llust six

This is an episode of llust, a present-day erotic fantasy. To start at the beginning, visit the home page.

Rachel was so wrapped in her thoughts that she did not register the familiar baritone rumble of the bike until it was right beside her. She jumped at the startling clatter of its disengaged clutch as Syn guided it to a halt: sharply angular, pillar-box red fairings like armour on an insectile steed.

The social nuances of greeting were beyond Rachel, so she contented herself with an ambiguous smile while Syn dismounted. The beautiful biker was an acquaintance of only one day; but that day had included several hours of boisterous sex. So what was she: a friend? Hardly. A lover? Perhaps physically: but Rachel’s heart was elsewhere.

With Susan. Mysterious, beautiful Susan; a woman whose bizarre, hyper-sexual world had fully claimed and fully changed Rachel; whose surprises just kept coming, knocking Rachel around on an orgasmic pinball table. So much so that Rachel had had to escape: almost running from the house at Susan’s gentle suggestion of a walk.

Had she actually meant a walk together? Rachel’s smile became more of a grin as she recalled her precipitous exit, and Susan’s air of resigned amusement when Rachel’s interpretation became clear. Perhaps Rachel had managed to wrong-foot her lover in return; although not for the first time.

Syn had removed her helmet and was looking at Rachel from over the bike. Her blonde crew-cut had the effect of emphasising her powerful neck and shoulders, which combined with the hang of substantial breasts under her loose white t-shirt to create a highly charged androgyny. Rachel could not help but recall caressing those extravagant curves, both in fantasy and shortly afterwards, in reality.

‘Hi,’ said Rachel, unable and unwilling to engage in a staring contest. Why was everyone determined to discompose her?

Syn moved around the bike, trailing her hand over the front fairing, her eyes not leaving Rachel’s. She stepped up onto the narrow sidewalk and stopped, then looked away, into the distance.

‘It’s hot for walking,’ she observed. Rachel wondered which of the many trickles of sweat on her body had prompted the comment. She had borrowed a strappy top to go with her own hot pants (now dried); and as usual her curves were not quite fully contained by Susan’s things, an effect which Susan claimed to find erotic but Rachel accepted only for the expedience.

‘It sure is,’ Rachel quipped back, only tempering a mocking accent as the words left her. She remembered once seeing that Syn’s detached butch attitude might be only skin-deep, and despite her annoyance she thought better of outright provocation.

Syn looked back to the bike, as to a friend for support. ‘Are you okay?’ she murmured.

Rachel’s foot, which had been rising impatiently onto its toe, now planted firmly backward onto the pavement. Off balance in body and mind, she reflexively tried to hide her retreating step by turning slightly and smiling. ‘Yeah,’ she said weakly. Then, automatically, ‘You?’

Syn gave her a penetrating look, wholly ignoring the insincerity. Rachel could see that she was determined to overcome the awkwardness of the moment, but unsure how — and once again Rachel felt an unexpected empathy with this older woman, so outwardly different to her.

She took a deliberate step forward. ‘Would you like to walk with me?’ she said, surprised to find the sentiment quite honest.

Once again, a small smile broke through Syn’s defences. ‘Thanks,’ she said, but then glanced down, and Rachel grinned.

‘You’re worse off than me,’ she pointed out, looking at Syn’s leather trousers.

‘No,’ Syn countered, waving away Rachel’s presumption. ‘I have to get back to work. Look,’ she went on precipitously, ‘I’m glad I found you. I need to, uh, warn you. About Susan.’

Rachel retreated again, feeling her heart harden.

Syn made to step towards her, then turned to the bike instead and rested her hand on the gas tank. ‘You’re probably head over heels.’ She paused, addressed the ground. ‘Like I was, once.’

Rachel wanted to run. Now she knew that simple snippet of information, she could foresee everything Syn was going to say. But she didn’t want to hear it.

‘I am,’ she croaked. ‘And you didn’t think to tell me this yesterday,’ — her voice rose — ’when you were fucking me?’

Syn looked at her, her expression steely. Then her eyes slid into the distance once more, and she seemed to reach a decision. She turned away and strode back around the bike, then grasped her helmet, flipped it over and twisted the straps out of the way. ‘Neither did she,’ she observed neutrally, and pulled it on.

Rachel found that she had her mouth open as the bike barked into life. She snapped it shut, and her shoulder tensed as if her own hand were about to rebel and grasp Syn’s arm, plead with her to stay, to tell her story. But pride was the stronger, and she could only watch as Syn’s visor turned to her. ‘Look out for yourself,’ she said, her voice raised over the racket of the clutch, but her tone gentle.

The bike growled, then shrieked like an expression of suppressed hurt as Syn disappeared into the heat haze over the road.

Rachel stared, then exploded, ‘Fuck!’ and stamped her foot.

‘How am I supposed to look after myself?’ she wondered out loud. Her world was upside-down. Syn’s remark was like saying ‘hang on’ while everything Rachel knew fell into the sky, leaving only…

Susan. Her touch; the warmth of her body. But as Rachel turned to look back the way she had come, she was suddenly unsure of the turnings she had taken coming here. Syn’s simple words were right there, like crows, circling, distracting. Rachel watched her own emotions spilling over again, and knew she must act, or fall.

She walked, clenching and unclenching her fists. Susan loved her. She repeated it to herself. She, Rachel, was the first girl Susan had loved. The first, and the only. Syn may have once had a crush on her, been so besotted that she would try to spoil any that came after — may have confused sex, with love.

But. Above the crows: the thunderclouds. Had Susan ever really shown her love, except in sex? So much sex! Was it possible to completely dissociate orgasm from affection? Could Susan really grind her cunt hard against Kim’s, and not feel a thing?

Rachel’s pace increased. She had definitely found one turning correctly: here again the villas; and over the rise, the tall pines that partly hid the lawns of a golf course, stars and stripes over the clubhouse on the hill. Had she joined the road here? Yes: she remembered seeing the pines ahead of her. She lurched into the road looking the wrong way, staggered back as a sports utility thundered past, horn blaring.

She could feel the skies falling, falling, her mind cowering beneath. She came onto her toes, fell into a run. Where next? Susan’s street was on the left, she was sure. But which one? Were Syn’s scars a delusion, or were they real? ‘Warn you — head over heels — like I was.’ Had Susan been in love with Syn? Was Susan lying to her?

She was in the wrong street — they all looked the same! She spun around, stumbled, fell.

When she came to her feet she felt, then saw, that her palm was weeping blood. It stabilised her a little. She sucked at it while striding back to the main road, stood there for a moment, clung to the physical hurt like a hand-rail in a storm.

She tried another street, the correct one this time. Just to see Susan’s drive again was like a tonic; she even chuckled forcefully to herself as she walked up it, past the house, ignoring the front door. She pictured the moment: Susan would laugh at the brevity of Rachel’s ‘walk’; Rachel would bat her eyelids, say that she had wanted a different kind of exercise; Susan would kiss her. They would be united again in their virginity of love.

So for a moment there was overlap: in her mind’s eye Rachel saw only this pure love, but she was also hearing the gasping cries of something far more visceral. But then the one faded, while the other tore into her consciousness like a buzzsaw. She stopped; her heart stuttered; one hand clutched reflexively at the tight sweat-streaked cloth over her chest.

It was one voice, rising reflexively again and again, each breath cut off with a single grace note of ecstasy. Rachel paused, dazed. She had forgotten Kim and Kristen once before: could they still be here? How desperately she wished they were not!

She edged round the corner of the house, pressed herself onto the cool wall; slid towards the open French doors. Her fingers traced slowly down the frame’s edge as she leaned to see.

Inside: the wooden floor of Susan’s long studio room, its minimal furnishings stark white against shadows. Susan, sitting on the floor, thighs almost parallel to body as she leaned forward, her head cocked a little so that her dark hair flowed down the right side of her naked back. On either side of her: freckled legs; in front of her face: a lean torso sitting back on the end of the glass coffee table.

It was Kristen, her body so exquisitely long with its almost absent breasts, her arms braced down, hands grasping the long sides of the table. She was convulsing back and forth on the skin of her bottom, her face frozen in a mask of astonishment as she gazed at Susan’s head between her legs. Susan was staring back, tongue reaching, two fingers of her left hand tucked into the very base of Kristen’s vaginal opening.

Susan was barely moving at all, only the slightest flicker of her tongue and tensing of her shoulder revealing that she was ever-so-efficiently reinforcing Kristen’s rhythm. A memory surged upward in Rachel: of that same vulva jumping away from her own mouth, of her awkward attempts to brute-force Kristen into staying still, attempts that now seemed so clumsy, so incompetent. But most of all, while she could not see Susan’s face directly, she knew that besides fingers and tongue, it was the eyes that made the deepest contact: the link that made Kristen gasp with desire and push down with such fervour, again and again. Rachel knew this, because she had felt it herself.

She watched, her body responding, her mind a protective blank. Kristen seemed balanced on a plateau: neither rising nor falling. Her gasps were becoming more desperate. Her head lolled back, and immediately her rhythm failed, the link lost. Rachel could see Susan’s fingers and tongue push forward in compensation; but also, her body twisted as her other hand reached under the table.

Susan said something that Rachel did not catch. Kristen’s head snapped back up, eyes wide. There was clink of glass on glass as Susan straightened, her own head rising. She was now square on and Rachel could not see what she was doing, but by the position of her arms she seemed to be offering something up to Kristen’s vulva.

Slowly, slowly, their rhythm returned. The movement was now more symmetrical: Susan was driving it. Her unoccupied right hand slid over Kristen’s leg, upwards and around her hip, finding leverage. Now Rachel could see her left hand, clasped around something that glinted as it moved slickly in and out of Kristen.

Arousal flooded Rachel. She had never seen penetration like this, never known it for herself. And the sight of Susan fucking Kristen harder and harder was the most exquisite torture.

Kristen’s arms were folding, unable to support her. Elbow by elbow she lowered herself onto the coffee table, though her back remained sharply arched. One hand strayed to hold Susan’s head, the other braced under the edge of the table by her hips. She had regained the plateau, but now she was rising, rising inexorably, her cries building, no longer with desperation but with deep satiation.

‘She’s a master,’ said a voice disinterestedly right beside Rachel; she jumped, saw Kim standing beside her, naked and dripping wet from the pool: youthful erotic perfection.

‘She can make any woman come, any time,’ Kim observed further, stepping closer into Rachel’s personal space. ‘I’ve never seen her fail. Not even with me.’

Rachel cowered, unable to respond.

‘She knows every trick.’ Kim lifted a hand, touched Rachel’s jaw with one finger, idly traced it to the tip of her chin, watching it. ‘I bet she plays you like a fiddle.’

She shrugged, moved to stand in the doorway, legs apart, arms crossed.

‘She told me she loved me once. I didn’t believe her. But I had the biggest fucking orgasm.’

Kristen screamed. Thunder rolled. Rachel fled.