chapter 1: you know i don't like waiting...
Circe says it happens thusly...
You know I don’t like waiting. You know how impatient I am, and yet I'm still here watching the crowd disperse. Most people dissolve into hugs and kisses and the warmth of their loved ones. A few loners linger around, and I occupy myself imagining upon them while trying to distract myself from an incessant foot-tapper who checks her watch, while throwing frustrated glances at her three children; they race on luggage trolleys through the expanse of the near empty airport.
But I am not any of them. I am detached. I sit away from them, tucked into myself. One hand holds a prop of a book, and the other is a clenched fist, shoved between my crossed legs. I have endured what seems some thousands of years, upon this promise. But now I can barely tolerate the tantalising urge to simply tighten my thighs into that tense, rigid hand of mine... I’d only have to squirm a little and... But, like I say... you know I don’t like waiting... you know how impatient I am... but you’re the only one who understands just how much I get off on it.
A spasm in my gut, and a voice in my head, tell me you’re close. I unwillingly take my hand from my crotch, grab my book, and begin to stage an intense foray into whatever words are on the page... none of which are readable. It is difficult to focus... cos I smell you. I smell you over the vanilla air and antiseptic floors. You are spicy and sweet and warm, and I close my eyes and inhale you and smile. But as you get closer, and I hear the first faint sounds of your steady gait, I smell the real you, and it hits me with a force... it is wood smoke, and ashes and cooked meat and fur... And I wonder what you really are.
You say you’re just a hero. You say I’m simply your quest... does that mean I need to be rescued? Do you think you’re here to save me?
I keep my head down, but raise my eyes from my book. I smile at your dirty canvas runners, and the frayed hem of your jeans. And I giggle to myself that you are wearing them, as requested. I stand to my full glory, and I smile. I mean, look at me... Do I fucking look like I need saving? Look at me! You see a well-held, tall and slender physique, not so curvy, but plenty strong, clothed in faded old flares, and an oversized striped hoodie that exposes both my fragile collar bones, and my bright purple bra strap. My face is partially obscured, as I still look down at your dirty old shoes. And my short hair is suggestively ruffled at the back, but falls like a curtain over my eyes at the front. It is a strong and confident cut, as it must be to counter balance the presupposed weakness my fine, blonde hair evokes.
I glance up at you, but stop at your lips... I can only take you in a piece at a time, and you lick them, and run your bottom lip through your teeth... Did my jeans just slip off? Oh, ye gods... am I weaker than I think? Than you think?
Oh, sure my eyes are downcast but that’s to protect you. That’s me playing the hero. I’m not being submissive, my Man. Not at all. It’s just that if you ever look into my eyes, my over-large, hypnotic, green eyes, eyes with lashes so long they brush the lenses of my glasses and touch my eyebrows when I look up coyly, eyes with the piercing precision of a laser... know that you will lose your bearings completely, and heroes always run into trouble when navigation skills are lacking. Trust me, I’ve been there before. But I will never look you in the eye, my Man. I love you too much. And it is one of my Rules.
‘Circe...?’
I am still lost in your lips, and although I see them move, it takes time to register the resonance of your voice... I feel it before I hear it, as it hums into my heart, forcing all the blood to my head and hands and feet, the force turning my palms and soles clammy... turning the goddess soul in my mind clammy... But you have spoken my true name, and our archaic conventions insist that I must respond in kind. But who are you again? What?
I close my eyes. Deep, inhale through the nose... oh, my Man, you are overwhelming... Long, slow exhale through the mouth... and I’m back. Good. There’s business to discuss.
‘Come,’ I say.
I throw my crappy prop book on the seat, and stride defiantly away from you. Out of the corner of my eye I see you reach for me, but I am gone, and you are left to follow the sway of my narrow hips, and the very gentle curve of my little arse. I am glad I wore these jeans, the seam of the crotch fits so well that the thickest part, where four seams join, creates a little denim stimulator. But as much as each step is physically arousing... my guts warm and melt down into my pelvis, relaxing the muscles; muscles held taut for hours, in an undeniably futile effort to staunch the unbelievable flood I know to be within me. There’s the full body chill of pleasure I get each time my clit hits the spot, and the swelling of my breasts as my nipples finally recognise that a slippery tongue and strong lips are gonna work them soon. But the thing that is making me cream, the idea that is making my pussy lips silky and swollen, the knowledge that I must not dwell upon, for fear of falling to the floor in a hand-biting orgasm immediately... is that I know you are following me, watching me, pining for me, absolutely helpless to do anything but walk in my wake. You’re so fucking hot on my back, your energy is so intense, and your aching, screaming, straining cock is threatening to explode there and then... Ha! We’re so alike.
And here is the door that I lead you through. The exterior air is better than the sickly air conditioned store-bought air, but this muggy atmosphere traps the smells of the machinery... oil, fuel, cold metal. And before I know it, there’s pressure on my arms and a tinny clang, as my body slams back against some corrugated pipes. I close my eyes tight. I will not look at you. You increase the pressure on my arms, and I laugh in your face. And you know it will take more than that, and release me. I lower my head, and open my eyes, only to see the zipper of your jeans and the bulge in your pocket... It is fairly throbbing through the denim. Tentatively and lightly I run my fingernails up your cock, and I smile at the scratchy sound of the denim... it’s an erotic sound, much like unzipping. My tits turn to gooseflesh and my nipples burn, as you moan as you would upon flopping onto the couch after a busy day... naturally, unconsciously, with the sense of contentment you get from met expectations... from falling into a warm and comfortable place. I know you.
And as I begin to slowly scratch my way back down, I feel you grow impossibly hard, and you cut off my gasp with your open mouth, and though I expect you to jam in your tongue and kiss me as hard as your cock, it is a gentle and very slow lick throughout my mouth... And it is good. Our tongues speak the same language, and celebrate in the other... how long it’s been since a partner has understood the need to explore every tastebud, lick every surface, tie slow knots of thick muscle. But my tongue, as the rest of me, is afflicted by impatience, and although eager to speak and learn from yours, she knows what to do to make your jaw drop... you’ll forget you even have a tongue.
I hold your head in my hands, and my fingertips tease your earlobes, my nails gently scrape your scalp. My tongue runs back and forth along your gorgeous full bottom lip, my top lip nudges yours. Your tongue searches for me but I push your head back and away, and begin gnawing at your neck and under your throat, licking and nibbling with my lips, and working my way to the spot that all good Vampyre’s favour. I push my tongue into your flesh and feel your blood pulse past on its arterial journey. I grab your jeans by the front pockets and pull your hips into mine. And my right hand feels the hard knob of your dick. So I put my hand in your pocket, and stroke it. Your blood quickens under my tongue, and your body pushes against me... my breasts are flattened between our bones, your cock another bone against me, hot on my hand.
My head is in your hands, and you kiss and lick my face in an absolute frenzy. My hot hand holds you in place, as I rub my pussy against your hard-on. My other hand grabs your arse, and marvels at the feel... the solidity of your tight buttocks under a fleshy layer of shapely fat... I wanna bite it... I lean my head back and offer up my neck, which you greedily devour. It’s a long neck, smooth and supple, elegant and seemingly snapable for one like you. And as you pull my head back by my hair you threaten to do just that... My head snaps up with force, my hair slides like silk through your fingers. I close my eyes.
‘Step back. I command you.’
And like the good little hero you are, you do the bidding of the goddess, against your will, I confess. I can sense you struggling against me with a power no mere moral contains. But I win, as I’m sure you knew I must. Now mine for the taking, you are. And I didn’t even use your name...
I turn my back on you, and remove my top. And it is liberating to see that pile of fabric on the ground. And feel the warm northerly breeze on my skin. And sense you wanting to grab me, but unable to move... left to stare at my exquisite back, the sway at the waist, the delectable little bumps of my spine, the smooth flat surface of my shoulder blades, the little hollows above my buttocks, like over-large dimples. It’s a fucking work of Art, you know? And as much as I’d like to turn to you and give you joy of seeing my swelling breasts break free from my bra, I undo the straps and let it fall to the ground, so to give you an unencumbered view of my back in all its fluorescent-lit glory. You groan inarticulately, and I feel you struggle closer.
My jeans... Ah, my jeans. If I could do it in my jeans, with my jeans... They take themselves off... good friend, my jeans. And fold themselves into a neat pile. I regard them with fondness, and think happy thoughts for them, when I know you’re about to break free. I kick off my shoes, close my eyes, and turn to you, practically naked.
‘Shhhh... My Man. Go quietly... Come to me.’
My pale skin is practically glowing in this dark, and my blonde hair shines white. But my black knickers, although pretty and ruffled and fuckin’ sexy, inhibit every part of me from shining out. Though I still manage to light you a path...
‘Kneel before me,’ I command.
And as requested, you drop to your knees, your face mere inches from my pussy. My nipples harden up, and I push my groin at you and I release more creamy cunt lube... I’m gettin’ ready. My clitoris pulsates so hard, my tight eyes fly open in shock. I dare to look down at you, praying you won’t catch my eye. But your eyes are closed as you inhale me, and I look and see that you are beautiful to me. I smile down at you, watching you wallow in the haze of my perfume. Just stunning. Incredible. Everything I was promised. But I hadn’t dared imagine that you would be more...
‘Remove them, My Man. Take them off.’
You obey with an unanticipated immediacy, and yank at my knickers, nearly pulling me off my feet. And before I can tell you to eat your fill, before you have a chance to admire my naked Mount of Venus, my bare flaps, my hairless, immortal cunt, you’ve grabbed my slender thighs and plunged your face up and into my pussy, parting my lips with your nose, nuzzling in, wriggling around so I almost squat on you. I lean my upper back on the cold aluminium, and thrust my pelvis closer to you. You drop to the ground, and toss my legs over your shoulders, holding one small, but fleshy buttock in each hand, and you just fuckin eat me out. Your kisses are wild, your licks seem insatiable... I move round a little to get a good spot for my clit. And you tense up your tongue... make it nice and hard for me to ride…
Another burst of cream, and I moan, and grab my tits. In these delicate, crafty hands, they are more than a handful, and I massage the fullness in my hands, and squeeze them through so I’m left only with nipples to roll through my fingers. How I wish that I could tongue them... make them wet and slippery as your face. One hand I leave to tease and play with both nipples, I know she will be fair. The other I drop down to you face. I stroke your cheek as you lick me, and finger paint your face in my juice and your drool. My calming caress, eases your need to feast, and you relax your grip on my arse, soften your tongue and slowly lap me up. I am delicious. I move my thumb to my clit, and touch us both, as you slide your dexterous tongue inside me. For how long do you tongue fuck me? Is it so good I forget? Whatever the case, I only jerk back to reality when I realise I am about to cum all over your face, and I’ve been waiting all this time to let it go on your cock.
I push you away, and wriggle my pussy away from your glistening face. And of course, you just get it. So you raise me off your shoulders, and plant my feet on the ground. I arch my back and raise my arms, to stretch my body, get the energy flowing right through. And, of course, you gasp in reverence to such a spectacular sight. Of course you do... I am me is her is she... What’s not to like?
‘You know what to do, my love.’
And you do. And I love it. And I grab your cock through your jeans. And I taste my juice on your face, and I am sweet and sweaty and fresh and rich, and I suck myself off your tongue, as your clothes finally fall off...But I can’t bear to look at your cock, I want to... I really want to. My tongue captures a thin, sweet saliva burst as I imagine it all in my mouth, cramming it in and down... no! Circe, stop! It’s naked against me as we kiss, and that recent close-call-cum in my cunt is too much. I have waited so long for this... as have you. I pull away.
‘Do it. NOW!’
Hands round my waist, lifting me up. Arms round your neck, legs wrapped round your ribs. Hot swollen knob, dipping gently into my juicy hole... Head thrown back, toes curled, nails stab... Hips. Pulled. Down. Head up, eyes open, green wildfire greets your gaze.
I see fear in your eyes, then you’re up to my guts. And I have no breath with which to gasp, no voice with which to scream... you kill me, you absolutely kill me. I am gone. I am free. I explode like a new born galaxy. I am everywhere. I am all there is.
Yes, this is what I was waiting for...
You know I don’t like waiting. You know how impatient I am, and yet I'm still here watching the crowd disperse. Most people dissolve into hugs and kisses and the warmth of their loved ones. A few loners linger around, and I occupy myself imagining upon them while trying to distract myself from an incessant foot-tapper who checks her watch, while throwing frustrated glances at her three children; they race on luggage trolleys through the expanse of the near empty airport.
But I am not any of them. I am detached. I sit away from them, tucked into myself. One hand holds a prop of a book, and the other is a clenched fist, shoved between my crossed legs. I have endured what seems some thousands of years, upon this promise. But now I can barely tolerate the tantalising urge to simply tighten my thighs into that tense, rigid hand of mine... I’d only have to squirm a little and... But, like I say... you know I don’t like waiting... you know how impatient I am... but you’re the only one who understands just how much I get off on it.
A spasm in my gut, and a voice in my head, tell me you’re close. I unwillingly take my hand from my crotch, grab my book, and begin to stage an intense foray into whatever words are on the page... none of which are readable. It is difficult to focus... cos I smell you. I smell you over the vanilla air and antiseptic floors. You are spicy and sweet and warm, and I close my eyes and inhale you and smile. But as you get closer, and I hear the first faint sounds of your steady gait, I smell the real you, and it hits me with a force... it is wood smoke, and ashes and cooked meat and fur... And I wonder what you really are.
You say you’re just a hero. You say I’m simply your quest... does that mean I need to be rescued? Do you think you’re here to save me?
I keep my head down, but raise my eyes from my book. I smile at your dirty canvas runners, and the frayed hem of your jeans. And I giggle to myself that you are wearing them, as requested. I stand to my full glory, and I smile. I mean, look at me... Do I fucking look like I need saving? Look at me! You see a well-held, tall and slender physique, not so curvy, but plenty strong, clothed in faded old flares, and an oversized striped hoodie that exposes both my fragile collar bones, and my bright purple bra strap. My face is partially obscured, as I still look down at your dirty old shoes. And my short hair is suggestively ruffled at the back, but falls like a curtain over my eyes at the front. It is a strong and confident cut, as it must be to counter balance the presupposed weakness my fine, blonde hair evokes.
I glance up at you, but stop at your lips... I can only take you in a piece at a time, and you lick them, and run your bottom lip through your teeth... Did my jeans just slip off? Oh, ye gods... am I weaker than I think? Than you think?
Oh, sure my eyes are downcast but that’s to protect you. That’s me playing the hero. I’m not being submissive, my Man. Not at all. It’s just that if you ever look into my eyes, my over-large, hypnotic, green eyes, eyes with lashes so long they brush the lenses of my glasses and touch my eyebrows when I look up coyly, eyes with the piercing precision of a laser... know that you will lose your bearings completely, and heroes always run into trouble when navigation skills are lacking. Trust me, I’ve been there before. But I will never look you in the eye, my Man. I love you too much. And it is one of my Rules.
‘Circe...?’
I am still lost in your lips, and although I see them move, it takes time to register the resonance of your voice... I feel it before I hear it, as it hums into my heart, forcing all the blood to my head and hands and feet, the force turning my palms and soles clammy... turning the goddess soul in my mind clammy... But you have spoken my true name, and our archaic conventions insist that I must respond in kind. But who are you again? What?
I close my eyes. Deep, inhale through the nose... oh, my Man, you are overwhelming... Long, slow exhale through the mouth... and I’m back. Good. There’s business to discuss.
‘Come,’ I say.
I throw my crappy prop book on the seat, and stride defiantly away from you. Out of the corner of my eye I see you reach for me, but I am gone, and you are left to follow the sway of my narrow hips, and the very gentle curve of my little arse. I am glad I wore these jeans, the seam of the crotch fits so well that the thickest part, where four seams join, creates a little denim stimulator. But as much as each step is physically arousing... my guts warm and melt down into my pelvis, relaxing the muscles; muscles held taut for hours, in an undeniably futile effort to staunch the unbelievable flood I know to be within me. There’s the full body chill of pleasure I get each time my clit hits the spot, and the swelling of my breasts as my nipples finally recognise that a slippery tongue and strong lips are gonna work them soon. But the thing that is making me cream, the idea that is making my pussy lips silky and swollen, the knowledge that I must not dwell upon, for fear of falling to the floor in a hand-biting orgasm immediately... is that I know you are following me, watching me, pining for me, absolutely helpless to do anything but walk in my wake. You’re so fucking hot on my back, your energy is so intense, and your aching, screaming, straining cock is threatening to explode there and then... Ha! We’re so alike.
And here is the door that I lead you through. The exterior air is better than the sickly air conditioned store-bought air, but this muggy atmosphere traps the smells of the machinery... oil, fuel, cold metal. And before I know it, there’s pressure on my arms and a tinny clang, as my body slams back against some corrugated pipes. I close my eyes tight. I will not look at you. You increase the pressure on my arms, and I laugh in your face. And you know it will take more than that, and release me. I lower my head, and open my eyes, only to see the zipper of your jeans and the bulge in your pocket... It is fairly throbbing through the denim. Tentatively and lightly I run my fingernails up your cock, and I smile at the scratchy sound of the denim... it’s an erotic sound, much like unzipping. My tits turn to gooseflesh and my nipples burn, as you moan as you would upon flopping onto the couch after a busy day... naturally, unconsciously, with the sense of contentment you get from met expectations... from falling into a warm and comfortable place. I know you.
And as I begin to slowly scratch my way back down, I feel you grow impossibly hard, and you cut off my gasp with your open mouth, and though I expect you to jam in your tongue and kiss me as hard as your cock, it is a gentle and very slow lick throughout my mouth... And it is good. Our tongues speak the same language, and celebrate in the other... how long it’s been since a partner has understood the need to explore every tastebud, lick every surface, tie slow knots of thick muscle. But my tongue, as the rest of me, is afflicted by impatience, and although eager to speak and learn from yours, she knows what to do to make your jaw drop... you’ll forget you even have a tongue.
I hold your head in my hands, and my fingertips tease your earlobes, my nails gently scrape your scalp. My tongue runs back and forth along your gorgeous full bottom lip, my top lip nudges yours. Your tongue searches for me but I push your head back and away, and begin gnawing at your neck and under your throat, licking and nibbling with my lips, and working my way to the spot that all good Vampyre’s favour. I push my tongue into your flesh and feel your blood pulse past on its arterial journey. I grab your jeans by the front pockets and pull your hips into mine. And my right hand feels the hard knob of your dick. So I put my hand in your pocket, and stroke it. Your blood quickens under my tongue, and your body pushes against me... my breasts are flattened between our bones, your cock another bone against me, hot on my hand.
My head is in your hands, and you kiss and lick my face in an absolute frenzy. My hot hand holds you in place, as I rub my pussy against your hard-on. My other hand grabs your arse, and marvels at the feel... the solidity of your tight buttocks under a fleshy layer of shapely fat... I wanna bite it... I lean my head back and offer up my neck, which you greedily devour. It’s a long neck, smooth and supple, elegant and seemingly snapable for one like you. And as you pull my head back by my hair you threaten to do just that... My head snaps up with force, my hair slides like silk through your fingers. I close my eyes.
‘Step back. I command you.’
And like the good little hero you are, you do the bidding of the goddess, against your will, I confess. I can sense you struggling against me with a power no mere moral contains. But I win, as I’m sure you knew I must. Now mine for the taking, you are. And I didn’t even use your name...
I turn my back on you, and remove my top. And it is liberating to see that pile of fabric on the ground. And feel the warm northerly breeze on my skin. And sense you wanting to grab me, but unable to move... left to stare at my exquisite back, the sway at the waist, the delectable little bumps of my spine, the smooth flat surface of my shoulder blades, the little hollows above my buttocks, like over-large dimples. It’s a fucking work of Art, you know? And as much as I’d like to turn to you and give you joy of seeing my swelling breasts break free from my bra, I undo the straps and let it fall to the ground, so to give you an unencumbered view of my back in all its fluorescent-lit glory. You groan inarticulately, and I feel you struggle closer.
My jeans... Ah, my jeans. If I could do it in my jeans, with my jeans... They take themselves off... good friend, my jeans. And fold themselves into a neat pile. I regard them with fondness, and think happy thoughts for them, when I know you’re about to break free. I kick off my shoes, close my eyes, and turn to you, practically naked.
‘Shhhh... My Man. Go quietly... Come to me.’
My pale skin is practically glowing in this dark, and my blonde hair shines white. But my black knickers, although pretty and ruffled and fuckin’ sexy, inhibit every part of me from shining out. Though I still manage to light you a path...
‘Kneel before me,’ I command.
And as requested, you drop to your knees, your face mere inches from my pussy. My nipples harden up, and I push my groin at you and I release more creamy cunt lube... I’m gettin’ ready. My clitoris pulsates so hard, my tight eyes fly open in shock. I dare to look down at you, praying you won’t catch my eye. But your eyes are closed as you inhale me, and I look and see that you are beautiful to me. I smile down at you, watching you wallow in the haze of my perfume. Just stunning. Incredible. Everything I was promised. But I hadn’t dared imagine that you would be more...
‘Remove them, My Man. Take them off.’
You obey with an unanticipated immediacy, and yank at my knickers, nearly pulling me off my feet. And before I can tell you to eat your fill, before you have a chance to admire my naked Mount of Venus, my bare flaps, my hairless, immortal cunt, you’ve grabbed my slender thighs and plunged your face up and into my pussy, parting my lips with your nose, nuzzling in, wriggling around so I almost squat on you. I lean my upper back on the cold aluminium, and thrust my pelvis closer to you. You drop to the ground, and toss my legs over your shoulders, holding one small, but fleshy buttock in each hand, and you just fuckin eat me out. Your kisses are wild, your licks seem insatiable... I move round a little to get a good spot for my clit. And you tense up your tongue... make it nice and hard for me to ride…
Another burst of cream, and I moan, and grab my tits. In these delicate, crafty hands, they are more than a handful, and I massage the fullness in my hands, and squeeze them through so I’m left only with nipples to roll through my fingers. How I wish that I could tongue them... make them wet and slippery as your face. One hand I leave to tease and play with both nipples, I know she will be fair. The other I drop down to you face. I stroke your cheek as you lick me, and finger paint your face in my juice and your drool. My calming caress, eases your need to feast, and you relax your grip on my arse, soften your tongue and slowly lap me up. I am delicious. I move my thumb to my clit, and touch us both, as you slide your dexterous tongue inside me. For how long do you tongue fuck me? Is it so good I forget? Whatever the case, I only jerk back to reality when I realise I am about to cum all over your face, and I’ve been waiting all this time to let it go on your cock.
I push you away, and wriggle my pussy away from your glistening face. And of course, you just get it. So you raise me off your shoulders, and plant my feet on the ground. I arch my back and raise my arms, to stretch my body, get the energy flowing right through. And, of course, you gasp in reverence to such a spectacular sight. Of course you do... I am me is her is she... What’s not to like?
‘You know what to do, my love.’
And you do. And I love it. And I grab your cock through your jeans. And I taste my juice on your face, and I am sweet and sweaty and fresh and rich, and I suck myself off your tongue, as your clothes finally fall off...But I can’t bear to look at your cock, I want to... I really want to. My tongue captures a thin, sweet saliva burst as I imagine it all in my mouth, cramming it in and down... no! Circe, stop! It’s naked against me as we kiss, and that recent close-call-cum in my cunt is too much. I have waited so long for this... as have you. I pull away.
‘Do it. NOW!’
Hands round my waist, lifting me up. Arms round your neck, legs wrapped round your ribs. Hot swollen knob, dipping gently into my juicy hole... Head thrown back, toes curled, nails stab... Hips. Pulled. Down. Head up, eyes open, green wildfire greets your gaze.
I see fear in your eyes, then you’re up to my guts. And I have no breath with which to gasp, no voice with which to scream... you kill me, you absolutely kill me. I am gone. I am free. I explode like a new born galaxy. I am everywhere. I am all there is.
Yes, this is what I was waiting for...