Slaves of Set

I opened my mouth at last, and I said the only thing that was truly on my mind. I told her that I wanted her, I told Sid that I needed to have her. She looked at me as if she had not noticed I was there beside her. She didn't say a word, but she didn't look away either, and she did not get up to leave.

"Please Sid." I whispered. "I can't stop thinking about you. I need you so bad."

"Oh yeah?" She replied, and I felt silly at the words I had said, but I couldn't seem to stop myself from plunging ahead.

"I want to be inside you Sid...please..."

Sid shrugged, but this time she smiled and she did not move away. I took it as a step forward then...now I know her smiles better, I have had a chance to know them intimately. I know the savage will that lurks behind them, I know the cruelty her smiles contain. I see myself now as she must have known me then. As a fragile bird stepping hopeful into her hand, something weak and frail that could be devoured all at once.

She asked me if I was sure. I should have taken my time in the response. But my prick was sure, it was pressing painfully against my fly, and it was doing the thinking then. I was lost in my desire and there was nothing else in that moment that could have mattered. I told her that I was sure, without the slightest thought to what that might have meant.

She nodded, was casual about it. Her nonchalance should have been unnerving, but I hardly noticed in the face of her rising up off the couch, as she pulled the sweatshirt up over her head, and then pushed her jeans down around her hips. I should have protested, I should have thought about a hundred things, not the least the fact that John was in the house, that he could wander in at any moment.

The truth is I didn't even consider the thought. It did not occur to me and simply didn't matter.

She was standing before me, naked before the television light, and I did not need to be evasive with my glances then, I could drink her in. Total and in full. Her body was so inviting, much like my wifes, but marked in its difference. I saw at once that the hair that curled between her thighs was a darker shade of red than Josie's, I saw that the hue of her pussy lips was lighter, a blush of soft pink muted in the snow. I drank in the black ink that trailed across her offered flesh, the words and the images that my eyes traced over but I did not take the time to find their meaning or to believe that they could mean anything at all.

She stepped lightly out of her jeans, kicking them away, and she moved so that she was standing right before me, until my nose was just inches from heat of her sex. I watched her pale fingers sliding down her gently rounded belly, through the light thatch of her pubic hair, and with those fingers she spread the lips of her pussy before my eyes, my mouth watering at the offered scent...

She spoke to me then. She laid it out clearly.

"If we do this, we go all the way." Sid warned. "There won't be another chance to walk away. If you want me baby, if you really want this...then that is it. You go the distance beyond this point. All the way."

As if I might have said no.

There is no warning that I can imagine, and I have tried to imagine, that could have torn me from my purpose that night. She could have revealed in herself some prescience gift, and stood like Cassandra reading me the prophecy of all that would pass, word by word act by act from the first moment of the bargain to the very end, wa=hatever that might be. She could have told me anything and it would not have mattered.

I would never have believed her.

I did not look her in the eye as I gave my answer. I did not offer my reply in words.

I heard a heavy exhalation that was my own breath, and it came out as a moan, as a needy whimper and aching longing, and I stifled the sound that I offered in the sweet damp warmth between her thighs.

I clutched at her hips as I pulled her too me, hungry, ravenous, as furious to taste her as she had seemed the night before and there was not time to track the progress of my tongue through her folds and valleys, I did not have time to register the sensations that mingled together upon my lips and tongue. It was a blur into which I plunged, and her wet and trembling depths seemed endless before me.

In an instant I discovered a thirst inside me that I had never known was there. I had been married for twenty six years, I had eaten Josie's pussy countless times, but never had I felt so overwhelming a desire for it as I did that night between Sid's thighs. A drowning man, one who wanted nothing more to be drowned, and to know each sweet second of the experience.

I could hear her moaning gently above me, all sound muffled in the closeness of her flesh. I could feel her fingers winding through my short hair, the lines of her palms against my ears.

It could not have been more than a moment I lingered there before her grip tightened, and she pried me away from all that she had offered. She has told me since, whispered it to me in her cruelest moments that her only regret is that she did not take a picture of that instant, that she had not thought to record my face slathered in her wetness, the wide and pleading hunger in my wide eyes. She has told me that in that moment, in that one look she could see that there was no limit to what I would do for her, no boundary I would not cross.

I had no sense of this then, of course, I could only look up her delightful body and see that she was smiling.

"You like my pussy, baby?" she asked me then, keeping her grip firmly on my scalp to keep me from plunging my mouth back into her. " You like eating my pussy?"

"God yes Sid." I gasped. " I love eating your pussy."

"Not yet." She told me, and she stepped back.

I thought that something had gone wrong, that I had frightened her in my eagerness and she would vanish once again, but instead she nodded to my pants and shirt, told me that she wanted me naked. I had thrown off my shirt and risen to undo my belt when it finally occurred to me that John could wander in at any moment, and I gently suggested to her that we should go upstairs.

Her response surprised me, the indifference in her voice, when she said that it wouldn't matter any longer, that it was now all the same to her.

"I'm going to ride your dick now." she told me. " I'm going to bounce on that big cock of yours until you burst inside of me, while you sit there on the couch, while the TV played behind me like it's just another night. Don't worry about John, baby. I don't think this will take too long."

She reached out and undid the buckle of my belt herself, pushed my khakis down to the floor and when her thumbs hooked into the elastic of my boxers I forgot to be nervous, or else I simply couldn't care. She slid the boxers down my body and my cock sprang free, as hard as it had ever been. As she pushed me back upon the couch I felt as though I was twenty years younger, I felt that my prick was made of iron and would burn inside of her and never subside.

She climbed on top of me, her thighs so hot against my own as she lowered herself onto my waiting organ, the soft sound she made as the swollen head first parted her wet lips and rose swiftly into her as she descended.

She had meant what she had said. She rode my dick, there was no other definition for it. In the instant that she began to move I forgot every lesson I had ever learned about love making, every little trick to please a woman in the moment. There was no time, and no way for me to do anything but try frantically to hold onto her body, to any part of her as she bucked frantic upon me. It was not love making at all, b=not even sex. It was fucking, the very spirit of the raw red word, a senseless passion, animal beyond all art.

She rode me, used me, the hard length of flesh between her legs the only matter of concern. I might have been anyone, or no one at all. It did not matter as her pussy raised up to dance at the head of my prick only to slam down and engulf the whole of me once more, my legs shaking with the impact, a swiftly building ache that in a distant way I knew in the morning would have turned to ugly purple bruises.

There was nothing for me to do, nothing I could do, but simply let her take me as my hands gripped for purchase upon her curved body, her ass , her hips, her swinging tips, and I was as lost as she was and gripped each offered piece of her with all my might, careless about the morning, about the marks, about the pain beyond this moment. I let everything go, and in that moment was nothing but an animal.

I was conscious of the words she spoke, as I was conscious of the times her teeth closed roughly on the flesh at my neck, my shoulders, the pain of her nails gouging deep into my back. Her breathless words were just another flashing instant in the storm, and I heard them without paying them any mind.

"Do you want to be my bitch baby? Do you want to be my fucking dog? You're wifes weird sister? You want to shove this big fat cock up her little pink asshole baby? I'm going to own you, baby...my little fucking dog..."

Words without meaning, flashing through the tempest. Words whose meaning I could not fathom beyond the recognition of the language employed.

I remember that she spoke my wife's name, a hot throaty whisper in my ear reminding me of the other, the woman I loved.

"Josie...Josie..." like a scourge, but it only drove me deeper into her.

She whispered my wife's name as I felt her tighten on my prick, as her spine arched so sharply it seemed like it might break. She whispered " Josie" as she slammed down upon me one last time, impaled herself on me and came gushing around my cock. I came as well, shooting into her with only a deep and final gasp, the rattle of a small death and filled her.

She bucked a few more times before her body fell against mine, hot wet chest to hot wet chest, her damp hair falling on my shoulder as she shook. My own head falling back, my whole body curling into a paroxysm of faint spasm before I too went still, limp. Used up.

We lingered there for a moment, as I tried to collect my thoughts, as I tried to catch my breath. Only dimly aware of who she was and what had happened, the stranger with whom I was still entwined, within whose brimming pussy my prick still twitched and rested.

She raised her head from off my shoulder. She told me that it was nice.

Out of instinct I tried to kiss her, but she turned away and my lips only brushed her cheek before she climbed off of me. I looked down at my emergent cock, and I had never seen it so battered, a proud gladiator worn and down on it's bruised luck.

I could have slept a hundred years.

"Let's go upstairs." She said, as she reached down and took my hand. " Grab our clothes and follow me. We'll use my room."

"What..."

She smiled at me before she turned away.

" Did you think that we were finished?" She asked me. "Come on baby. The night's still young. I think you've got a few more rounds left in you."

Dumbly I collected the clothes that we had discarded on the sofa, on the floor. And without hesitation I followed her into the dark of the rooms upstairs.

What else to say about that first night?

It as a haze within my recollection.

I remember her room most of all, the first time I entered it. We had left her alone there when Sid had moved in, wanting her to feel at home and with some measure of privacy within someone else's house. I had not set foot beyond the door, and in my mind it was still John's room, the stereo in the corner, a shelf of trophies from hockey and from football, posters of models, bands and cars hanging on the walls. In my mind it still smelled of John's cheap aftershave and faintly of pilfered cigarettes smoked behind the garage on late winter evenings.

But it was not John's room any longer, it was Sid's and only hers.

Every trace of John was gone. Where had it vanished to? To boxes unseen in the basement had she given him his things to put up in the guest room down stairs? Or had she simply tossed it all carelessly away into the dumpster some night while the rest of us slept and never knew. The shelves carried the books that she had brought with her, sketch pads, notebooks, pens and brushes and small vials of ink. She had spread a deep plush persian carpet on the floor. She had hung her own paintings upon the wall, and they drew my eye that night, as I had never had opportunity to see them before.

She had hung portraits of herself, her own face, her own body in contortions of agony and ecstasy in hues of umber ,bronze and deep maniacal red. Something alive and something disturbing in the paintings, and they smelled like smoke and something else.

"Gunpowder." she told me as she closed the door and sealed us into her world. " I mix it in with the paint."

And then she was lighting incense around the room, the smells of Saffron and sage, as I lay upon the bed and watched her nudity, drank her in. Did she whisper something to herself as I stroked my raw dick back to hardness, feasting again on the sway of her hips, each faint jiggle of her swollen breasts. I saw her mouth moving in silence as she lit the fragrant sticks to ember, but I was only thinking of what she had said about taking my dick in her ass.

I remember the long hours in fits, flashes like lightning. Snapshots whirling once again, a progression of still images burned into my mind.

Fucking with the lights on, Sid on top of me moaning on my prick. My hands gripping the sweet of heft of tits, pinching rosy nipples until she gasps, the sound of her wetness slapping heavily against my thighs...I can see every inch of her, every small detail. Her tattoos expand to engulf me.

A close up of my dick sliding free of her pussy, her soft lips now swollen and red and my prick is slick and wet, I watch the cum dripping slowly down her thighs until she reaches down to cover herself, to seal my offering inside of her. See it leaking through her fingers. See her smile.

The smell of incense. Jasmine, perfume, oil. Gunpowder.

The sound of her moans, curses, promises, oaths.

Her fingers splayed across my belly, her palms bidding me to lie flat upon the bed. The vacuum of her cheeks as she bobs on my dick, forcing me hard again through the ache of my lower body. Taking her mouth off me, the strands of saliva trailing between the head of my cock and her red inviting mouth. Promising such delights, if only I can get hard...

Get hard. Get hard for me baby...

Don't you want to be inside of me?

A clock chiming one downstairs, where has the time gone? I am standing beside the edge of my bed, watching myself disappear into her pussy, she is bent over, supported on her elbows. I watch the flexing muscles in her strong ass, I watch her reflection in the window, set against the dark of night beyond...

Harder baby...Deeper.

Cum in me sweetheart...

Do you want to be my dog?

The feel of her hand reaching back around my tired bucking hips, a whipped horse in the final stretch, the pressure as her finger delves between the cheeks of my bucking ass. The feel of a single finger on my ass and I cum before she can go any deeper....

I am gasping on the floor, too weak to stand. The incense has all burned away.

The smell of sweat, semen, copper, the fragrance of well used cunt...

She is seated on the edge of the bed, looking down upon me. I see her toes nudging my flaccid dick between thighs rubbed raw. I feel nothing. My dick is a million miles away and I am cold.

Come on baby...get it up one more time for me?

You aren't done are you?

You aren't done...

She taunts me, tempts me. She stares down upon me from every wall. The room is full of her and she is everywhere...upon me...

I see her flicking my softened manhood with her tongue, reveling in the taste of herself.

I see her rubbing my dick between her soft breasts.

She kneels upon the floor, facing away from me. Her forehead pressed upon the floor in supplication, she reaches back and spreads her cheeks, I am staring into her offered ass, the single point of rose between her cleft, sacrificing her final hole to my penetration...I am soft. I am spent.

I am broken.

There is nothing left.

The great light before dawn through the window. I see her glistening pussy spreading wide before my eyes, yawning, cavernous. I hear her voice from faraway.

"Now you eat my pussy baby. Now you lick me clean."

The taste of my own semen upon my tongue mingling with the taste of her...her clit grinding on the bridge of my nose...The sound of her climax as I drink her in...

Josie...

The final image is the one she did take. I have seen it, framed behind glass now, a place of honor in her collection. In my mind I see Sid standing over me, camera in hand. The shutter flashes, I am burned away.

I have seen the photograph she took. I have seen myself laid out upon the floor, trembling, weak, soft. Used up. My face shining with her juices, slick with my own warm semen. I look half dead in that framed photograph. But there is the faintest trace of a smile on my cum flecked lips.

She left me lying on the floor of her room. I know because I woke there, still coated with the dry leavings of our lust, a blanket thrown over me. Sid was gone, only her paintings staring down at me from the walls, drank me in. The light of afternoon throwing shadows on the floor... I could not stand. There was no power left in my legs.

I crawled to my room , dragged myself to my own bed. Curled up, and slept once more.

When I woke again it was evening and every muscle in my body ached. Bruised and battered I limped to the shower at last to clean myself off. I was too tired to think about everything that had happened. I was too worn out to dwell upon what would follow after.

After a long shower some of the life had returned to my limbs, and I was free of the scent of her, of us. I wanted to simply return to my bed, but I knew that I should eat something.

John was in the kitchen when I entered and at once it all hit me. What I had done, all that I had done without a thought.

I had fucked his aunt all night, we had made no attempt at silence.

I met his eyes and expected judgment, hatred.

But there was nothing. No flicker of suspicion, no trace of knowledge unspoken. He simply asked if I had been working all day. I replied that I had, that I had been caught up in tasks and had hardly strayed from my room.

"Well take it easy dad." John had shrugged. " You look like Hell. Get some rest yeah? I can't have you dying on my watch...mom would never let me hear the end of it."

He smiled at me, and then he left.

That was all.

I made myself a sandwich. I opened up a beer, and I sat alone at my kitchen table, looked at the empty spaces set aside for my family, and I tried to fathom the true weight of what it was that I had done.

She found me there of course, bone weary, lost in thought. Chewing on a sandwich that I had not even tasted. I met her eyes and once more I did not know what it was that I should say.

"You're up." She acknowledged. " That's good. You should eat something more than that. You're going to need to keep your energy up for tonight."

There was no mistaking what she meant, but I was exhausted at last, every ounce of pent up passion spent. I told her that we needed to talk.

"About what?"

"About what we did...Sid, that was crazy...I'm sorry, but I have no idea what came over me."

"It doesn't matter now." She told me. "What's done is done."

"I agree...but you and I...we can't do that again. I'm sorry, and it was great...but..."

Sid smiled and she shook her head. She reminded me about what she had said the night before.

"You wanted it baby. Now there's no going back. Why would you even want to stop? You think last night was all there is? Not by a long shot. You aren't close to being finished yet."