Ponzu
I pulled my collar up higher, hunched my shoulders, and shoved my hands deeper into my coat pockets, where my phone vibrated — her text came through: "pulling up) ". Strange, when I read it, I heard her voice in my head, though what's strange about that, or wait, I don't read messages from my friend Misha in his voice, even though I've known him for a hundred years? A peculiarity of perception? A craving for the transcendent? Games of the unconscious? Hmm, I'll have to experiment with reading VKontakte correspondence. About five minutes later, a silver-colored car swung around the corner on a red light (what else, time is money), I waved my hand at it and it pulled up to where I was standing. She was sitting in the back. I opened the passenger door, greeted the driver, asked how much the ride was, he fumbled with his smartphone, named the amount and asked for exact change (interesting, what was he expecting?), of course I had a single bill, and upon receiving it the taxi driver showered me with a cascade of ten-ruble coins, weighing down my pocket so much I wouldn't have to worry about my own immobility even during a hurricane.
By this point she had already gotten out of the car, she was wearing high-platform boots, a sensible choice she had bragged to me about a couple of times, tight gray jeans, a warm hooded jacket with fur trim, the wind played with her hair, but without trying to scatter it chaotically, she stood there winding her headphones into a neat little knot, tucking the last bit into the depths of her bag. I gather it would take a whole speleological expedition to find them there later. I walked over, put my arm around her shoulders and kissed her:
— Hey, baby, listening to some rap?
— Hey! Yeah — and named some performer I'd never heard of before, I'm not well-versed in that, alas
— How was your day? — I asked
— Oh, today it was just crazy. Sundays are often fun for us. They wanted to call me in for tomorrow too, but I dodged it, enough already
— Really tired? — I took her bag and with my free hand took her arm and we walked towards the entrance
— Yeees, a lot, want to lie down soon..
— I have something invigorating for you — I interrupted her
— Hm, how intriguing that sounds — she said with a sly note and a smile
— Oh, I can't wait to apply it to you — I said conspiratorially
I opened the metal door of my building entrance, we went up to the elevator shaft, I hung her bag on my forearm closer to the elbow, hugged her and pressed my lips to hers, the elevator door opened and I pressed her to me with all my strength, lifted her off the floor and stepped into the elevator in that pose, we rode with our eyes closed, pressing our lips together, not kissing, but just frozen in a kiss. At that moment I wasn't thinking about anything, except maybe I was curious what she was thinking, or does that already not count as thinking about nothing? I wished it would last forever, I liked feeling her lips and her breath through her little nose, warming my face. The elevator, having arrived at my floor, nevertheless decided to remind me that time is not infinite, though it depends for whom, I again remembered the legend about that adventurer the Count of St. Germain, who managed to obtain immortality.
I took the keys from my pocket, opened the heavy red apartment door with two sharp turns, and we walked down the long hallway, my room was at the very end, where the light often didn't work, evoking old childhood fears that turned any silhouette, rustle, and creak into a panic phobia, giving them life.
I turned on the light, while she was taking off her boots, holding onto my forearm with one hand where her bag hung, I opened the door to the room, quickly taking off my shoes I entered, hung her bag on the back of the chair, she was already standing nearby
— Your floor is cold — my guest stated
— Don't worry, I'll warm your little feet now — I quickly parried, taking off her jacket — You're not hungry? Want me to make you something?
— Maybe a little later? I want tea — she took out her phone to reply to someone
— Okay, I'll brew some now. But later you won't be up for it — I put away my coat and her jacket in the closet
— Give me a t-shirt instead
— One sec — and I started looking for suitable wardrobe items in the depths of my closet, god, order can be anywhere, but not in my head or in my closet. Everything is mixed up, crumpled, I'll have to finally tidy up, maybe something will clear up in my head too. I did manage to extract what I was looking for — a long white tank top.
— Here — I handed it to her, — I'll go pump some tea
And as if out of considerations of gallantry and gentlemanly conduct, I didn't watch her change, even though I had seen her in all the glory of her naked body, her sweet body… Okay then, fantasies a little later. I was already in the kitchen, lit the gas and put the kettle on to heat. Leaving the room I grabbed a couple of tea bags from the package. I stood next to the table, leaned my backside against its edge, took the snatched bag from my pocket and started examining it, waiting for the water to boil. Spring melody. Black tea. Spring melody, black tea — I said to myself. Tea? Or maybe tay? After all, that's how the English pronounced this word back in the 18th century, due to its Chinese origin. In Alexander Pope's novel "The Rape of the Lock," the word tea rhymes with the word obey, so often encountered in the city now, usurped by Shepard Fairey, who created that awful monotonous schmatte. The critic in me woke up again. Oh! The water boiled.
I hurried to turn off the gas, the radio was playing one of my favorite songs "Eye in the Sky" by Alan Parsons, I started singing along quietly, luckily no one could hear me, my vocals could make guitar strings snap, I'm some Farinelli, luckily with intact testicles, unlike the latter. I took two tall white cups from the top shelf, one featured a black cat with grotesquely elongated forms, the other a chick with eyes disproportionately large for its body, I, as my friend said, had the same when I found out I had flooded the neighbors living on the eighteenth floor. I opened the tea bags, placed them in the cups, poured boiling water and, grabbing them, headed back to the room. Slightly bending down, I pressed the handle with my elbow and opened the door and with a light movement of my foot closed it. I noticed how she neatly folded her clothes on the chair (I wish I had such discipline after work!), probably it's professional, given her experience working in a clothing store. But most likely a mix of professional skills with a purely feminine desire to order everything in life, be it planning the family budget or arranging clothes on shelves by color.
She was already sitting tucked under the blanket, knees bent and leaning against the back of the sofa, her bag lay on its corner at the edge, next to a charging cable and an open pack of mint tissues.
— Your tea, madam! — I said with the most prim intonation I could muster
— Ooh, thank you, — she put her phone aside, pulled away from the sofa and sat down crossing her legs in a lotus position, stretched out her hands and took the cup with the cat, — How are things at work?, — she blew on the tea a little and took a careful sip
— Oh, fun. Our team is a riot, I like it. Relations with management are strong and healthy, either they get me, or I get them, — I said with a judicious expression. She smiled. We gossiped a bit about mutual acquaintances, that incomprehensible whirlpool of their relationships with each other.
— Let's, — she said joyfully
— I'll start with the little feet, — at that moment she rose a bit and started turning around fixing her hair by putting it in a ponytail, I put the cups on the nightstand next to the bed, — Wait, just need to put on some music, — I connected my phone to the speakers and typed the track "Opium" by the collective Dead Can Dance into the search — a good hypnotic tune, love listening to it before sleep.
She was lying with her hands tucked under the pillow and her head on its edge so her neck wouldn't stiffen too much, her hair was pulled over her shoulder, I covered her back with the blanket, admired her butt, she was wearing dark blue lace panties, I gently ran my hand over it, it was slightly cool, apparently she hadn't fully warmed up yet, and covered it with the blanket too. I sat cross-legged beside her little feet and placed them on my thigh, I had already prepared an analgesic cream with a strong menthol scent, which a friend brought me from Thailand, used by Thai boxers, very conducive to relaxation and healing. I know from myself what it's like to spend the whole day on your feet without really sitting down once and so all week, and she's quite the Stakhanovite, though she says her feet are used to it, well be that as it may, they need rest, and massage is one of the best remedies. One of my female friends gave me a foot massage after work, the next day I was skipping along like Gene Kelly meeting the rain.
— It'll feel a bit cool now, then warm, — I said rubbing the cream between my palms, — Tomorrow you'll be flying
— I'd like that, — came from under the hair
I started rubbing the cream into her feet, alternately, first the left, then the right, quickly, so the muscles wouldn't cool down, before palpating points on the feet the muscles need to be properly warmed up, at least ten minutes of rubbing.
— Such a cool tingling, — my patient said muffledly
— The best part is still ahead, — I replied, pleased with myself.
— Feel the burning? — I asked
— Yeees, that's not all, is it?, — she replied with a playful intonation
— Well, depends on what I get for it? — with sly notes I asked the question all guys ask in such situations
— Well I could spend the night at home, — she said in a voice not devoid of humor, making herself the mistress of the situation
— You have a long way to go, — I reasonably noted, starting to massage her feet again, — Your phone will die soon… — I tried to improve my position
— Oh, you can put it on charge, — this was clearly not a question
— Of course, — luckily everything was within arm's reach
I started massaging the "points" on her feet, combining circular motions with light and heavy presses of my thumb pads.
— I'll go wash the cream off my hands. — I said, covering her legs with the blanket, she turned on her side, — did you like it?
— Very much! My feet feel so warm now, so relaxed, — she purred, turning towards me.
I returned to the kitchen, turned on the tap and started thoroughly soaping my hands and forearms to wash off all remnants of the Thai ointment. Menthol, like capsaicin, is a very irritating compound; if you don't wash it off completely and scratch your eye, for example, you can catch a chill for an indefinite amount of time, not dangerous, but not particularly needed either. There was a mirror in front of me, every time I look in it I always think about changes in my appearance, are they caused by the properties of mirrors described even in Alhazen's treatises or by the forces of earthly gravity? I'm actually often not thrilled with my appearance. I remember when I was about eighteen a girl fell in love with me, and she later said it was because I was handsome, I thought then she was crazy and for me infatuation remained equivalent to madness.
After drying my hands thoroughly I went back to the room. My guest was lying turned towards the wall with her little legs tucked up, the blanket was pulled up just above the elbow, her hair was tousled, but not too much, covering the pillow. I lay down next to her leaning on my elbow and with my free hand gently ran through her hair, which like a spring stream flowed between my fingers, I made a couple more such movements and with the back of my hand stroked her cheek, sweet, so sweet, closed little eyes, pursed little lips, I started stroking them with my thumb, they're so warm… And at that moment she bit me
— Oww! — I said, clearly exaggerating my suffering. — I did offer you food. — I said with irony.
— I told you I don't like being touched on the face. — she said innocently, lifting the corners of her luxurious lips.
She turned towards me, I was lying leaning on my right elbow on the sofa, with my free hand I squeezed her shoulder and started lowering my palm lower and lower, running it several times over the area she called "goosebumps," after which moving to her waist I headed for the edge of the t-shirt, watching how her breasts pulled the fabric, I couldn't wait to tear off everything hiding this tender flesh, she was like an exotic fruit, beckoning with its sweetness. As if understanding my thoughts she sat up tucking her legs, I mirrored her pose, sitting right in front of her, not stopping passionately kissing her, I started pulling up the tank top on her, she removed her hands from my shoulders raising them and in a moment she was in just a bra. I leaned back slightly to admire her fixing her hair, I looked at her and fueled my appetite. She is so tender and beautiful. Her hair shines in the yellow lamp light, shimmering, the ends slightly curled. Her eyes like two shiny morions, in which pulsating flame plays. Her back straight as a pillar of Solomon's temple.
And it was impossible to look away from her breasts, concealed by a dark blue push-up bra. I remembered lines I recently read by Gilbert of Holland — "… beautiful are the breasts that rise a little and are moderately full… Held, but not squeezed, gently bound and do not sway." Between these sweet fruits, so proportionate to each other, hung on a sturdy gold chain a small crucifix of the same metal, glinting and reflecting the lamp's glow. Like a symbol, reminding of original sin, barring the forbidden fruit, so alluring with its beauty, enticing and delighting the eye. Was it not of this bodily beauty that my beloved Augustine spoke, trying to give it a laconic definition: "Proportion of parts together with a certain pleasantness of color." If even saints cannot restrain their fleshly attraction, even if through praise of elegant forms, then what remains for me, a mere mortal, but to taste this fruit? To surrender to passion? Just as I wanted to pounce on her.
— Don't you want to turn off the light? — she asked, barely tilting her head, with a barely perceptible reproach and a cheerful smirk, seeing how I, like a boy, stared at hitherto unseen charms.
I was as if brought out of hypnosis, I jumped to the switch in two steps and semi-darkness settled in the room, when my eyes adjusted, everything around would be like Gustave Doré's engravings.
I sat down next to her, and ran my hand through her hair starting from her forehead and ending at her neck. With a light movement I unfastened her bra behind her back (years of training weren't in vain). If I had to participate in a speed bra-unfastening contest, I would definitely not be in last place. At the same time, I don't like bras that fasten in the front, for me it's too simple, devoid of pleasure. If unfastening it required guessing a word from three notes, tap dancing, and playing a Dorian mode with your shin bone on a radiator, then I would be happy. One thing I don't know is which is more convenient to handle if you wear it every day, though you can always turn it around before fastening.
The straps of her bra began to slide smoothly along her shoulders, she easily freed herself from it, placing it on the arm of the sofa to her right. And I pounced on her breast, as if it were vessels full of life-giving moisture found in the midst of a scorching desert, I squeezed it with my hand sinking my fingers in with all my strength alternating rough presses with gentle tender touches of my fingertips to her nipples. I sank my teeth into it forcefully like the juicy flesh of spring fruits full of sugary juices, interspersing this with tender licks of my tongue, as if apologizing for excessive roughness. With my other hand I gripped her hair at the very nape, winding it around my palm, periodically I pulled it with roughness, satisfying her craving for submission. She liked everything I was doing, I felt it from the heat flowing through her, from her pliability, from her sharp inhales and the thunder in her chest.
I took off my tank top and she ran her nails over my torso several times, then showered it with a series of tender kisses, so cool and hot at the same time, they could heal any wound, it could be the best anesthesia, I would agree to them even if she were cutting me with a knife.
We started kissing again, passionately and quickly as if for the last time. She stroked my arms sometimes gripping them with force, I held her by the waist, squeezing it. She pressed against me and I felt the slight chill of the crucifix pressed against me and immediately the tender warmth of her breasts. I ran my hands over her back, forcefully grabbing her skin, as if letting her know she couldn't escape anywhere.
— I really want you. — this little one whispered
I laid her on her back and showered a hail of kisses on her body, starting from her neck and ending at her stomach, so that not a single square centimeter of her body remained uncaressed by me. I moved to licking with my tongue and started drawing circles around her stomach getting closer and closer to its center, with one hand I leaned on the sofa, with the other I stroked her between her legs.
When I reached her navel I came across a piercing from which a sour metallic note spread over my tongue, combined with the slight saltiness of her body, it reminded me of Japanese ponzu sauce, which goes perfectly with many dishes and especially raw products like oysters. Oysters, those beautiful gifts of the sea, and her name was harmonious with the sea. And she herself was for me that most exquisite delicacy, consumed only raw, or rather, moist. Did I already say I'm a pervert? I could feel with my hand the heat emanating through her dampening panties.
I continued playing with her belly with my tongue, I slipped my hand under her underwear, and started caressing her mound, entering it with two fingers, she began to writhe as if lying on hot coals, at that moment a crash of ice chunks falling from the cornice hanging over the windows sounded outside, I wouldn't be surprised if it was precisely her hot breath that melted them and made them collapse. With her hand she stroked my head, I descended lower and lower, combining licks with light nibbles. My palm was already half wet, what a juicy pussy she has, I thought, I couldn't wait to tear off the remaining underwear and I didn't hesitate, moved on the sofa so as to be right in front of her and with both hands quickly pulled down her panties. She reminded me of a barely opened flower bud, was tender and hot, I started caressing her using my tongue and supplementing the action with a finger — a long-tested technique. Her heavy breathing flowed into moans, I don't know how long it lasted, and I heard:
— Come to me. — she said breathing deeply
I rose on my hands to kiss her, she hugged, stroked and scratched me, and I felt her hand start sliding down my stomach getting under my shorts, to say I was pleased is an understatement, that's for sure. I hurried to take off my shorts and climbed a bit higher, kneeling so that her stomach was beneath me, she gripped my cock tightly with her palm and began, if one can say so, to make thrusting motions. I squeezed her breasts with both hands, she continued to breathe deeply and move her body seductively, especially passionately she bit her lips and I couldn't resist entering them.
— Without a condom? — she said a bit annoyed and tired, continuing to move her body so seductively, burning with passion.
No, I thought, not now, not with her, I wanted so much to drink her in, plunge into her moisture, feel her from the inside, become one without any barriers.
— Without, — I replied and entered her forcefully, she arched her back gripping the sheet with one hand and scratching my arm with the other. I entered her more and more often and deeper, I liked looking at her, hearing her breathing and moans, it drove me into a frenzy.
But I still didn't know what to do with her? Fuck her or make love? I never fully figured out what she preferred more, or is she a universal like me? I dipped my fingers into her little mouth again, I liked how she nibbled them and licked them with her tongue, burning with her breath. It thrilled me to watch how her incredibly beautiful breasts swayed in time with my movements, and I sped up possibly not so much to please her as to rock them, satisfying my visual whims.
— Baby, get on top of me, — I said with ragged breath, my breathing was like after a light sprint.
I pulled out of her and leaned on my side allowing her to free her leg from under me, lay on my back, she blessed me with a blowjob for about half a minute and sat on top raising herself on her knees above my waist.
She moaned so beautifully, stroked my palms lying on her breasts, slid her fingertips over my forearms sometimes scratching my torso. I put one hand on her neck, she lowered her chin to catch my thumb with her mouth and started sucking it sometimes biting a bit harder than necessary, I'm afraid I'll need ice soon. I took my finger out of her mouth and squeezed my hand on her neck. It's hard for me to understand where this urge to choke comes from, but I started squeezing my palm tightening around her throat, and felt how strongly her pulse beat as if sensing danger, like a songbird trying to break free from a net. What is it, my alter ego, my Mr. Hyde or a standard sexual deviation caused by frustrations or an internal human need to destroy beauty? I'm tired of this reflection. I already just wanted to fuck her, forgetting everything, plunge my being into primitive urges.
I pulled out of her again, she sat tucking her knees in front of me, I sat leaning on my hands behind me and spreading my legs, between which she was, with one hand she masturbated me, with the other she stroked my testicles, and we kissed, kissed I don't know for how long, as if trying to drink as much as possible from each other. She is so fragile, innocent and victim-like, I wanted to dominate her, subjugate and possess. I started moving behind her back while kissing her neck, every millimeter. With my hand I pressed between her shoulder blades and started bending her over, she obeyed easily, mentally I caressed her, said she was my Fata Morgana, my Beatrice, my Atra Regina. She leaned on her hands on the sofa on her knees, I ran my hand along her back pressing slightly in the middle and she, understanding the hint, arched her back, her buttocks parted opening the way to her pussy, she moved her body asking me to enter her, I stroked her between her legs with my palm, adjusted my erection a bit with my hand and entered her again, as deep as I could.
I held her by the waist and quickened my movements. I took her hair and pulled it forcefully, she let out a slight cry, I pressed against her with my whole body and sank my teeth into the place where her neck meets her shoulder. I clenched my teeth with force, controlling her, roughly pulling on the ponytail, as if she were my prey my victim, and she could no longer escape, I fucked her with beastly strength and growled like an animal, feeling all my primal essence. Her moan delighted my hearing, I would give anything now, just to come inside her, I wanted so much to leave a piece of myself inside her, but now that would be colossal disrespect to her, to her health. I already felt the first urges to ejaculate. I rose up with her, still sinking my teeth into her and holding her hair.
— I'm almost there, — I whispered in her ear.
She lay on her back, and with her hand jerked my cock very fast, with her other hand caressing herself. The movements of her body were so smooth and feminine, she was like a cashmere scarf fluttering in a warm August wind, so gently she writhed. Her lips tightened in sweet nibbles and her eyes were closed. I felt my seed burst forth reaching her very breasts, showering them with its heat, she smiled and let out a tender drawn-out moan. I admired her, I couldn't take my eyes off her, I was pleased to watch how drops of my sperm ran down her breast, how she stroked me between my legs, I was happy, I hope she was too.