Part 15. . . Reality in the Twilight Zone
When and how she came to, when, how, and by whom she was transported from the hotel room, Snama had no idea.
She was in Neshe's bedroom, in his bed, naked.
The first, fragile rays of the dawning day were making a weak attempt to pierce through the draperies, Neshe was nowhere in evidence, probably gone for his daily morning swim.
She stretched languidly, closing her eyes the while, savouring the first waking moment of the day to its fullest sensuousness, as had been her wont for so many years now. Then she uncoiled herself to a sitting position, stepped down from the bed, her arm instinctively reaching out for an exquistely lace trimmed white georgette nightie draped on the back of a chair. Absently she realized it wasn't hers, but it became her as if it had been created with her in mind.
Unknowingly, she smiled.
In the bath she found a note taped to the mirror, just as she had had one taped.
My Life is very, very important to me.
It's the only one I have.
How could you attempt to take it away from me?
Once again she smiled, silently. Knowingly, this time.
At the breakfast table Neshe was his usual charming self. He was dressed for his business day, had already been through a pile of newspapers and some mail that found its way to his home. She wondered at the amount of energy he had, at the almost brutal efficiency with which he ordered his time and life.
Towards her he was solicituous as ever, asking her if she wanted to be shown around, that a car would be at her disposal in any case. She was non-committal, in fact still undecided on what to do.
He did not make any mention of the evening before, and neither did she.
Done with breakfast, he went to his room, and she followed, only to be greetd by another surprise.
No sooner than the door had clicked shut behind them, Neshe turned towards her, unzipping his trousers, baring himself, totally unaroused, silently motioning her to a kneeling position in front of himself.
She knelt.
The papers, the TV could not hold Snama's interest and attention for long. It wasn't much time after he had gone that she found herself in the library again, a small world, but infinitely interesting for her to explore.
It was, she realized, his diary that had lured her here.
For the next many hours, until she was informed of lunch, she consumed each and every word he had written about himself, wishing she could somehow find out when he had started writing the diary, and read the earlier volumes, if there were any.
She didn't find any other volume, but she did find references to herself here and there, and avidly read them, marveling anew at the insights he had gained into her from such a distance and in such a nebulous relationship.
In it were also entries about her which revealed to her that he, indeed, had been burdened by guilt by not being able to disclose to her that the persona she had known of him via the net was only part reality.
The rest was a twilight zone, his inability to brighten which with the illumination of his own reality he had often lamented.
Her emotional self was overflowing. So many feelings were inside, so many feelings to outpour. She turned to her artpad. She expressed herself through imagination, taking her emotions and finding in them inspiration. She wrote and painted a story for Neshe, and set it on the table next to his diary.
Snama had taken a small catnap after lunch, and was surpised to find Neshe home when she woke up. He told her that a cultural troupe from Malaysia was in the city, and that he wanted to take her to the show.
The show turned out to be an extravaganza of song and dance. Snama was enchanted, particularly by the way Neshe explained each item to her as it was presented, pointing out the various similarities between various Malaysian ethnic groups, and India's own. For the better part of a long evening, her senses were regaled by haunting melodies and exquisite choreography that reached out and stamped vivid memories of Asia's common culture on her mind.
Once again they dined out, this time a restaurant that did serve western cuisine, and which Neshe told her was owned by a British family who had migrated to India in the early nineteenth century.
On the way home, Snama once again found her hand captured by his. She, however, turned the tables on him, pulling his hand to her lips.
With the tip of her moist tongue she licked the salt from his palm. She nipped his had, chewing up and down his fingers.
"My animal!" he gasped as she pinched his hand hard with her teeth.
"My prey" she purred. "My prey. Tonight I shall devour you."
Snama did devour Neshe as promised.
Once out of the limo and inside the hall, Neshe had crushed Snama to himself with an urgency that itself spoke that he had waited far too long than he was used to.
One, swift, sure movement had unzipped him and bared his phallus, magnificient in its pent up need.
She ate him alive. She took his erection into her mouth and was not soft about it at all. She was all hunger, all consuming. She showed no mercy, gave him no time to pay his attentions to her.
The only thing she wanted...the thing she starved for, was his vitality. It did not take long, for the entire evening had been one long and merciless stoking of fires in thier hearts, minds, and loins.
With her hands adept and her mouth silken, she pulled from him her reward. He came with force deep between her lips and she held his gift greedily on the bed of her tongue. She rose with her mouth full of his semen, and kissed it into his own.
His semen, her saliva and his mixed in his mouth. He kissed it back into her mouth and she swallowed this unique and wondrously intoxicating coktail of desire and love and lust.
And she licked his lips, and thanked him with a soft whisper.
Together, they were satisfied, curled together in a loving embrace, and thus, supported by each other's love and need for the other and fell into a deep and happy slumber.
As she awoke to the gentle caresses of the early rays of the morning sun, the realization that she had fallen asleep in the hall left Snama surprised and aching with desire at the same time, as her devouring of him replayed itself on her senses.
And it was exactly at that moment that Neshe walked in. He'd probably been for his swim already, because he was wearing a simple terry towel robe.
The sight of her, naked, and still languidly stretching, hit him like a tornado.
With one impatient movement he let his bathrobe fall to the floor, another had him out of his swimming trunks in a flash, revealing a tumescence threatening in the severity of its need.
She was again wonderstruck at the response she aroused in him, as almost desperately he pulled her to himself, moulding her onto hands and knees before himself, pulling her skirt and panties down, his phallus thrusting deep into her in one swift, sure stab. He made her gasp, fucked her hard and fast, coming almost immediately.
"Damn." He whispered against her back, his lips trailing a wet fire along her thigh as he slid down to the carpet "You turn me into a kid having his first fuck."
Her laughter was deep, throaty, as she gently pushed him away from herself.
"You know Neshe," she said with a twinkle in her voice, a sparkle in her eyes,
"You are a kid in more ways than one, and yes, even babyish, if you will."
He laughed ... pulled her close again, said
"This has made me thirsty, and more hungry for you."
Snama just smiled radiantly, rolling on to her back. Neshe's hand shot out with a will of its own to caress her buttocks.
"I can offer you sherbet, vodka, gin and tonic, cognac. . . a cocktail of these . . ." he laughed, "Unfortunately, this establishment doesn't stock any Bubbly."
"Ohh, you're enough effervescent without that, as it is." Snama looked sidelong at him, nimbly moving away as she saw him raise his hand to swat her behind.
She chose two drinks, the vodka straight up, and the sherbet. He mixed himself a cocktail and as he brought the drinks to her, her amused expression at both at her own half-nakedness and his stark nudity made him laugh again.
When he handed her the glasses of sherbet and vodka, she did what he had done once. Before raising either of the glasses to her lips, she closed the small distance between them, and gently took hold of his still half erect penis, and dipped it first into the vodka, and then into the sweet, aromatic liquid of the sherbet.
"Now, Neshe" she intoned in a mock serious tone "I'll drink you and myself in this sherbet cocktail."
He watched her, entranced yet again, as she took a few dainty little sips of the sweet beverage, then longer ones, the porcelain translucence of her delicate neck undulating slightly with the passage of the fluid.
She drained her glass of sherbet one quarter down then raised the vodka to her lips and shot it back.
He had been so absorbed in watching her that his glass remained untouched. Snama put the empty vodka glass down. She picked up Neshe's glass, and holding her drink in one hand, and his in her other, enfolded him in her arms, placed her lips on his, and drained a vodka sherbet kiss into his mouth, her tongue setting his afire. He raised his arms to clasp her to himself, but she gently restrained him, moving away . . .
"Now finish your drink, baby . . ." she smiled, handing him his glass and seating herself exactly opposite him. In one fluid movement she lifted her blouson above her head and stripped it away, removing her brassiere with the same fluid ease. Standing up, she rolled her panties down her hips, delicately balancing herself first on one foot, then the other, to remove them. This done, she sat down again, a bit shy now, not looking at him as she unrolled her stockings and removed them one by one.
Neshe watched her in silence, his eyes aglow, s he nursed his cocktail. For a few moments she too sat silent and motionless, aware of his intense gaze, feeling captive and captivated. She wished he would say something, do something, but he didn't.
A few moments was all she could bear. Then suddenly she raised her arms, stretched herself languidly, and defiantly meeting his gaze, touched herself between her thighs, a slim, long finger teasing the slit, finding the embrasure and sliding in, deep.
Withdrawing her finger, she slid closer to him, still meeting his gaze, and dipped it into his glass. When she spoke, her voice was husky . . .
"And now, Neshe, you drink us too."
It took Neshe just a single long draught to do that. Snama espied a movement in his loins, his penis again rising to an erection. As he moved to set his glass on the table, she took it from him, placed it an arm's length away on the carpet, and returned to his groin, her velevteen tongue snaking out to seek his turgid glans.
"Damnit" he growled "You ensare me anew every moment."
"I'm your succubus, aren't I." She laughed, her eyes sparkling, as she raised herself to rest both hands on his shoulders.
This brought the succulence of her breasts within the reach of his mouth, and he pounced on the proffered delight, his lips fastening to her right nipple, sucking voraciously, drawing from her a soft inner sigh.
Like this he held her, his hands clasped around her waist, hers resting on his shoulders, her kness on his, all the intensity of his desire for her focussed at the nipple his lips and mouth and tongue tortured, till Snama moaned, writhing in his grasp.
Gently he lifted her in his arms and set her down on the sofa raising her left leg onto its back, himself settling between her thus sundered thighs.
Snama had expected penetration, or perhaps his mouth. The slightly stinging, sharp pat with the flat of his fingers on her yoni surprised her, causing her to call out his name.
He did it again. And again. And yet again, falling into a rhythm. The sharp pats of his flattened fingers stung lightly, teasing, and Snama felt a glow build from the outer lips of her yoni, and slowly, but inexorably spread all over her being.
Neshe's other hand joined in, the two alternating, as if beating a drum in some primitive, pagan beat.
Snama's hips started moving, in time with the fall and rise of his hands, seeking the strike.
The writhing of Snama's torso, the heaving of her hips, riveted Neshe's gaze to her body, and his hands changed tempo, faster now, the strikes just grazing caresses, but far more inflaming than the sharp, stinging ones had been.
A bright crimson flush spread accross her lower belly to right between her buttocks, as if all her blood was rushing there. And then Neshe was rewarded by the most wondrous sight, her kuss blossoming fully, before the agonizing throes of ecstasy made it spasm again and again, clenching and unclenching, and a sharp, clear white little stream squirted from her onto his hands.
Wordlessly, he spread himself over her, his phallus finding her opening welcoming, and comfortably slid in, his lips finding her mouth, capturing it.
Snama's mouth melted with the heat of his, and almost instantly she began to move under him again, hips heaving, yoni throbbing with his presence. Neshe's tongue plundered her mouth, making short, stabbing forays, and hers pursued. His teeth nipped at it. His lips clamped down on it. He sucked, as he thrusted.
Snama encircled her arms around his neck, crossed her calves around his waist. Fighting his lips she freed her mouth, and bit him hard on his right shoulder, sinking her teeth in, drawing blood.
Thrusting, Neshe caught hold of both her arms, stretching them, making her head fall away. The sight of her blood slicked lips inflamed him even more, and crushing both her hands under his own, holding her pinned, he bent down and and bit her neck and shoulder, again and again.
She moaned his name at each sharp nip, her heels beat a tattoo on his back as she spasmed again and again, milking him with her kuss, drawing out the sap of him.
 Reality . . . Part 16 |
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