TABOO TALES(erotica)

“I can feel you right up inside me…. sort of pressing against something… and then -” she lifted herself, gripping his shaft with her vaginal muscles as he withdrew “- I can feel you sliding out… the ridges – your cock head.” She looked down again as his glans appeared. “Look, look, David – look at our juice.” His bell-end was coated with her cream, and as they watched a dribble of it trickled over the swollen purple flesh. “I’ve always been wet, but you seem to bring the best out of me.” She giggled at the double meaning.

“I love it.” David reached forward and scooped some onto his fingertips and pressed it to his mouth. “Ummm. That’s good.”

Sophie laughed. “You like that, do you? Well, here’s some more.” She lifted herself off his cock and swung her torso forward to present her pussy to his face. David plunged his mouth over her vulva, his tongue wriggling between her lips to enter into her body. He could taste the sweetness of her juices, as thick and tart as yoghurt.

She was wriggling on his face, her eyes closed in pleasure. “Oh, yes! Ah, just like that. Fuck it with your mouth!” Her thighs were pressed against his cheeks, the flesh smooth and warm, and he could smell the animal musk of her arousal. She was moving against him, undulating her cunt over his face and he could feel her lips squashed against his and her juices coating his mouth and chin. He began to rub the soft inner flesh of his top lip against her clitoris whilst he thrust his tongue in and out, and she trembled against him.

“Oh, yes… Christ, don’t stop! Ah, ah, yes David!”

She was like a river, her juice pouring over his chin… sweet cunt juice, nectar on his lips. She trembled against him, becoming frantic as she reached up for the first climax. “Ah, I’m coming, David. Fuck, fuck, oh yessssss -” and her pussy contracted violently in orgasm, ejecting a warm jet of fluid into his mouth as she ground herself against his face. His head was against the pillow with nowhere to go and for a moment he felt he was drowning in cunt, her lips and the warm wet discharge seeming to envelop his whole head; and then she fell free, her tight little buttocks resting on his chest and her eyes bright with lust.

“Fuck me, David,” she whispered.

“I will, I will.” He pushed her aside and scrabbled to his feet, lifting her on the mattress so she was kneeling before him. She thrust her bottom upwards and opened her thighs, pressing her face to the sheet. Her sex was pushed back and the lips were parted so he could see the succulent wet flesh of her insides. He could see the cream still inside her too, nestling between her lips like the cream in an eclair, and with a groan of lust he stooped down and lapped at her – long, flat strokes over her vulva to draw out her juices, thick as clotted cream his tongue, then onwards to her perineum and the tight, crinkled little bud of her anus. Lapping, lapping, hearing the snuffling sounds of his mouth on her cunt and the thin cries of her pleasure.

And then he was fucking her, pressing the great swollen head of his cock through the wet open lips of her cunt, sliding down through her pelvic girdle into her belly: long, thick strokes, hot and wet and delicious. Long, long strokes into her little body, watching her wriggling as he fucked her… watching her hands gripping the sheets, fluttering like dying birds as the incredible pleasure washed over her: fucking, fucking, sliding his burning knob deeper and deeper into her body until he felt the seeds of his own orgasm building, and he seized her hips and held her tight in that infinitesimal trembling moment of ecstasy whilst his sperm raced up the long shaft like hot magma from the centre of the earth.

Sophie rode his final strokes like a little boat in a storm, and she felt him suddenly stop and seize her hips. Her consciousness slowed, like a clock that is suddenly run at one tenth of the speed: she felt the bulbous head of his cock swelling like a balloon filling with water, and she imagined the cone of her cervix pressing against the end to block the seething tide of his sperm – and then she felt it burst inside her: the first scalding jet splattering deep in her body. Her pussy contracted violently, clasping David’s shaft and milking it with hard, rhythmic contractions – sucking long jets of his seed from him. She heard him moaning, grunting as he ejaculated, and she felt his emissions filling her. She looked between her legs and perceived his balls jerking and twitching as they emptied, and she saw that she was indeed full and his sperm was leaking from her vulva to dribble and splatter over the rumpled sheets beneath her.

And after a million years their bodies stopped twitching and he withdrew his shaft, slick and shiny with their juices and he flopped down beside her. Sophie brushed the comma of hair back from his forehead and smiled at him. She wondered why he was still single, and why all of the girls from the bank who had shared his bed talked of him as a lonely, troubled guy who could not commit to more than a night or two of pleasure. She felt the warmth of his seed in her body and the tenderness of her sex where his pubic bone had battered it. She saw the little boy lost look in his eyes and she drew his head to her breasts and cradled him, awash with a post-coital tenderness. I’ll be the one, she thought. I’ll be the one who brings him back from whatever troubles his soul, and she brushed her fingers over his face like those of a lover.

David lay in the arms of this faceless girl and thought of his sister, just as he had on every day for the last ten years, and he thought his heart would burst with the pain of longing. Nothing had ever been the same since she had gone, and he knew that nothing would. The transient moments of pleasure like those of tonight were only pinpricks of light in a world of grey and black, and he knew that he must do more to find her. The letter he had sent had done nothing, and tomorrow he would try even harder to find her.

His mind spiraled back to the moment when it had all come tumbling down, and they had said goodbye for the last time in that God-forsaken little hovel they had called home.

*****

“I don’t think I can go on, David. The Priest was right.”

They were lying in their mother’s bed – a move insisted by David as it was bigger than either of theirs, but she had never felt comfortable here and her lovemaking had lost its spontaneity because of it. It was difficult to be uninhibited when everything around you was seeped in her memory.

David was angry. “That little bastard! I ought to go to the Rectory and give him something to remember!”

Jen smiled a little at his words. “That’s what he wanted me to do.”

“I know. Fucking little pervert!”

“I hear that he’s over at Mary McGuire’s place a lot, when her hubby’s not there.”

“Really?” David pushed himself up on one elbow to look at her face with interest. “Where did you hear that?”

Jen shrugged. “Round and about. You know what this place is like – full of people with nothing better to do than gossip!” Her voice was bitter.

“I ought to phone the Bishop and tell him what his boy is getting up to.”

“Then you would be no better than him.”

David shrugged and sank back to the mattress. He had been touching Jen’s breast and his fingers resumed that task, brushing lightly over the round creamy globe. He didn’t expect to get anywhere, though – she seemed to be too tired to do it much anymore.

“How are things in the village, Jen?”

She shrugged. “No better. I go to the bank and the tellers close just as I get to the front of the queue. It’s the same with the supermarket, too, and the woman at the Chemist told me the other day that she didn’t want me in the shop any more because I was driving away the older customers.” She laughed, a bitter mocking sound. “And I didn’t tell you that they’ve changed my job, did I?”

David sat up again. “No. What’s happened?”

“Mr Randall called me into the office. He suggested that I needed a change from the front desk and that he’d decided to give me a research position in the office at the back. I asked him why… he was so embarrassed. He eventually said that people were complaining about me… they were staying away from the shop.” She glanced at him. “Not surprisingly, it’s less money.”

“Isn’t that illegal? Discrimination, or something?”

“So who’s going to care, David? If I tried to hire Sneddon he’d probably tell me to get fucked.” Sneddon was the local lawyer, known for his colourful language outside of the courtroom. Her voice suddenly cracked. “I don’t think there’s a single person in this whole fucking village who would give me a moment of their time.”

But she was mistaken. There were people in the village who were prepared to give her lots of their time – even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

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There were four of them, and they were waiting for her. They’d been in the local pub since early afternoon and like everyone else had heard about the little tart in Willis Street who was fucking her brother, and who was a disgrace to the village. And so, fired up with alcohol and bravado they made a plan and they all laughed and agreed, for if they didn’t teach her a lesson, who would? They knew that every Wednesday she attended the Pilates class in the village hall and would walk home by herself, cutting through the little park just by the graveyard, and so they waited in the shadows for her to arrive.

The gazebo was set back from the main pathway and surrounded by trees and they sprawled on its steps drinking from a bottle of Jim Beam and giggling, their nervousness a palpable thing. One of them was outside the hall with the mobile phone to warn them she was coming, and so they waited and they drank to sustain their bravado: for it was one thing to talk about it but another to do it. The things they needed were behind them on the cold concrete floor – the ropes and the knives and the pillow and the bucket, and there was nothing to do but wait and drink, and laugh at the thought of what was coming.