Message-ID: <17639eli$9811300428@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/17639.txt>
From: "Adhara Law" <eros_dreams@hotmail.com>
Subject: {Adhara} "Pandora's Box" {MF}
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <19981129214525.25163.qmail@hotmail.com>

For your enjoyment. Please feel free to comment to me. :)

- Adhara

PANDORA'S BOX
Copyright 1998 by Adhara Law (eros_dreams@hotmail.com). All rights 
reserved. May not be reproduced or distributed, with the exception of 
USENET archiving, without express written permission by the author.


Pandora likes her lipstick the shade and depth of freshly drawn blood. 
She applies it slowly, first along the bottom lip, and then she 
methodically layers the heart-shaped peaks on top. She applies a second 
coat before blotting.

Her hair fawns and preens under the ministrations of her slender fingers 
until it has pleased her as thoroughly as it can, sighing happily into 
loose curls and shining waves in a bright aureole around her head. I've 
watched her to see how she does it, but it's as if her hair has a life 
of its own and lives only to please her. My own hair is a dull, limp 
shade of brown, my eyes the color of dried mud.

The first five dresses are, of course, completely unsuitable for the 
occasion. The first is too long, not showing enough leg. The second is 
something she really should have gotten rid of years ago -- utterly out 
of style. Finally, with a happy shriek, she fishes a backless Christian 
Dior from the murky depths of the closet. Perfection. It slips over the 
sharp angles of her bare shoulder blades and caresses the light curves 
of her hips as if it were her lover, dressing her instead of undressing 
her. A seduction in reverse.

Pandora doesn't go anywhere without making sure that her entrance will 
be nothing short of a media spectacle. Tonight it's a local bar. 
Meticulously manicured nails -- raw, bloody red, like her lips -- tickle 
the handle of the door as she pulls it open and graces the room with her 
presence. I watch her and envy her. I don't know how she does it, though 
I know I should.

I already know that men will stop in mid-sip to stare at her. I know 
that women will raise eyebrows, both in jealousy and admiration. I know 
that Pandora will take it all and amplify it the way a tuning fork 
responds to its own frequency of vibration. This was Pandora's frequency 
of vibration, this dark box filled with unspoken lascivious thoughts and 
eyes staring only at her.

 She slides onto a barstool and orders a trendy import beer. Others in 
the bar drinking the same thing look fake; I can see the search for 
acceptance in the way they lift the bottle to their lips and watch the 
green triangle of lime bob in the amber liquid. But not Pandora. 
Somewhere in the brewery where this beer was created was a man who put 
together the hops and barley in such a way as to please only her. I was 
sure that it said in fine print on the bottom of the label, "brewed for 
Pandora".

Then he comes in, right on time. Pandora watches as he slips onto a 
stool at the far end of the bar from her and orders the same beer she's 
drinking. I've been watching her watch him for a long time. Tonight 
she'll stop watching.

Carrying her beer between blood-tipped fingers, she walks over to him. 
Not purposely; more like she needs to stretch her legs and just decides 
to head in his general direction. She stops at the stool next to his. 
"Hi," she says.

 "Hi." His eyes travel from head to toe and back again, and not 
discreetly. It makes her smile turn up a little higher in the corner of 
her mouth.

She sits and they talk. It doesn't matter about what; by the end of the 
night the conversation will have become irrelevant. I know. I will watch 
it happen as I've watched it many nights before. Her legs cross as she 
traces the mouth of her beer bottle with the tip of a nail. Her fingers 
push an unruly lock of hair over her ear. He stumbles in the middle of a 
sentence about where he grew up. Pandora smiles. I watch.

The conversation peters out, a train losing steam; it's time. They don’t 
have to say what they both know -- it will be her place. Bills are 
thrown down on the bar as beers are finished and both of them get up to 
leave.

I am there as she unlocks the front door, watching him slip his hands 
around her waist and nip at her earlobe as she slides the key into the 
lock. The front door shuts absent-mindedly behind them as she leads him 
past the rest of the house to the bedroom. I am there, too, when she 
begins pulling the tails of his shirt from his jeans, breath filling the 
room in ragged pockets as buttons are popped and zippers are pulled. He 
lifts the black silk of her dress over her head and throws it to the 
floor, gasping now because she's found what's waiting for her under the 
zipper of his jeans. I see his eyes close as she wordlessly finishes 
undressing him and pushes him roughly to the bed.

Even as I get caught up in the spectacle unfolding in front of me I 
question her draw, what it is that makes her the center of her universe. 
Is it the crimson lips he's kissing, lips that move down his neck to his 
chest and nip at the round peaks of his nipples? Or is it the hips his 
hands grip tightly now as they position themselves over him and rock 
seductively and teasingly against his thigh? 

She plays with him, tickling his ribs with her tongue and watching him 
gasp for breath. She moves down, further down, and after a few tense 
moments, his eyes pleading with hers, she slips his cock expertly into 
her mouth and listens to him groan in almost painful enjoyment. She 
keeps him like this, on the verge of coming, enticingly moving her 
tongue around him but holding back until she is ready. Pandora loves 
control.

I watch her move over him and pin him down at the shoulders, staring 
down at his helplessness with pure pleasure in her eyes. If he is 
resisting, I can't tell. I'm too entranced by Pandora to notice anyway. 
Like him, I'm trapped by the way she guides him into her pussy with only 
her hips, the way she begins fucking him with slow, circular movements 
and light pulls upward away from him. The way she enjoys the power she 
has over him at this moment. And like him, I'm only released when she 
closes her eyes and begins to rock faster, forcing him into her as far 
as he can go, and crying out in little gasps as she comes with no regard 
to who sees it.

Later, he leaves with a kiss to her faded lips and the unbinding promise 
that he will see her again. And I will ask her, as I always do, looking 
in the mirror: what is it? She doesn't answer. So I take off the 
earrings and put them in their box, wipe the vixen paint off my lips and 
comb the perfection out of my hair. 

Back in your box, Pandora.


-------------------------------------------
Adhara Law: eros_dreams@hotmail.com
more of my stories can be read at:
http://asuwlink.uwyo.edu/~astarte/adhara




-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>