Fanchon's Book(44)

"Then you can begin writing? Tomorrow?"

"Hey, don't rush me. I can begin plotting. There has to be a story line, a conflict, a resolution, a climax; it can't be just a series of separate incidents that wander around and lead nowhere."

"Oh. I get it. It has to be phony, huh? Real characters but with a phony plot and a phony ending-is that it? Okay how about this? You and I are in love and we work 'out a deal to murder your husband. Is that phony enough?"

"Um, a trifle too phony, darling. What's our motive?"

"Money, of course."

"But he hasn't any money. You know that."

"Hasn't he? I've heard rumors about-"

The boom deafened us; a rocket outraced its parabola of sparks and lit up the black sky with a sequence of multicolored stars hell bursts. The fireworks were on. With a vengeance. Leaving our (you should excuse the expression) literary discussion unfinished. And worse yet, leaving me out in the cold. Kristi was already wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

"Darling, don't you want to sit down? There are some benches over there."

"Uh-huh. Come on. Let's hurry."

We trotted. She reached the bench first and dropped upon it; another set of rockets went off in a brilliant girandole and she squealed and leaped up again. Not because of the pyrotechnics, though.

"Fanchon, it's wet. The bench."

"Oh. You're right. It's still damp from the rain. I'm sorry. I'd give you my coat to sit on, but-well… you now… "

"Hmph! I've got a good mind to-" The concussive din intervened; she waited, glowering, and then spoke sharply. "Fanchon, you don't care about the fireworks, do you? You see one skyrocket and you've seen them all, isn't that what you said?"

"Darling, it won't upset me to miss part of the show. Shall I go up to the room and bring a blanket or pillow or-"

"Shut up! You talk too much. No, I don't need any god dam blanket or pillow, I've got a slave, haven't I? Lie down, Fanchon, I want to sit on your face."

"Oh… please… "

"Move, you stupid bitch! On the bench. You practically dragged me back here to the garden, didn't you? Okay, so I expect you to make me comfortable. I'll watch the fireworks sitting on that nice soft face of yours. Or maybe you'd rather give me your trench coat and stand there naked?"

"N-no. I'll do it. Whatever you say."

The wet boards soaked me. But I scarcely noticed. She stood at the end of the bench, fuming impatiently, and I knew I had to wriggle into place fast. I got there just in time; she had whirled around to look at the spectacle in the sky, her back toward me, and her hands were already yanking at the hem of her coat.

"And while you're there, lover-girl, you can suck my luscious bottom. Enjoy yourself. Now open your mouth and stick out your tongue and get your head centered under me-here I come!"

As her body descended, a rocket burst and in the red glare I saw her buttocks, dimly pink, and between them, darkly, the line of cleavage; but only for an instant, and then the flesh settled upon my upturned face and her coat billowed around me in a kind of secondary enclosure and I was lost, lost, but not too lost to remember who I was and what I was doing. Not too lost to suck like a slave. Like a loving slave.

Her luscious bottom! I jammed my pointed tongue right up into it; she shook a little and squirmed down heavily, almost fiercely, and it felt as if the viscous suction of the suddenly agitated sphincter was tugging my tongue up by the roots. I got one nostril free and breathed the scent of her, suffocating in a slow swoon of sensuality. But soon the deliciously demanding oppression relented and she began rocking back and forth, not her upper torso, just her buttocks, engulfing me in the gliding furrow, smearing the sweet slime of her passion over my face, forehead to chin, chin to forehead, back and forth, rocking and swaying and lurching in excitement, the glowing excitement of sex, the gleeful excitement of the fireworks, the glorious excitement of crushing her slave with love. Ah yes, I knew she loved me. Why else would she be so good to me?