Fiction

Selection from Murder at Roissy
by John Warren

Tom was in the middle of a pornographic and somewhat unlikely dream involving the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders and the current Miss Japan when he realized that he was not completely asleep. Opening his eyes and looking down the length of his body, he discovered the cast of characters had been somewhat reduced.

Sue looked up from between his legs where she had been industriously plying her tongue. "Awake already, darling? I hadn't really gotten started." Sue usually slept in the nude, but this morning she was wearing a pale blue silk nightdress.

Tom reached down and, grasping his wife by her ears, made her wiggle up his chest so he could give her a solid kiss on the lips.

"Didn't we agree that we were going to sleep late this morning?" he asked in a gravelly voice. It was a late night and we usually don't do threesomes.

"Well," Sue answered. "It is late. I've been horny for almost two whole hours." She carefully slid off him and pulled him gently off the bed and led him to the upholstered armchair. When he started to protest, she simply put a fingertip to his lips. Pushing him back into the chair, she went over to the room's stereo console and turned it on.

Kneeling in front of him, she waited until the opening bars of Pachabel's Canon filled the room, then, gracefully rising to her feet, she lifted her hands above her head and slowly turned so he could admire both the nightgown and the body within it. Putting her feet wide apart, she began to move in time to the music.

Lowering her hands to her shoulders, Sue let them slide forward and then down over her chest until each hand was cupping a breast. She held that pose for a moment, then, turned her back to him. Her gently swaying buttocks held his eyes, entranced. When she turned back, her chest was naked. With a shrug of her shoulders, she let the upper part of the dress fall way from her back.

Slowly, she danced closer to him until he was close enough to see that her nipples were swollen and her eyes were glazing over with lust. Her hands played for a moment with the fastenings at her waist and the nightdress fell away. She turned and walked away from him, her hips rolling in a rhythm older than language. He hadn't noticed her high heels before, but now the magic they performed on her legs and buttocks were unmistakable. The limbs were thinned, and muscles cast in bold relief. The cheeks of her ass were tight and sculpted like those of a classical Greek statue.

Then, she turned back and flowed toward him, her hands gliding over her body. "Remain still, my darling," she said. "You have made me a very happy woman. This morning is my way of thanking you for that."

With lingering touches, she explored his body. Her lips followed her fingers as she stoked the fires within. For a moment, she paused and played with each foot, sucking on each toe in turn and licking his ankles. As she knelt before him, he admired the curve of her back as it tapered to her waist and then flared into the womanly ass.

Rising, she guided him to the bed and positioned him face up on the covers. The music had shifted to the theme from Chariots of Fire as she cupped his balls and poured massage oil on the back of her hand. He gasped and arched as the warm oil seeped between her fingers and came in contact with his skin.

She gently kneaded the sack while studying his erection, the skin tight and the veins making a purplish tracery under the skin. With a tiny laugh, she ran her fingernail along the base of the organ almost to the tip and then fell forward on him for a passionate kiss.

He shifted and she enveloped him. Her body stiffened, and her eyes dilated with pleasure. However, she quickly recovered and, putting her hands on his shoulders, pushed herself into a sitting position. She picked up the plastic squeeze-bottle of massage oil from where it had fallen on the covers and put about a tablespoon of it on his chest. She slowly shifted her weight from side to side as she kept him trapped within her.

A sudden spasm made her stiffen, throw her head back and hiss between her teeth. Then she began to spread the oil across his chest, running her fingers through the hair to coat it and the skin below with the fragrant oil.

He watched her. His only movement was a widening of his eyes and a slight clenching of his fists as her fingers mapped new trails of pleasure across his skin.

Once his chest glistened in the candle light, she pressed harder and leaned her weight against her arms. The movement brought simultaneous gasps of pleasure from both of them. Her fingers moved, pressing and kneading, as he rolled his head back and arched his back. A gasp escaped his lips.

Her hands were at his neck, warm and slippery. His hips began to move as his self-control slipped.

She ran her fingers, perfumed with the oil, over his cheeks and played with his ears. He responded by reaching up and roughly pulling her to him. His hips were driving into hers, and hers were responding with an abandon. He could feel her nipples sliding against each individual hair and sending tremors throughout his body.

He shifted, and they rolled over. Once on top, he redoubled his thrusts. The world swam about them, and far away he thought he could hear her "My Darling, My Darling" as he filled her to overflowing. Without his volition, his voice joined hers in a long scream that seemed to go on forever.

As her hands waved wildly, they struck the bedside table, knocking the package of tarot cards off. When it struck the floor, one card was ejected from the deck, the Devil.

Gasping and laughing, Tom and Sue clung to each other long after the tremors of the mutual orgasm had passed. Finally, Sue leaned back and grinned, "Wanna go to the dungeon and play, Daddy?"

Tom reached up and, grabbing a handful of her long hair, pulled her head down to the pillow. "Don't you ever get tired?" he said.

"Nope!" she replied cheerfully.

(Murder at Roissy is available in the Greenery Press )