The Alley of No Return Ch. 06byfursmoke11©
Chapter Six: The Darkness
Ruth Mears perched herself on the edge of a stool and sipped champagne from the chilled glass. She stared at the open pack of Marlboro Lights 100s on the kitchen bar and shivered with delight. How foolish she had been to deny herself what it was she wanted all this time. Next to the cigarettes was a Chanel dark red lipstick; the lipstick of Jane Matthews; the woman she had until tonight despised; despised because she was beautiful, raw, honest, sexual, glamorous...all the things Ruth Mears wasn't. Ruth knew now that all her frustrations, her left wing politik, the hatred within her...were all born of envy and fear of women like Jane.
Ruth picked up the lipstick, took off the lid, and turned it until its glossy deadly phallus emerged. She raised it to her own lips. She had never worn lipstick in her life; always thought of women that did as tarts; playthings of men. Yet she was attracted to women; hated herself for being attracted to painted women. But now she had had enough of living a lie. She placed the lipstick to her mouth. A faint aroma of perfume and nicotine, nicotine from Jane Matthews lips, drifted to her nostrils as she ran the point along her top lip. She shuddered in excitement. Then the bottom. She had watched women pucker; apply second and third coats to build stain and gloss. She did the same. It felt good. The fur fell from her neck on one side to reveal her tanned shoulder. She kissed it, leaving a perfect lip print. She moaned audibly at the sight, and at the gossamer touch of the fox fur on her thighs. She moaned rhythmically on the stool, enjoying the sensations and thought of herself painted. Regaining composure, Ruth reached for the open pack and placed a long white tube to her lips. Then lit it with the slender lighter that also lay on the marble surface. She closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply and felt the ethereal demon enter her again. Oh how could she have denied herself this pleasure for so long.
Did she think she was going to live forever if she didn't smoke? It was fear, conformity, and envy of those who corrupted themselves that had held her in pent up bondage. Now she was free.
She looked at the print of carmine on the cork tip of the cigarette. She smiled in delight. It was her lip print; her that was now the painted woman, and how she was going to enjoy the things that she had always denied herself this night; and for the rest of her life.
Taking the glass of champagne and letting the coat fall from both shoulders to her arms, she sauntered to the puppetmaster's dance to the bathroom, and turned off the taps. The jacuzzi was full; and steaming. She would wait for Jane.
Back in the hall she admired Jane's eclectic Art collection. Stunning variety, originals, not the empty meaningless and cheap contemporary posters that decorated her own minimal flat. She ran her hand over a cold bronze swirling statue of an otter, muscles straining as it turned in imaginary water to hunt a fish. Again her eyes closed and she took a deeply inhaled draw on the white stick that had become an extension of her fingers that night. She would now forever feel naked without one; impossible to imagine life without it. She was reborn; awakened at last to sensuality and primal hunger; and knew for the first time that the adrenaline that was in her veins had inspired the sculptor to recreate the savagery of the otter in pursuit of its prey. She looked at the sleek and streamlined forms of the coursing greyhounds in flight as the wide eyed hare tried to evade them in the stylised Skeaping watercolour above. She lingered on he cold bronze for a while, then continued her survey of the other artworks. Horses, hunting, wild things; things she had been alienated from all her life; things that now excited her with their beautiful savagery. At the end of the corridor was an original drawing that made her stop in her tracks. It was a beautifully executed image of a lady in a Victorian bustle, corsetted tightly, in her lips was a cigarette held by gloved fingers. A veiled top hat did not hide the expression on her face; one of enjoyment of power over the two helpless younger women in her vice like grip of the reins which bound them too her. Ruth's heart beat fast. She had never seen anything like this before; what dark world did Jane Matthews live in; what secrets of the human soul had she explored. Norma shuddered again in prospect of delicious discovery at the hands of her new mistress. She looked at the signature on the drawing: "Sardax" was clear.
Pulling the slipping fur back around herself, and enjoying its lick against her tingling thighs, she turned into the living room. She flicked her cigarette repeatedly in the crystal ashtray that glittered on the slate table. She collapsed on the huge welcoming leather sofa, and tucked up her legs into foetal position, taking a mink cushion to her breast. As she hugged it, she closed her yes, tilted back her head and inhaled from her cigarette again, writhing with sensual ecstasy as se exhaled toward the ceiling.
She looked at the huge flashes of deep red, pink and gold that covered the expressive painting of the Matador and Torro over the Cotswold stone mantle. Its colours and vibrant aggression thrilled her. Jane Matthews was from a different world to her; all around her was nature straining in its battle for survival; here was no fear of mortality and nothing her existed for mere decoration; everything she knew, had a meaning for Jane Matthews. There was an honesty and everywhere was violence and glory and passion and lust. The rest of the paintings in the room were erotic depictions of nudes; tasteful but each had trappings of fetishism; and also there were beautiful stylised fashion illustrations from the 1950s. The room was alive; exciting , sensual. In front of the fireplace were thick sheepskin rugs in black and white, and marble flooring reflected the glow of the natural looking gas fire. And in this new world, Ruth Mears felt alive, and at the same time for the first time in her life relaxed with herself. Taking another last union with the cigarette, and breathing its deadly vapour hungrily into herself, she stubbed it out in the ashtray and closed her eyes drifting into light sleep as she awaited her creator.
Forty five minutes later she awoke, stirring in the fur and running her fingers through her tousled spikey dark red hair. She rose to her feet and was pleased to find herself reanimated by the touch of the fox al over her naked body. She pulled its plush collar around her face and smiled, and walked into the kitchen for another cigarette and glass of champagne,. As she did so, she caught sight of herself in the window pane.
"I look like a high class whore!" she said aloud, and thrilled at the prospect of it; laughing with her new huskiness. She flicked the sound system on and wondered what earthly pleasures that would add to the mix.
A haunting choral gave way to a thudding bass that reverberated to Ruth's cervix through her flesh,
And she paused on her way to the kitchen to move rhythmically against a column. She didn't know what the music was, but it was dark and deep and made her feel alive and celebrate the death of the uptight moralista she had been until a few hours before.
Continuing to the kitchen she poured another champagne from the bottle that she lifted from the ice bucket, and before putting it back she placed it between her legs, gasping deeply at the pleasure and shock of the cold against her nakedness, and gradually moving it up the front of the tanned body that begged for its contact too. Her now desperately erect nipples strained to feel the caress of the fox furs that licked them, and she reached for another Marlboro light as she reclined over the marble surfaces and lit it. Rising again she floated to the window and stood, naked and smoking and cloaked in the power of the fur , and again raised the cigarette to her lips.
She couldn't see Jane Matthews approach the prestige apartment conversions. Jane looked up at the window and smiled as she saw the hauntingly sexy silhouette lit only by back lighting and the orange glow of the cigarette she held to her lips. "She's alive...! Alive I tell you...!" Jane laughed as she fumbled for her spare keys between the loose stone in the wall opposite the Georgian buildings. It was freezing, and Jane was shivering in just her velvet dress, though the taxi had dropped her right there. She couldn't wait to get into a hot tub a hot fur or a hot girl; whatever came first. Shame about Carlos she thought, but hey it had been less than 6 hours since she had had a guy, and somehow his semen still felt warm inside her.
As Ruth swayed rhythmically at the window smoking he cigarette, in full view of the world, she listened to the strange words of the song that shuddered into her body as nicotine coursed her veins; and exhaled through teeth gritted in sublime pleasures of her new flesh.
"Sing, child, of right and wrong
Gimme things that don't last long..."
"...On daze, like this
In times like these
I feel an animal deep inside
Heel to haunch on bended knees..."
Ruth Mears just lit out a gentle sigh as Jane Matthews wrapped her arms around her from behind and took her cigarette from her. "Sing This....Corrupion..." to me indeed thought Jane as her body pressed against Ruth's. Ruth's eyes were closed as she heard the thing sizzle in her ear despite the haunting depths of the song that seemed to hold her transfixed.
"It's my favourite song..." Jane whispered the full exhale interrupted by her softly moving lips. Ruth's eyes opened; her pupils dilated with the inebriation of the moment, and opened her mouth to drink hungrily from the thick white plume of smoke that exited Jane's smile, as she pulled her velvet body inside the coat too.
"You're cold.." Ruth said whispering the exhale back, and pulled up her dress to press her warm skin against her that of her colleague's.
Jane took another deep drag on the cigarette, and tongues gently probed the smoke filled darkness in warm communion.
"I like you in lipstick..." Jane spoke biting her lip, and clawing at Ruth's body through the soft blue fox pelts.
They caressed each other, smoke devils frighteningly silhouetted as they writhed upright in animated deep fur embrace against the window to the gaze of a passer by who stood transfixed below. But the women were oblivious to anything but the pleasures of their own corrupted flesh. Another song no less primal, thudded from the sound system in Jane Matthews apartment.
The words this time Ruth Mears think she understood; as another jet of burning pleasure and pain from her dark seducer's lips seared her lungs
"And the devil in the black dress watches over
My guardian angel walks away
Life is short and love is always over in the morning
Black wind come carry me far away...
...with a gun for a lover and a shot of pain inside
you run for cover in the Temple of Love"*
(song lyrics: The Sisters of Mercy "This Corrosion" and "Temple of Love")