in my brain to form some semblance of coherence.

I was saved by the server appearing silently at Lucas's left side. He began reciting the specials in French, and Lucas listened for a moment before politely interrupting to order wine. After the server left, Lucas tapped the newspaper he'd put down next to his place setting.

"The world these days. Always some tragedy somewhere. Isn't there?"

"Yes. It surely seems so. Is that Russian?"

"Yes. I like to get my news as unfiltered as possible. So many things, as they say, get lost in translation."

His speech was soft, and slightly accented in a way I couldn't place. His voice lilted from him with much the same calm deliberateness as his movements.

"How many languages do you speak?"

He looked at me sharply, slightly raised an eyebrow. "All of them."

I was struck, silenced, and then the server returned. He uncorked the wine, and poured a small amount into Lucas's wineglass. Lucas picked up the glass, swirled it, and took one thoughtful swallow, before nodding to declare the vintage acceptable.

After the server poured, Lucas ordered for the both of us. He spoke so fluidly and rapidly that my mostly forgotten high school French had no chance of keeping up. I would just accept whatever showed up on my plate. The pendant warmed even more, as though responding to Lucas's voice. The bracelets warmed also.

Left alone again, Lucas resumed.

"I understand you're a writer," he said.

"Yes." I felt myself blushing. "I've had several series of books published, under a couple of different pseudonyms. I write romance novels. It's not, well. They're not exactly high art. But they generally get good reviews." I shrugged. "And pay the bills."

I'd never felt ashamed about what I wrote, and shame was not quite the right word for my discomfort. But I had the impression that even after all the things that had transpired to bring me to this spot, at this point in time, I was still being examined. That I could still be found unworthy. I desperately needed to be found worthy. I didn't know why.

He was smiling tightly, judging something in me, but I couldn't tell what.

I sat up straighter, put my shoulders back. "Actually," I said. "I put a lot of thought and care into what I write. I want the stories to be interesting, and the characters to be slightly exaggerated, but ultimately relatable. And I'm told that I achieve that well. I think it's important for people to have a variety of kinds of entertainment. Even Shakespeare wrote silly romantic comedies as well as his tragedies."

Lucas smiled then, approving. "Just so," he said. "Do you mind then, if I look you up?"

I laughed. "You haven't already?"

He leaned in, conspiratorially, glancing at the pendant. "She refused to tell me your name..."

It shouldn't have made sense, but I understood him. I told him my pseudonyms as he pulled a phone from the breast pocket of his suit coat.

The server came back with two bowls of soup and a bread basket. I drank half my glass of wine while Lucas typed in my information, and the server instantly appeared to refill. I took a few spoonfulls of the soup, a delicious butternut squash puree with hints of carrot and ginger.

The rest of dinner went easily. The food was delicious, a modernist French cuisine that I never would have ordered for myself. Lucas was charming, warm, and I felt increasingly comfortable with him as the evening passed. He'd spent a few minutes researching my work, and at one point laughed, saying that he'd read one of my books and been highly entertained.

I relaxed in his presence, and unlike the other encounters, I had no feeling of putting on an act, or needing to be anyone other than who I genuinely was. My conversation flowed, I was funny, a little flirtatious, and fascinated by him.

His dark eyes sparkled in the low light of the dining room. His voice rose and fell expressively. He was assured of himself without seeming arrogant and he so deftly deflected my questions about him that I didn't even realize it at the time.

Dessert was crème caramel, one of my favorite sweets, and perfectly executed. Over coffee, Lucas slid his chair around next to mine, and took both of my hands in his.

He looked closely at me, peering into my eyes, reading something in there.

The voice I'd heard while looking at the pendant spoke again. 'He approves.' The pendant and bracelets warmed again.

"She approves," said Lucas.

I nodded.

He brought both my hands up to kiss, and I was flushed with an indescribably delectable feeling of joy, desire, and contentment. But underneath was an edge. I knew I had not yet fulfilled my purpose. There was a chance I could yet fail, and that would be catastrophic.

Lucas rose, and helped me up. He tucked my arm around his and escorted me out of the restaurant. We walked toward that dark Jaguar parked next to my rental, and he opened the passenger door. I got in without thinking.

He got in the driver's side and the car roared to life. He barely touched the steering wheel, and the car took off as though under its own power and control. The audio system played some soft classical music and I relaxed into the seat.

I must have fallen asleep, because I startled when the car came to a stop. Embarrassed, I began to apologize to Lucas, but he was looking at me so intently that I forgot what I wanted to say.

There was an echo in my brain, bits of a conversation in a language I'd never heard before. Before I could think of anything or ask any questions, Lucas had gotten out and walked around to my side of the car. He opened the door and helped me out.

Once again, he tucked my arm around his, and walked me towards the house we'd stopped at. It was a small, two story house with the white siding and sharply peaked roof of a Greek revival. Columns defined a wide front porch and an entryway flanked by large windows.

Lucas opened the door without ever getting out keys, and showed me into a front hallway. A narrow table held a large vase with an extravagant arrangement of flowers, tall enough to partially block the mirror which hung on the wall. Opposite that table was a line of hooks for coats, on one of which hung a long, black heavy wool cloak. Just beyond the table, stairs led to the upper floor, and just past the hooks a door opened onto the living room.

That's where Lucas led me, pausing to turn on table lamps at the near ends of two large plush sofas. The furniture was modern and comfortable, in various shades of grey and blue. Thick carpet muffled our footsteps as he walked to the fireplace and knelt to light a fire. I looked around, not seeing much in the low light, but noticing the large front window and more vases with flowers.

The air was faintly scented with cinnamon and clove, and the room felt inviting. I glanced between the two sofas, trying to decide which one would be appropriate for me to sit, when Lucas stood, having succeeded in coaxing the blaze back to life.

He turned and looked at me frankly.

"You won't be needing any of that," he said gesturing at me.

I suddenly had the need to be naked. The urge to rip this confining costume into shreds and feed it to the fire overwhelmed me for a moment. I breathed in, and unzipped each side of the dress. I slid out of it, stepping aside and tossing onto a chair behind me. I kicked off the heels, and soon they and the rest of the outfit were added to the pile of the dress.

Naked in front of Lucas, I stood and let him look at me.

That's all he did, at first. He leaned on the mantlepiece, his gaze scraping down my body and back up again. That familiar pulse and throb in my groin resumed, and my breathing quickened and shallowed. I felt the heat rising as my skin flushed, and I swallowed against the desire to fall to my knees.

Eventually Lucas walked toward me and I found myself shivering, anxious, craving his touch. When he did touch me, I cried out softly. He walked around behind me, caressing my arm and shoulder softly, tracing the line of my spine down to my buttocks and gliding over one cheek to the other hip. I shivered again, with desire for more. I wanted so much more from him.

Behind me still, his hands glided up my sides, reaching into my hair and stroking down, pulling me gently back towards him. He reached around, embracing me, stepping closer to me, so that I felt the texture of his suit, the warmth of his body, and the hard bulge at his crotch, pressing into the small of my back.

I sighed, leaning into him. The evidence of his arousal matching my own was permission to relax, permission to dispel the last bit of anxiety. He wrapped one arm tightly around my ribs, just under my breasts, holding me to him, while the other hand slowly swept down my front, finding my mons and brushing across. I shuddered, gasped and pushed back into him.

He kissed my temple, then next to my eye, and on down the side of my face to my neck. Gentle touches with his mouth that became more insistent and more needy as he got to my collar bone.

The pendant warmed more, and thrummed against my skin, sending pulses of heat and vibration right onto my heart.

Time stood still, and I lost myself for another moment. Lucas moved again, and I heard more faint echoes of that unknown language.

He stepped away from me and I turned toward him. He sat on the couch to my left, at one end, with his long arms draped along the back and his legs spread casually wide. I looked him over, and saw that the bulge in his pants was large, very large, in fact. But I wasn't worried, in fact, my body welcomed whatever he had to offer. My body needed whatever he had to offer.

I realized I was fondling myself, for him, stroking my own clit, spreading my labia, running my hands up and down my ribs and squeezing my breasts. I was showing myself off to him, as he leaned forward and slowly took off his suit coat, undid his tie and tossed them onto another chair. As he was unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, I walked to the couch. I sat next to him to watch him doff his shirt, his shoes, and unbuckle his belt.

I slid to the floor in front of the couch, having a strong desire to gaze up at him. I needed to worship what I was about to sacrifice myself for. His muscles rippled beneath his smooth creamy skin, each starkly defined and without a trace of body hair.

I realized my mouth was open. I wanted to kiss him, to suckle his nipples, to pleasure him however he might direct. He slid his pants down his legs and I gasped. My pussy clenched in recognition and pure lust. My whole body convulsed as I forced myself to stay still and wait for his signal.

He stood next to me, his crotch just over my head as I sat on the floor.

His two cocks were fully erect, one on top of the other, thick and thin, long and longer, both uncut.

They might have been the most beautiful, awe inspiring things I'd ever seen.

I wasn't afraid. I don't remember being startled. I only remember pure desire to feel his body on mine and those nearly twin cocks inside me. The pendant heated up, pulsing and vibrating even more rapidly and strongly. Some core of my being knew him and craved him as a favorite addiction I'd been forced to abstain from.

He stepped close enough that as I kneeled up, I could catch the tip of his lower penis in my mouth.

This was the longer, somewhat thinner one, and had a prominent vein running along its underside. I licked, ducking down toward his thighs, and sticking my tongue flat and wide against him. I licked his entirety hungrily and quickly returned to his base to do it again.

I noticed that his testicles were fairly tight to his body, two soft lumps nestled at the base of this lower penis. They were as hairless as his torso, and I couldn't resist licking them as well.

I heard Lucas groan, and knew I had done the right thing.

I felt his hand on the top of my head, his fingers combing through my hair as though he wanted to grab me but was holding himself back. I licked him again, and this time when I got to the head of that penis, he caught my chin with a hand and held me away from him.

He looked down at me, his black eyes seeming to glow in the firelight and grinned.

He moved then, sitting again on the sofa, so I followed him.

He presented me with his upper penis. And it was my turn to grin.

If I hadn't already had the encounter with the two cops, I would have been scared. Lucas's upper penis matched Simpson's in girth and length. I wrapped both my hands around it and held him still as I suckled the very tip, letting my tongue dart and circle around his foreskin.

His lower penis bumped into my neck, so I moved one hand to attend to it, while I used my mouth on the upper. With one hand on each of his cocks, stroking in a slightly offset rhythm, I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and took his upper penis inside.

I felt my clit pulsing and twitching as my pussy throbbed even more. I squeezed my knees together, and tried to use my heels to rub myself as I worked on him. I wanted to pleasure him, and focus on him, but my body was craving so much more. I was wanton, breathless, needy; a bitch in heat.

I focused on him, hoping that the same magic that had allowed me to deep throat Simpson would occur. But it didn't. I was struggling to get my lips fully around his upper penis, and afraid I would scrape his tender skin with my teeth. I resorted to licking and suckling along his shafts, while pumping each with my hands. I gently pulled them away from each other, trying to get my nose and tongue down to the spot where they met.

Lucas didn't like that. His body shifted and he stiffened. I retreated, and went back to attending to his lower penis, the one I was more sure I could actually fit in my mouth.

I heard him mutter something softly, and thought it might have been a name or a curse word. The pendant stabbed me and I jumped, rearing back.

Lucas reached down, cupping my cheek, and said, "You tried, darling, and that's what matters tonight."

He took my hand, guiding me onto the sofa. He leaned in and kissed me, parting my lips with his, and sliding his tongue into search my mouth. He tasted like clove and cinnamon, and his body heat warmed my soul.

His hand held my head to him while the other stroked and searched on my body. I shifted closer to him, but leaning back against the sofa, allowing him access to explore whatever he wanted. He pushed at my thigh, so I opened my legs more for him, and he shifted closer still.

I reached and lightly stroked his cocks, alternating between them with one hand, while my other reached around his side to pull him closer still.

He leaned forward, guiding me down onto my back on the sofa, my head nestled on a throw pillow. He shifted his weight, so he was more directly over me, then leaning down to cover me with his body. I spread my legs as wide as I could make them, rolling under him with my hips, while still trying to touch his magical cocks.

His mouth had left mine, and he was kissing down my torso, a trail through the center to my belly button, then back up to each of my breasts. He retraced his kisses, lower still, and veered onto the thigh of my leg hanging off the sofa.

When he returned to my torso, he picked up my leg, draping my knee over his forearm, while he planted one foot on the floor. His other knee bent and pressing into the back of my other leg.

With me basically flat on my back, and fully open to him, he placed a hand softly on my stomach spreading his fingers wide.

I gazed up at him in pure adulation, feeling the pulse of my heart in all my extremities, but most clearly in my clit. I sighed, and flung my arms up, over my head arching up to show off my larger than ever breasts.

He was smiling, a benevolent, indulgent smile. He was giving me credit for wanting to please him, even though he knew I wasn't going to be able to.

I started to reach for his cocks again and he shook his head, just slightly.

"Tonight is young. And you are young. We go slowly."

He brushed his fingers around my vulva, smearing my body's lubrication around my opening and the edges of my lips.

He reached for himself, and moving slightly, fitted the tip of his lower penis at my entrance. He held his upper penis apart slightly, and eased his longer cock into me. Gradually and carefully, he fed himself to my body, as he held this thicker penis and guided it over the top of my vulva.

I realized that he was right. I'd misjudged the girth of his lower cock. Yes, it was smaller around than the upper, but that only emphasized the massive circumference of that penis. His lower cock filled me, stretching against my inner walls as my vagina reacted and clenched around him.

He pumped, slowly but steadily, taking his pleasure in time and watching me. I writhed and moaned, my eyes fluttering shut every time I tried to open them. The pleasure he caused me was almost too intense.

When I was on the edge of a soul shattering orgasm, one I could feel building in every cell in my body, he pulled out.

I think I screamed.

He stroked my face, kneeling back on the sofa, and reached for my hand.

"Turn over," he said.

I sat up, scooting around inelegantly until I was face down on the sofa, one knee on it, and my other foot on the floor. I braced myself on my elbows, sliding my hands under the pillow.