-- oOo --
P I C T U R E T H I S
-- oOo --
by
Mary Jorsay Gandmar
maryjg@finebody.com
(c) 1999
JERRY ANTHONY GONSALVES, Goan Christian, resident of Bandra
(West), Bombay, hunched over his keyboard, fingers flying, the
keys clicking softly. A movement past his little white-surfaced
cubicle and he looks up sidelong and feels that quick stab in his
gut, the sudden wrench and lurch, a stirring beneath.
He knows her name, just the name: Veronica. Not the surname or
anything else about her except that she is Front Office,
telephone, reception, despatch and, he believes, now Personal
Secretary to the CEO. He tries to turn back to his machine,
cannot. She's using the fax. She stacks the papers in the slot,
flings her chiffon *dupatta* over her shoulder, punches the
numbers and waits for the handshake. Her manner is relaxed, one
hand on a hip thrust sideways, the fingers curled into the palm,
the body's weight supported on the other, outstretched arm, that
palm on the counter below the fax machine, fingers drumming as she
waits.
She seems unaware of his eyes on her and he lingers. She is dusky,
slender, about five foot five. Others think of her as rather
plain; to his eyes, she is irresistibly alluring. Her lips are
lovely, full and soft and slightly moist. She has dark eyes she
lines with *kajal*. Her teeth are very white, the two front teeth
a tad larger than the others. Her face is an oval, but a shade too
flat. Her nose is small, delicate - actually unremarkable. She
keeps her dark, springy hair to the middle of her spine, and keeps
it drawn back. Her neck is slender as are her fingers, delicately
shaped, well-kept, no nail polish and certainly none of that
ragged last-week's-polish-I-forgot-to-take-off look. She wears
some rings, different ones, no wedding band, a gold bracelet
watch.
She often dresses Indian, not just the western garments favoured
by the old-world Catholics like his mother and Aunt Maude (and no
crucifix at the neck either, he notices), a *salvar-khameez* or
some such.
Today she's wearing one in dark purple, a colour that goes well on
her skin. It has three quarter length sleeves and very slight
imprint pattern, dark on dark. The neck has a low enough cut for
him to see a shadow of her cleavage and, from its tight cut, he
notices - not for the first time - that her breasts are large,
high, full. Her belly is flat and her hips and buttocks neatly
curved. Gold hoop earrings, her finger-rings, her gold chain are
her only jewellery.
She is a compact, tidy little morsel and he wants her. The fax
whines.
His erection rages. He forces his head away, drifting with it.
It's late, and it's the monsoon (in Bombay, it doesn't just
*rain*). The city is sleek, bright black, light from the shops and
buildings spilling onto slick streets. It actually manages to look
good like this. It's coming down harder, umbrellas turn inside
out, the struggling owners drenched, women fighting fabric on two
fronts, the umbrella above and the petulant *sari* that flaps
upward below.
The office has closed, many left early, the water floods the train
tracks and the bus routes. It takes twice as long getting home and
to the ritual assault of sweat in nylon armpits suspended from
swaying straps is now added the dankness of wet clothing.
Jerry and Veronica are among the stragglers. She is stilling got a
stack of filing before her he sees as he peers round his cubicle
to where she sits, three carrels and fifteen feet away. He, too,
hasn't finished. The software code he is rewriting to meet their
internal Y2K deadline is giving him a headache. Some moron wrote
it a century ago and didn't bother to leave a manual. He doesn't
know how many more modules are stuck out on a limb, need to be
attended to. He has recommended, repeatedly, a trashing of this
archaic code for a newer application, Y2K compliant, but they're
cutting costs; and Jerry is in-house, salaried, and they don't
have to pay him by the hour, or even the day. He sighs, rubs his
eyes, saves, backs up, powers down. Tomorrow. One day closer to
the anticipated doom and miles to go.
Jerry collects his folding umbrella, his slim satchel, slips his
feet into his shoes and heads out. Pauses at her desk. She has a
huge folder in her lap, papers strewn all over her work surface,
staplers, a punch, pins and clips scattered. Two sheets held
between pursed lips as her fingers deftly unspring the levers of
the folder. Her fingers are so delicate, long, supple.
"Aren't you leaving?" Jerry asks. "It's very late."
Veronica smiles, a lovely smile that lights her eyes and shows her
teeth, taking the papers in her hand. "I know, but this will never
get done."
"Forget it. Do it tomorrow."
"I've got too much to do tomorrow."
"That's true of every day, isn't it?"
She laughs again. "Yes, I guess so."
"So why is this any different. Let it go. No need to kill yourself
over it. Besides, look at it coming down. It's going to take hours
getting home."
Veronica sighs. "Yeah, guess you're right." She looks at her
watch.
He notices a small, sexy spot just above her right jaw, before her
ear, partly concealed by a whisper of hair that snakes down the
side of her face and curls under her lobe. Her tongue flicks
across her lips. He wants to kiss her.
She begins putting away the papers and files, collects her small
shoulder handbag. Her feet are in open sandals. They'll be wet and
dirty before she gets home.
"Train?" he asks as they step out and take the elevator down the
three floors.
"Mostly but it's very late so I'll be taking the 83-84-86 bus."
That's his route. "Where do you stay?"
She looks a little shy, he finds it even more appealing. "Mahim,"
she says.
That's a stop before his, Bandra. "Oh, I'm at Bandra," he says.
"Same bus." And then, "Funny how come we've never seen each other
on the bus, no?"
She smiles, doesn't answer. She *has* seen him, often enough, but
she's always waited for the next one or got off or slunk into the
back out of sight. She knows where he stays, she's seen his
records - she does the filing, after all - and she knows the
place. But he scares her. He scares her because of the way he
makes her feel.
She knows exactly what is happening. It's happened before, and
always ended in disaster, or near-disaster and a lot of pain
within. She isn't prepared for it again, not so soon after the
last time. But he holds her, this one, she can't seem to flush him
as much as she tries.
He reminds her of the first, he was the best. If he hadn't gone
off to America and there married that dirty whore ... Veronica
pushes the thought back. She is very conscious of Jerry beside
her, feels flushed. They step out of the elevator, cross the
little hall and pause. The torrent continues outside and there is
a cascade over the eaves that blocks all sight of the street, a
curtain of water.
They hesitate. Veronica looks at him, feels a quick jump inside
her. Jerry is tall, lean, strong. Broad shoulders, a flat belly,
none of that middle flab, a wide chest; clean-shaven and square
jawed with smiling eyes and a wide mouth. He wears a simple shirt
without pleats, a single breast pocket, a quiet tie, dark
trousers, well cut. His voice is quiet, always quiet, he never
loses his temper. She knows he is bright and clever. She knows he
likes her, she's felt his eyes roving over her. He hasn't noticed
her eyeing him and thinking about him, recalling the pleasanter
memories of the others before.
They are standing very close and she can feel the heat of his
body. He is wearing a gentle cologne that appeals to her and her
nostrils flare suddenly. She forces the feeling down, her lips
parting with the effort.
He is so sexy. She wants to feel his ...
"Shall we?" He raises his voice over the din of the season.
They flick open their umbrellas and plunge into the street.
"Shit!" Jerry gasps.
Instantly, their umbrellas are whipped inside out, their feet are
ankle-deep in water. Waves of nearly horizontal rain blinding the
streetlights as the wind tears across, bending tall palm trees and
jerking off the plastic sheets over stalls and sheds.
Jerry and Veronica stumble back into the building, soaked to the
skin. Her clothes cling to her curves.
"We'll never make it to the bus stop," she murmurs.
He is hard put to keep his eyes off her, wants to grab her and
press her to him, jam his lips to hers, feel her breasts and then
... and doesn't know how she longs for it, too.
"Taxi? I'll pay. You're on my way."
"We won't find one," Veronica shakes her head.
"We can't spend the night here!"
*Why not*? Her mind cries. *Let's try! And this weather is an
excuse, isn't it*? Aloud, she says, "Okay."
Again, the wild rush and now they run to the taxi stand, there's
one waiting and without asking they dive in, slamming the door,
tossing their umbrellas on the floor. Water streams down their
faces.
"Where?" The taxi driver makes no move to start up. He wants to
refuse them, squeeze them for an extra fare.
"Bandra."
The cab guns the motor. Bandra is far enough away to make it worth
his while and the traffic will be backed up with his meter
ticking.
They have to roll up the windows, back and front. The rain gets
heavier still. The glasses begin to fog. This is India and the
taxi is a 50 year old model; ergo, no air-conditioning, no
defogging. It gets hot. He and Veronica have to sit close in the
middle of the back seat to avoid the drip from the windows. Jerry
takes off his tie, undoes the top two buttons of his shirt.
Visibility is next to nothing. They are crawling along, stop and
go, stop and go, seldom out of second gear. It takes them forty
five minutes to do three kilometres. They are going to be here all
night.
Jerry feels Veronica getting tense beside him. Her face is turned
away, her fingers twisting and untwisting nervously.
"Don't worry, we'll be okay," Jerry murmurs.
"I'm not worried," she says, and it's partly true. She likes being
confined in this small space with him, she likes it very much. His
knee is inches from hers, their shoulders are touching. She wants
to put her head on his shoulder, on his chest, slide her hand down
...
The cabbie has just a single wiper working, he can barely see. He
mutters under his breath, peering through the streaky glass.
Occasionally he wipes the inside of the windscreen to get rid of
the fogging. It doesn't help much, not for long anyway.
Jerry lifts his arm and stretches it across the back of the seat,
behind her head. Veronica tenses. Will he? *Come on! Do it! Touch
me!* She turns her face away from his.
Jerry is nervous, anxious, deeply aroused. He wants her hand on
his cock, then her mouth, then her cunt, then her ass, he wants
her. He is scared, too, doesn't want to blow it with a stupid
move. He doesn't know what she thinks.
He takes the plunge. Tentatively, cautiously, he bends his elbow
and drops his hand to her shoulder. Veronica doesn't move. Doesn't
push his hand away, doesn't move. Jerry feels a sense of relief
and exultation. Perhaps ... perhaps ...
He strokes her shoulder gently as though comforting her. She
remains with her face turned away, her hands in her lap, tries to
keep her breathing steady. Her breasts are swollen already, she
can feel the long nipples stiffening in her dark aureoles, feels
the dampness below. It's been so long, too long, since ... since
the *others*. She misses them suddenly, sorely, misses their
touch, their manner, each one different, each one wonderful but
the best was the first, the others were poor substitutes in her
quest to regain that first loss. She remembers them all, clearly,
each one, remembers how it felt when ...
Jerry's emboldened hand, fingers curled inward, is venturing
afield. The backs of his fingers brush the nape of her neck, her
cheek. Veronica stiffens; it is going to happen, she knows it now.
Still she is unsure, baulking because of the others and the loss
and the pain, not wanting it again.
His fingers ripple up her neck to her cheek, her ear. Her head is
turned away and his fingers move to them.
Veronica succumbs.
She presses his lips to her fingertips, opening them slightly,
moistening them with the tip of her tongue and, simultaneously,
her body presses closer to his and she puts her hand on his thigh
and closes her eyes and leans her head against his cheek and lets
herself slip.
Jerry's mind explodes, pinwheels of joyous anticipation. He does
not know how far he will be able to go, but it is a beginning, a
glorious one.
Veronica's lips part and she murmurs softly, sexily, her eyes
closed. Jerry looks down at her, deeply aroused, feeling tender
and protective and animal all at once. His fingers curl into the
little hollow at her throat, caress her face. She turns her head
this way and that against his hand, kissing his fingers. He cups
her face and turns it closer to his.
Still with her eyes closed, she lifts her arm, takes his under it,
under her *dupatta*, puts his hand on her breast and lifts her
mouth to his. Her lips flower under his, and Jerry's cock throbs
in monstrous excitement as he darts his own into her mouth. Her
breast is wonderful, full and heavy and he can feel the hardness
of her nipple. Her hand begins to slide up his thigh.
The cabbie grins to himself in the rear view mirror. This is good.
It takes the edge off. He wonders if she will suck him off, he had
that happen once.
In the back, their bodies are turned to one another's now, the
kiss lengthening, deepening, breaking, resuming, his hands on her
breasts, hers still nervous, tentatively on his upper thigh not
quite where either of them wants it to be. Her cunt is seeping now
and her breasts are swollen, on fire, she wants to feel his mouth
on them, wants to feel his cock in her hands, under her tongue, in
her lips, and then ... oh yes, especially and then ...
"*MOTHERFUCKER!*" The cabbie swears loudly, slams on the brakes,
the car slithers a bit and then, with a little thud rocks to a
stop. It is rocking oddly.
The two splinter apart in the back, instant worry on their faces.
The road ahead has disappeared.
Water from edge to edge, pavement to pavement, parked cars
bobbing, a bus stranded, a big truck skewed, dead, two other
taxis, other cars. The water is knee-deep, black, there are
manholes there, open ones, you could drown and it is waving,
pulsating, a thing alive.
Veronica cries out, looks down. Water is beginning to seep in
under the door. The engine dies. The cabbie cranks it. It
sputters, dies. He tries again, it doesn't turn over. He rolls
down the window, tries to open the door. Water floods the front,
spurts onto the floor at the back.
"Shit, we're stuck!" Jerry leans forward, peers through the fogged
glass.
Veronica rolls down her window. The road is cambered, higher on
her side than his, still flooded.
"God, what are we going to do?"
*Fucked if I know*, Jerry thinks, truly worried now. They are
miles from their homes, and if this is anything to go by, they
will never make it on foot. They need to get out of here, this
water is going to rise by the look of things.
"How much?" he asks the cabbie, who doesn't answer, concerned
about his only investment. "How much?"
The cabbie tells him, a figure twice normal. Jerry pulls out his
wallet, tosses it on the front seat, the fare and more, *keep the
change*.
"What ... what are you doing?" Veronica gasps as he grabs her
hand.
"Getting out," he mutters. "This water's going up, we have to get
out, *now*, come on, Veronica, let's go."
It's the first time he's said her name she realizes. She likes the
way he says it. No time for that now because he's pushing against
the water on his side.
"It's less here," she says. "It's lower this side!"
"Okay, move, move, move! Quick!"
He leans across her, heaves at the door. Her breasts press to his
arms and shoulders. No time for that, though, not now. Water pours
in, covers the floor.
"Out! C'mon, let's go!"
Veronica grabs her bag and umbrella and, nervously, puts her leg
out. It goes down in the water to the knee. She cries out,
stumbles. Jerry jumps out after her, grabs her, lifts her to the
divider, it's slightly higher, not much.
"What now?" she shouts above the rain, no need for umbrellas, they
are going to get wet anyway.
"This way! Follow me! Hold my hand!" he yells and turns and begins
picking his way along the narrow divider, back the way they came.
"Where are we going?" she shouts.
"Some place higher, hotel or restaurant or something! We're going
to be here all night at this rate, no place to go.
Across the road, a hotel he knows well from the time of another
girl, one he bedded with demanding regularity till she married and
went off to Muscat, or maybe Dubai or Bahrain. They have rooms at
the back he knows, not by the hour, full night only.
They have to get off the divider into what looks to be deep water.
"We won't make it!" she cries.
"Yes we will!" he says. "Trust me!"
He steps off the divider and instantly is up to his knees, her
thighs. Across the road, people huddled on the pavement, it's
still knee deep even there, the entrance to the hotel crowded,
even that looks to be under water. Get out of the water before a
lamp short circuits or something.
It's getting deeper and Veronica is in it to her waist now, her
clothes clinging to her, hair plastered to her head. He holds her
hand and strikes out, determined, gasping, kicking the water
ahead, feeling nervously for an open manhole.
They make it across, a solid wall of bodies standing under the
eaves of the hotel. They try to shoulder in. *Full, all full, no
place, no place*.
*Balls to you*, Jerry thinks, muscles his way through, holding her
hand in his. A harried clerk at the front desk, water over his
carpet, flooding his lobby. Others scurrying around, the place is
full of people, shouting, trying to use the phone, all lines down,
the cellphone networks gone too. The restaurant has closed
service, its floor is flooded too, people sitting and standing,
chairs and tables being moved back to make place for more.
"Joachim!" Jerry lifts his hand and waves madly. "Hey, Joachim!"
A man at the back looks up, sees them, looks exhausted, sweaty,
distraught. He recognizes Jerry, manages a wave, shakes his head
*this is fucking crazy!*
Jerry elbows his way to him, his other hand stretched behind,
holding Veronica's. There's a NO VACANCY sign on the counter.
Jerry goes past, Joachim comes around, their heads bend together,
Joachim lifts the counter flap and they go through and into his
office at the back. Jerry introduces them, Joachim is moaning,
wild-eyed, rummages in a desk, gets a key and tosses it to Jerry.
"Through the back," he groans, and hurries back to the front desk.
Jerry grins, tosses the keys, winks at Veronica and opens a door
behind the desk, to one side. They are in the service area and
they take the service elevator up to the fifth floor.
::::
VERONICA SUCKING JERRY'S COCK.
Half an hour later, they have showered (separately), nothing to
change into, so Veronica wears a terry robe, complimentary, her
hair in a white towel and Jerry makes do with a towel around his
waist.
Veronica phones home and says she is stranded, will spend the
night at a hotel, gives this number. Jerry phones his place and
just says not to worry, he is okay, at Joachim's.
Then they are on their own and free. The hunger leaps through the
space between them and she seems to slide into his arms and their
avid mouths seek each other. Veronica shakes her hair loose and he
slowly unbelts her robe and cups her breasts and thinks she looks
really lovely. Her breasts are high, sloping, full, rounded with
long nipples in darkly puckered aureoles. She flicks open his
towel and her fingers crawl into his crotch and she moans as she
feels his hard heat and thickness and length. Her deepens in the
kiss and she pushes him back into the couch and slides to her
knees and bends her head over his lap and takes his cock in her
mouth.
"How did you manage this?" she mumbles, lifting his cock, dragging
her lips and tongue down its underside, sucking his balls.
"Joachim is my closest friend," he murmurs. "Childhood, grew up
together. I helped him start this place, arranged some funds,
loans. I always have a room here. He keeps it for me. Used to keep
some of my stuff here, too, clothes and stuff, I can have it
brought up later."
Sucking Jerry's cock again, Veronica wonders if he has brought
other girls here. Like she was brought by her others, and by him
most of all, the first one.
The taste and smell of Jerry's cock in her mouth is heavenly; she
has forgotten how good it feels, how much she enjoys this, this
and the later cum, too. She moans softly, her hands on her
breasts. Jerry watches her, deeply aroused, his hand on her head,
grunting and gasping softly, his hips rocking under her face. She
is incredibly good at this, uses her tongue and lips and teeth and
his erection is monstrous, his balls on fire.
"God ... yes ... I love sucking cock," she groans and Jerry
wonders how many before his, how many *others*. He feels a shard
of jealousy, he wants to be her first, her only.
Her dexterity (the previous experience is increasingly obvious)
and her explicit language don't leave room enough for the envy to
grow. He wants to hear her say it again, holds her head and pulls
it down on his cock.
"Mm ... yeh," she mumbles. "God yes!" Opening her mouth wide, she
winds her tongue round and round his cock-head, caresses her face
with it, rises up to squeeze her swollen breasts over it, nuzzling
his belly. "Yes! Ohh uhh yes!"
"Suck it," he grunts. "C'mon, Veronica, suck my cock!"
She whimpers, wishes he would be bolder, use words like *bitch*
and *whore* and *slut* and *cunt* like ... like the *others* ...
and, dipping her head, takes his cock deep in her mouth again, her
head rocking rapidly up and down, her fingers, be-ringed, curled
lovingly around his thick, long shaft, pumping it. Pre-cum gunk
shines on her lips and cheeks. Jerry's hips buck and heave under
her face. The heat spread in his loins, surging up and down his
long cock-shaft. Veronica senses it and sucks harder, moaning deep
in her cock-filled throat, her hands on her breasts, crushing them
in joy.
He jerks her head away from his groin, gasping and panting. She
groans and yields reluctantly, slithering up his body, licking him
like a wanton slut, feral, kissing him hard again, squirming
against him, astride him. Jerry's hands crushing her breasts,
pinching and tweaking her stiff nipples, making her groan and
shudder and arch her head, her cunt damp, warm, hovering over the
sticky swell of his cock-head. Jerry arches his hips, trying to
thrust up into her but she moves away, rising with him, turns
quickly, her back to him, legs outside his, feet on the floor and
lowers her hips. Reaches down, takes his penis, guides it to her
cunt.
A pause, that delicate hesitation in the second before flesh
enters flesh.
Then her cunt-lips open, yield, the warm softness closes taut
around his burning mass, takes him in deeper and deeper and he
gasps loudly, flings his head back, arches his back, thrusts up,
greedy for her. Above him, Veronica moans, her head arched, her
belly sucked in, her hands under her breasts.
There is a mirror on the opposite wall. Watching herself, she is
aroused, it used to be like, often, several times, more often than
she can remember, but she remembers each one, each time. It has
been too long. She cups her breasts, feeling the swollen mounds
fill her palms, the nipples hard, quivering. Her cunt is on fire,
her body burns. She moans and rises up his cock, then down again,
impaling her cunt on his cock in a greedy plunge, then up, and
down.
"Yes!" she gasps. "Ohh uhhh yes ... oh god yes!"
Under her, Jerry, gasping too, his hands on her buttocks, moving
her up and down on his lap, wondering if she will take it up the
ass just like he did with the ones who went before, what he always
liked to do.
Moving faster now, greed and hunger and a too-long time without,
and Veronica leans back, one hand on the sofa's armrest, the other
on the seat, her body twisted, her face twisted, head flung back,
body jerking and jiggling, breasts bouncing, his hands on them,
feverish.
A cry erupting from her throat, loud, pure, raw, hers yet not
hers, from another time and place with another: "Fuck me! C'mon
Jerry! Fuck me! Fuck my cunt! Fuck me hard, baby! Fuck me like a
whore!"
Jerry frozen, ears blazing, a burst of sun-filled joy and
jubilation racing from his head to his loins.
"Yes! Take it! C'mon bitch! Take it!"
He shoves her forward, her hands on his knees, grips her waist,
rams up and down madly under her, tossing her on his groin. The
last barrier fallen and Veronica cries out loud, unashamed, free,
plunging her flexing and unflexing buttocks up and down,
swallowing his flesh in hers, her cunt in convulsions.
"Take me, Jerry! Take me! Fuck me hard! OHHHHHH uhhhyes oh god yes
ohhh uhhh yes oh yes baby yes!"
::::
ON THE BIG, WELL-SPRUNG BED, and Veronica on her forearms and
knees, swollen breasts pendent, thighs spread, buttocks thrust up
and Jerry kneeling behind her, tempted by the dark wink of her
nether eye, falters in his desire; but not long, not for long, and
the soft black ringlets around of its seeping neighbour draw him
down into spasming warmth.
He thrusts hard, ramming his cock into her as far as it will go
and she cries out, her head lurching up, her body jerking, her
face twisting, mouth torn wide as the heat sears into her belly.
Her cunt contracts fiercely on the intruder and his hands are
under her breasts, crushing them and he runs his cock out and
thrusts in hard again, slamming his hips against her buttocks.
"Oh fuck yes! Take it! C'mon, whore! Take it! Take my cock!"
Veronica's head spinning, desire and lust rocking her to and fro.
His hands on her hips and now he is ram-fucking her fast and hard
and deep, plunging his cock in and out of her cunt, his thighs
slapping at hers, his cock pistoning wildly in and out, in and
out, to and fro, to and fro. She rocks under him, gold necklace
tossing, breasts jiggling, her cries sharp, high.
"Yes! Oh god uhh ohma uhh ohhhh yes oh god yes fuck me! Fuck me,
Jerry! Oh yes that's it ohhhhhhhhhhh uuhhh yes! Oh god yes!"
Slowing to a deep skewering action, Jerry leaning over her and she
turns her face and he jams his lips to hers, plunging his tongue
into her mouth as his cock pierces her cunt again and her grateful
hips press to his in urgency.
::::
JERRY ON HIS BACK on the bed, unable to take his eyes off her
straddling his hips, her head flung back, face radiant, eyes
closed, moaning and whimpering and rocking slowly and unhurriedly
to and fro. The gold hoops in her ears dancing, her necklace
slithering, her soft, moist lips apart, the white teeth
glistening, Veronica is in heaven, flying slowly above white
clouds. Her breasts, like ripe fruit on a dappled morning, a
dewdrop of sweat glistening on one dark nipple draws to it his
ardent lips and loving tongue.
"Oh this is so good," she murmurs. "I just love your cock in my
cunt, Jerry ... it's so good ... mm ... yes ... oh yes ...," and
her hips are turning round, swirling, her cunt contracting,
churning.
Jerry's hands exploring her back and buttocks, teasing them open,
venturing into the rift between, rippling over the pucker of flesh
and she squirms and moans and her face lights and she, bending
over him, breasts hot and heavy on his chest, slips her tongue
into his mouth.
Slowly building, rising, moving faster, the bed rocking and
bucking under them, their cries echoing, her breasts jumping as
her cunt rises and falls along the long stem of his penis,
necklace flying now, earrings dancing and she hisses loudly as he
arches up steep into her, flings her head back, slides her hands
up her body and over her breasts, lifts one to her bent head, laps
at her nipple sexily with pointed tongue.
"Take it! Ohhh uhhhhyes take it, slut ... take it!" he grunts.
"OHHH uhh yes! Fuck me! Fuck me, Jerry! Fuck me harder! OHHH uhh
yes oh god yes!" and her body is tossing wildly, jerking and
rocking furiously up and down on his lap.
Jerry's hands on her breasts, full, swollen, filling his palms and
Veronica leaning back, stretching back, cupping his balls, her
fingertips raking his cock-shaft as it goes in and out of her
cunt, her buttocks writhing and squirming and swirling on his lap,
his penis bursting inside her, searing, pulsating in angry lust.
Veronica leaning forward on outstretched arms, her head back, her
hips jerking up and down, up and down, crashing back on his lap,
her cries renting the quiet air.
"Uh Oh uhh OHHHH uhh Ohma uhh ahhh yes oh god yes! Fuck me! Yes!
C'mon Jerry! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!"
"Take it! Oh fuck yes, take it! Take it, bitch! Take it!" Jerry's
hips crashing under hers, his cock pounding in and out of her
flesh.
Dam-burst and a flood, and Jerry, too, is lost, the perfidy of
lust in triumph over experience, the heat surging endlessly from
his flesh into hers, making her moan and lurch, her cunt in
paroxysms of a joy reflected on her face.
::::
LATER, ROOM SERVICE BRINGS UP coffee with cream, sandwiches,
fries, ice-cream and Jerry eats off her, sluicing the cream on her
cunt, ladling ice-cream between her breasts and in her crotch, his
tongue everywhere, and she responds in kind, a mouthful of
ice-cream and cock.
Veronica on her back, arching with a loud moan as Jerry's cock
slips slowly into her slit and her legs wind around his waist as
she pulls him in deeper and pulls, too, his head down to hers, his
tongue into her mouth.
Jerry wondering again if she will take it up the ass this time, he
wants that, he wants the memory regained, and there will be, as
there ever was, only one way to find out.
Beyond the double-paned glass, the storm-stung city labours still
in the broken rhythm of its streets.
::::
A WHIRRING SOUND, a staple click, rustle of clothing, a fleeting
whiff of some light, lemony fragrance. Jerry Anthony Gonsalves,
eyes swimming, figures blurred and waving on the screen before
him, sucks in his breath, stills a pounding heart. Focus, and
reluctant, leaden fingers move again. He cannot resist peering
around the partition, sees her back as she settles in at her desk.
He doesn't see the little crease of worry crinkle her forehead, or
notice the flush creeping up the back of her neck, doesn't know of
the sudden, deep tightness she feels, the guilty fear that makes
her fingers tremble.
== oOooOo ==
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