Infernal Fornications

She greeted me at the door that Friday night, excited, girlish, brimming with energy. Dinner and conversation was good, anticipatory to a high degree. Bed beckoned.

Our coupling that first night back did not even include our customary twice, the pent-up energy expended by us of immense proportions. I left her drifting off to sleep in her own bed, promising a rendezvous at her cottage again the next evening.

*****

'I have more questions.'

She announced this scarcely after I had entered her cottage the next day whilst we sat at her sofa, wineglasses in hand, an aromatic dinner in her oven.

'You have far too many', I laughed.

'No, this is about interpretation, not about you. I have been poring over the manuscript as well as the other texts you recommended.' She paused. 'This is about the substitution of various words and phrases, translating the text as it were.'

'So I have a huge puzzle you can help me solve.'

'Yes?' my eyebrows arched.

'The the second section in the third quire, where it says - where you say - "It is always best when the voice of God is unquestioningly swallowed by the firm believer."'

I nodded.

'The word "swallowed" - "devorabat" in the text - is a most unusual term in such a theological context. I am not aware of any similar phrasing in anything I have read from that era. It is counter-intuitive in the text, you don't "swallow" sound, never mind a "voice"'. She peered at me closely.

'But if I am deciphering correctly, using both Steganographia and the Polygraphia as lexicons, the "voice of God" is "semen", and the "firm believer" is an "acolyte"'.

'You recollect the next passage, presumably?' I asked, amused at the route her investigations were taking.

'Something about the enjoyment, the ecstasy of the "firm believer", how faith is furthered by this action, how it pleases God. Am I right?' She looked at me closely.

I laughed. 'Spot on. But enough along this line, I promise a chance to explain more fully. Later.'

Her eyes gleamed.

It was an enjoyable dinner. I was being fed well at her place, the only drawback being her continued request to have me spend the night.

Her dining table was small, we sat across from each other. I never tired of the habitual unruliness of her hair, how she unconsciously brushed a strand of it off an ear with one hand when speaking.

I noted how she spooned the viscous stew she had prepared past her lips, her tongue flicking a large broad bean into her mouth. My member twitched. In her turn, she watched intently later during dessert as I enjoyed her quince pastry, my tongue deliberately, and lovingly, sliding along and caressing the smooth slices of baked quince as they entered my mouth. I am sure I saw her hips give a little quiver.

We settled into bed and had our usual first furious fornication. She had most aggressively ridden me on top, holding onto me tightly as my spawn erupted forth into her.

Lying next to her afterwards, I called her attention to the passage she had mentioned earlier.

'Your translation was accurate as far as it went, but there is one other part. You perhaps have noted that often "God" as cross-referenced by Trithemius means "the teacher" or "the elder"'.

She nodded, 'Yes, you are quite right.' She looked closely at me. 'You are certainly my elder,' and gave a little laugh. 'Perhaps my teacher as well?'

'And mayhap you are my acolyte?' She looked away then back at me.

'Yes, it is time. For you to swallow.' My words were soft but decisive.

She had licked me, she had taken my member fully into her mouth, but had not ingested my spawn. Her eyes gleamed.

'I should like to inseminate your mouth. We have not done so yet.'

She looked at my penis-head, then at me, alarmed.

'But first, your own pudenda need another pleasing. That alone will be enough to harden me.' She smiled at the phrasing, but then laid back on her pillows, languid, beckoning, and spread her legs.

Such a mess she was, groin hair plastered down from our coupling, spawn and her own fluids leaking from her entry.

I tasted her, tickling, teasing, letting her oozings register on my tongue. My own spawn is strong in smell and flavour, the mixture with her own aroused fluids a sensory delight. I should find a way to prepare a meal with this sauce. Perhaps stewed eels and butter beans all coated with the mucilage? My member twitched.

As was to be my case with her, always, the extended tease preceded the climax. The longer I could keep her at the edge of the cliff, the more strongly her body would divest itself of the built-up tension.

I licked her until her hips were squirming underneath me, then dallied at her side, nibbling at her neck whilst fingers ranged over her nipples, along ticklish flanks, back to her swollen, oozing vulva. Little flicks of my fingertips on her clitoris caused violent wrenchings from her hips as she tried to meet my hands in a more satisfying fashion. But I would hover, slide fingers lightly along one side of her lips, then the other, almost, but not quite approaching her engorged notch.

Her breath was restless, legs stiffening and then moving about. We reached a level where I suspected I could just vibrate the tip of my tongue on her notch and she would climax.

So then I left off again, rubbed her chest, dragged my mouth and tongue along her side, found hip bones and soft inner thigh muscles to kiss whilst she quivered.

A few times a strangled 'Please!' escaped her lips, she was so reluctant to ask for release, to vocalise her intense desire.

I settled in between her legs, spreading them wide. Her head turned to the side, her arms hugging her chest, wrapping her breasts in her own embrace.

A long lick up one side of lips, down the other, her hips pressing into me, begging for more. Tip of my tongue to her notch and another quiver. Then a slow finger insertion. I could feel her grip my digit.

Mouth on notch, tongue working, my finger pressed up and inwards. She exploded.

Her head thrashed from side to side, hips shaking uncontrollably. The first wave was long and intense, the next three diminished in length and magnitude, until she lay limply on the bed, the left side of her head pressed into a pillow. Ribs were heaving, her thighs had turned soft and lifeless. I eased up alongside her.

We dallied for some time in an embrace, my penis in a furiously aroused state. When I judged her recovery adequate, I settled back on her pillows, my organ fully tumescent, and she began to stroke me.

I would like to think that the shining in her eyes was due to her own excitement, but I am not positive. This was the first time that the translated text had intruded itself so explicitly into her consciousness and our own activities. That what we were about to do had been written down, urged, set into impermeability. Almost prophecised.

Her eyes went to the head of my organ, full, taut, expectant, damp at the tip.

Her lingual ministrations to my penis had always been more than pleasant. Her tongue was soft, wet, imaginative, and her attention had been focused and invariably sensitive to my own pleasure. One cannot ask more when one's genitals are under the control of another's care.

Her tongue and mouth worked me with affection, without rush, concentrated.

Lips over my head, constricting then loosening. Sliding down my shaft, tongue pressing along the ventral surface. My head pressed fully against the back of her throat, yet she did not demonstrate discomfort. Her breathing was relaxed, her attention as though riveted on a manuscript in front of her, not a difficult one, but one worthy of care.

Fingers played lightly along my testicles, stroking, rubbing. She took time off, to my delight, to nuzzle beneath my scrotum, licking wetly, nosing my anxious mass of spawn-producing organs around in their oscillating sack. Each testicle spent time in her mouth, getting suckled.

Then back to my penis, a cycle that went on for perhaps a half-dozen times. My hips grew restless as she continued, it was harder and harder for me to resist pushing back into her throat.

She changed position a few times, most pleasant when I could reach a breast, tweak a nipple. Her head movements excited me, the way her hair moved about, the tip of her tongue extending to sensitive spots along my shaft, the head of my penis.

She could tell, perhaps due to the change in texture of my penis-head, that my crisis was imminent. Her lips constricted around my head, slid up and down my shaft with urgency. My testicles churned wildly, my nerves on edge, close to an impossible state.

A heave and the first spurt was released, several more followed. She held my penis tightly in a lip embrace, moving up and down but never letting go. The discharge from my loins was explosive, abundant, gratifying.

Her throat contracted twice, perhaps three times, as she swallowed. Just the thought of my spawn entering her mouth and innards excited me, another destination for my work.

She nursed at my penis as it shrank, until it became too sensitive to touch. She looked up at my face, her lips with a slight sheen of spawn on them. No one could have exhibited such wanton abandonment. She had pleased me greatly and knew it.

Yet there was one more orifice to infuse.

*****

'Have you a pair of your archival gloves here at home?'

My question caught her by surprise the next night after dinner.

'Yes, why?'

'I should like you to bring them to bed tonight.'

I thrilled when she looked at me with such puzzlement in her eyes, attempting to parse my thoughts.

Before disrobing later, candlelight casting a warm glow around her bedroom, she saw me place a small shallow bowl, of a medieval Swabian design, on the bedside table. She raised an eyebrow.

'You'll see', I said.

While she divested herself from her clothing, I laid myself out naked on the bed, head supported by pillows and the backboard. My organ lay outstretched, fairly limp, on my left thigh.

'I should like you to put your gloves on. Slowly if you would.'

She gazed at me with an odd expression. At this stage I think I could have asked her anything and she would have done it, but the whole evening had departed from even the barest semblance of our normal routine.

I watched as she pulled her gloves on, one finger at a time. Her breasts quivered with her movements, the candle-light casting her curves into shadows. Her facial expression was focused, although she looked at me quizzically as the gloves went on. Already my penis began to stir.

She stood in front of me, nothing on her body save the inconsequential fabric of the gloves. She appeared even more open, bare and vulnerable than if gloves had not encased her hands.

I spread my legs and raised an eyebrow.

She settled in between my legs and held my shaft in one hand, the other underneath my Trinity, slowly rolling them with her smooth, thinly clad fingers.

Her gaze went back and forth from my penis, gradually expanding, to my face, her eyes probing, searching for signs that she was pleasing me. The signs were not subtle.

My penis grew erect until it pointed up, curving away, my foreskin tightly holding my penis-head proud. The friction-free sensation of her gloves differed from the other times her fingers had aroused me. They glided over my taut skin, soft cotton teasing my sensation nodes into delightful spikes of excitement.

She changed rhythm, alternated grip by stroking my member then pulling on it, rolling drawn-up testicles in her smooth-gloved fingers. The knowledge that these gloves had touched other, textual, valuable items in the course of her professional life increased my enjoyment. Desecration has its own pleasures.

I spread my legs further, my erection now quite anxious. I had the ability to climax quickly if I wanted, but willed my arousal into a slower, longer cycle.

She watched as the head of my penis bobbed, grew large and turned colour in the candlelight.

Her own nipples had grown prominent, engorged. They pranced like little ponies as her breasts shifted with her hand movements. I could tell by how she settled on her haunches that her own arousal was under-way.

I laid back a bit further and allowed my serpent to enter its desperate, not-to-be-denied phase. Her right hand groped under my testicles, the other stroking, teasing my penis-head, now wet at the tip.

She sensed my legs stiffening, the catch in my breath, the tautness of my torso. A few more determined strokes and my anus clenched shut. My loins issued forth, an eruption of five good long strings of spawn, coating her gloves, my navel, my chest. She looked satisfied, and we gazed at each other, my ribs expanding and contracting with the exertion.

I reached for the bowl and scooped a bit of the spawn up off my skin. Her eyes followed me, unsure of my purpose. I placed the bowl back on her table. She pulled her well-spermed gloves off carefully, then retreated to the WC to clean herself off, returning with a towel to wipe me dry.

She settled in next to me, entirely unsure of what was to be next. We embraced and I was gratified that when my fingers reached her lips they were slippery, open, beckoning. I nestled, kneeling, between her legs.

My tongue dallied along her lips, taking in the scent and texture. The increasing tautness of her legs and torso were intoxicating to me. I teased, but not for long. This time I wanted her climax to be short and strong.

Soon her hips were bucking into me, my tongue darting up her channel and flicking her clitoris. She hugged her chest, breasts squashed together. Her legs grew rigid, her hips jerked and a good strong series of clenches signalled her climax. Her head went from side to side, little restrained moans escaping her mouth. Rhythmic cycles of tension-spasms coursed through her body, gradually dying to limpness.

I nursed at her slick channel for some time, her overpowering olfactory deluge affecting my own member, which had grown quite hard again.

When her breathing had calmed and her flesh felt limp and soft, I retreated up her body for an embrace. Her eyes shone.

We lay together for some time. Her fingers wandered down to my organ, playing lightly over my engorged head.

I eased her over on to her belly, with a pillow underneath. The sight of her exposed channel, glistening with fluids, was intoxicating, and I ran fingers briefly up and down her lips.

I nursed with my mouth at her split, the lovely liquid lips wide and inviting. One of my fingers, wet with her own fluids, circled her anus and I felt her tense involuntarily. I continued low-level attention to her channel, but increased pressure with my finger along the perimeter of her fundament. My own member was growing impossibly anxious.

I knelt behind her and I knew she expected my now familiar rear-entry, since she settled her head down into the pillows. Yet this time with two fingers I scooped up some of the left-over semen from the bowl and dribbled it about her anus. A finger circled the rim, pressing. Slowly but deliberately her final orifice was massaged, coaxed into a slippery, reluctant willingness. She held her breath when a spawn-slicked thumb pressed firmly enough to open the entrance.

I took my time, employing more spawn as necessary to coat her anus and fundament. She was quite tense, holding her hips still while I opened the way, probed inside her.

When three fingers could fit, I judged the time right.

I sidled up behind her, ran my penis up and down her slippery lips, even just barely inside her channel, enough so that the head was enclosed. She held her breath, and pushed her hips back on me. But I withdrew, and put my head at the entrance of her anus, glistening with spawn.

A long slow push, all the while fingers along her notch, providing stimulation and perhaps distraction. It took several minutes for the head of my member to push past the forced gate of her fundament until it completely encompassed my prick-head.

I paused in delight. The grip on my penis was extraordinary, a constricting jacket of rebellious muscle. I leaned forward over her back, reaching underneath to grope breasts and nick her neck with my teeth. She was tense underneath me. It was clear she had never done this before.

Gradually my penis eased its way in, each slow advance followed by an acclimatising pause. Her rectum walls gripped my member with python-like tightness.

Finally my testicles rested against the bottom of her lips, my member at complete penetration. I bit her neck in pleasure, and she clenched her anus involuntarily. A ring of intoxicating tightness gripped my penis. I twitched my member, she squeezed back.

Breasts were soft in my hands, her body no longer stiff and resistant, but more relaxed, although still hardly welcoming.

I began a series of long, slow pushes, a retreat as my member's head slid along her rectum walls, almost to the clenching anus mouth itself, then carefully back in again, testicles enjoying the pressure against her groin at full impalement.

I rubbed fingers along her lips, which had grown large and swollen again. Pleasure was beginning to grow inside herself, her movements were no longer reluctant, and she pushed back on my penis as it moved forward into her.

Just the thought of our actions, the violation I knew she was enduring for the first time, was enough to inflame me. Her smooth white body laid out beneath me, head hair tossed wildly about her pillows, bum-cheeks spread wide, all of this was incendiary.

I picked up the tempo of my movements, now thrusts rather than pushes. Her breath grew rapid, her fundament clamped down on me with severity.

She climaxed suddenly, her anus grabbing my penis with a frantic death-grip. This urged me into more violent thrusts. I bit her neck, her hips quivered, and my spawn was drawn forth by both the relentless constriction she produced and the violence of my thrusts.

Six good eruptions of spawn discharged into her innards, my testicles straining for a complete infusion. Her head was turned, my teeth in her neck. Her own teeth were clenched about a section of the pillow fabric.

We rested for some time, bodies slick with sweat, muscles expended, energy spent.

Again she wanted me to stay. I had told her I would be away for the week, up north, but I promised her an overnight stay at my lodging, my friend's place, when I was back in town on Friday. I could tell she would prefer the location to be her own home, but she was grateful nonetheless.

We kissed after I dressed, my organ in one of those gratifyingly exhausted conditions. All penile nerves were still tingling, antagonistic to any contact, however gentle. I walked gingerly to my car. I had to keep my legs more deliberately spread than normal when driving back.

I was jubilant. Her final entry had been breached, my spawn now infused into every possible opening she had to offer. I would leave it to her to find the relevant page in the text about this progression. She was now fully anointed.

I thought of the next stages for us, how fervently felicitous they would be.

I wanted to please her. I also wanted to torture her. The two are not always that far apart.

Next, Bound to Know