Him: As a capital, Ottawa is a cut above. Our libertarian views are the by-product of parliamentary expediency, catering to a heterogeneous population. As for the city's weather, I can say with certainty that my favourite seasons are fall and winter. In fall, the flurry of colour in maple leaves shrouds the streets and front lawns with a carpet of warm yellows, oranges, reds and chestnut browns, spilling into the streets, piling up and forming tiny mounds of temptation. And in winter, the snow acts as a filter for street noise at night. To look at homes in Sandy Hill, as you walk in the middle of the streets, late at night, one is dropped into a postcard, still, perfect, encased in a cocoon of snow. The cold, though, is a killer, more so for seniors but not me. I can sling a dog, burger or slab of meat on the barbeque in minus 30 Celsius without breaking into a shiver. Magdalene particularly loves the symphony of chickadees, hidden in the spruce trees, and the colder the temperature drops, the louder the chorus rings, collectively griping about the cold.
Summer in Ottawa, on the other hand, is hotter than a whore on Saturday night with a line-up no less. The temperature sometimes rises above 40 C, turning the air into thick, pea soup with humidity that frizzles even the most carefully coiffed hairdo. In spring, we welcome the long-awaited meltdown, washing away the grey acid rain build-up of soot captured in the wilted snow banks clinging to life on the barren corners.
I may have been born in the hot climate of Barcelona but I don't miss the stifling heat. And from what I have read in tourist guidebooks, there are now hordes of annoying, cloying tourists and endless traffic congestion.
I hanker for food in equal measure to blood. Magdalene's special touch would creatively alter a simple baguette loaf, smeared with Brie cheese and balsamic vinegar with figs, baked in the oven until the cheese and sauce congeal into a gooey, delicious combination. I returned home to find the salad covered on the counter, the loaf wrapped in tinfoil, and two filet mignons in the fridge, prepared with a marinade sauce, waiting for my barbequing expertise. I heard rustling downstairs.
“Hey gorgeous girl…you coming up?”
“No, come down, please.” I left my shoes in the hallway and went down to the basement in stocking feet.
“How goes it?” Her breasts looked larger from above as I stood over her.
“OK, I've re-potted fifty plants, starting from scratch… took several hours. I need you to set up the lights and generator, no later than tomorrow if you want a turnaround in three months. Where was everything stashed?”
“The generator?”
“Yeah and the lights also.”
“The boys were smart to store the stuff in a city locker. It's hard to believe that whole messiness with JP was a few days ago.”
Her eyes looked up at my crotch.
“Seems like a blur. I don't know why I didn't realize it before, Samuel, but that fiasco all happened under a Mercury Retrograde from March 20 to April 12, so that explains how events took a crazy turn. Oh, before I forget, we're in luck, too. Air Canada's seat sale to Newfoundland expires Saturday, which gives us a few days to make up our minds. I told Auntie I'd get back to her by Friday.”
Magdalene's mind could switch gears in mid-sentence.
“Not to worry, babe. She'll call before then.”
I helped her up from her kneeling position. Hot damn…a woman who kneels before me awakens the wolf. I glued my hands to her hips. A small bead of sweat had settled on her upper lip. I kissed it away, tracing the outline of her bee-stung lips with my tongue.
“Your lips taste like a man, sweet Magdalene.”
“That's because I was a naughty girl earlier in the afternoon.”
“Ooh…excellent news. That means I'll be able to indulge later.”
“You horny voyeur! I haven't forgotten about your cameras. I guess I put on a short-lived performance, bringing him off too fast. It's so true, you know, endurance is more valuable than enthusiasm, Samuel. Whatever will you do now that I know?”
“About my cameras?”
“Where is your head, Samuel? Yeah, I mean the cameras. Hasn’t the allure of secretly watching me been destroyed because I know?”
“Not really… the men won't know, unless you tell, which I hope you don't.”
I kissed her long in the silence of our basement. The pots covered the entire floor. Once completely cranked up, the generator and fluorescent lights emitted a soothing hum, enveloping the room in a glow of diffused bright green. When the plants are in bloom, and their buds bursting with aroma, walking into our basement was akin to walking into a live, thriving sauna of nature's care.
I thought of Sandrine's apartment, realizing it would require planning and creativity to orchestrate her departure, before outfitting her place with surveillance. Sandrine didn't strike me as the kind of girl who would enjoy multiple partners. That suspicion made me want to turn her all the more. I possess the ability to recognize salacious behaviour in women and over a period of time, Sandrine would welcome exploring all sides of her lust.
As I thought my thoughts, while maintaining an attentive look at my wife, she suddenly dropped the last pot, spilling potting soil on the floor. Her eyes looked lost and helpless as she placed her hand against her chest, holding it over her left breast.
“What's wrong, babe?” I asked, my jaw falling open.
“Samuel… I don't know…my heart…is racing a mile a minute.”
She was scared. Her forehead broke into a sweat, beading under the hairline. I held her.
“Hey, it's OK. Take a breather. You need to relax after exerting yourself.” She was panicked with wild pupils, her breath coming in gulps.
“I don't know what's wrong with me,” she gasped.
“You're having a panic attack, must be.” I looked around. The basement was dark, the walls open. It felt empty without fully-grown plants.
“It can't be the size of the room, you've been down here a thousand times.”
“The room is getting smaller and darker,” said Magdalene. Her body shook as she gripped my arms.
“It's going to be all right, sweetie. Let me help you back upstairs… get you some fresh air, open the front door…hold me. I won't let go.”
I helped her upstairs as she held my shoulder tightly. I brought her to the door, letting in a rush of April air to cool down her hot body.
“It has to be after-shock from the raid, Magdalene, re-potting must have brought on the attack.”
“I'm a little better, seriously,” she assured me, looking at me quizzically as one tear had leaked out.
“What went through your head, honey?” I asked.
“I was being thrown into the closet. Every detail of the raid re-played in my head.”
I seated her on the couch, kissing her forehead.
“It was a terrible ordeal, wasn't it? I underestimated the impact, sorry for being insensitive. I should have been here to help you.” I rubbed her tummy.
“It's not that, honey… it has to do with JP…him being killed. I don't know if I can live with that knowledge. I can't believe I didn't react until now. It's as though my conscience was shut off. We’re horrible, Samuel! We took the money and bought a sketch over the sanctity of protecting someone's body…JP was young!”
“In the first place,” I started, “his death is on my conscience, not yours, and in the second place he was ready to hang both you and I in a heartbeat, so don't forget that. I’m glad things turned out the way they did. We’re alive and he’s dead and that’s that. Tell me would you be happy if I was in prison and he still alive?”
“No. I wouldn't be happier, don't be stupid. I'm just racked with guilt and I'm worried. I mean are the police coming after us? We're going to have to deal with that fallout. And his death, how will I ever get it off my mind?”
“Time will heal it, Magdalene and we don't have to worry about the police. I doubt they'll even question us. Tina took care of him remember? Don't forget the Superintendent was at his ceremony. I doubt if he wants to be implicated in any way. Stop worrying, sweetie. His blood is on my hands not yours…OK?”
“Yeah, yeah, OK. I'm fine, Samuel.”
Her belly is as soft as cat's fur.
“But I should have seen this coming,” I said. Her attack wasn't about my half-vampire heredity but about JP and his death.
Her: There was much to love about him, his sensitivity to my moods and needs. A wife can teach a man class and to respect women, but the application of both attributes is an ongoing desire that must originate from within the man's heart.
I collected myself. Merely having Samuel beside me with his large gentle hands rubbing my tummy calmed me. A relaxed sensation travelled down my legs to my toes. My dirty girl had woken up.
“We're eating steak tonight, darling,” I started to say.
His head dropped lower.
“Yes, yes, yes…that's what I'm in need of, your probing tongue, Samuel.”
“We should postpone an attic session for a couple of days to make certain you're OK,” he suggested.
“Don't speak of such horrors, Samuel.”
“I take it back…you're fine.”
“That was freaky. I've never lost control like that before. The mind… it's an undiscovered country, you know.”
Samuel's knees hit the floor. He inched away from my hips the waistband of my leggings. I wasn't wearing underwear. As he slid off the material to my ankles, his eyes never left mine. His fingers caressed my belly, both hands feeling and moving, circling my rotund belly pooch, tickling the trail of hairs leading to my wetness.
“The mind is an undiscovered country,” he repeated. “The mind of a woman is a labyrinth of complicated thoughts and emotions. Few could scarcely navigate their way safely through the maze without emerging unscathed.”
He had a knack for making me laugh. My pants were completely off. He chose not to part my legs, squeezing inside two fingers. His nostrils flared.
“I can smell your girl from here, gorgeous girl. You know how I feel and I've said this before, the scent of a woman's loins should be bottled and sold. We could name your cologne Eau du Sardines.” His smile was not readily offered to all, reserved for me. I laughed hard, putting the incident behind me. He was right. I had an anxiety attack. I felt so secure in my surroundings that that could be the only logical explanation.
Samuel's tongue protruded outward, licking from my belly button downward, revolving, running back and forth as his fingers snuck underneath my bum and tickled my cheeks. His tongue stopped inches above my pussy.
“A little torment before I plunge,” he said. His gaze remained locked into mine. Our connection was flesh and bone, blood and lust, mind to mind, and heart to heart.
“No, Samuel. Do me here and now, and again later in our room. I have countless orgasms waiting for you to release.”
“Countless globules of lust emanating from within your corpulent bosom.”
“Don't make me beg…that's for our room.”
“Of course, my love.”
His tongue descended into my lips, parting the irregularly shaped petals, until they opened their moisture, offering their secrets to him. He plunged further, as deep as his tongue could reach. I allowed the quiet of our living room to cover and sooth my limbs, the hairs on my body rising, the heat of passion building.
“Yes, yes, yes…Samuel, my love, your tongue is devastatingly accurate…hit there again… yes, yes, yes… oh yeah.”
Him: A good orgasm has a grounding effect. I love to receive head, no different than any other man but I would carry a shit load of guilt if I denied Magdalene. Her body twitches from the legs up, moving up into her arms, residing in her bosom, her nipples hardening, her chest flushing, as her eyes close tightly. I've watched her closely and it's impossible to open her eyes during an orgasm. I'm not able to either, for that matter. We need to let go of control and feel in total darkness.
My baby finger rimmed her below, in circles, without going inside.
By the end of the first year of our marriage, I had thought every crevice on her body had been discovered. I learned otherwise. With each passing year, her body responded differently to my touch, to my tongue, to my cock, to my voice.
“Why don't we go upstairs before we eat?” I had pulled up my soaked face from within her moist, full, vibrating lips, requesting qualification for my suggestion. Magdalene got to decide this time. Generally, I decided when it was attic time. I am her master, her top, and she my slave, my bottom.
“A session before dinner is perfect, Samuel.”
“Yes, that's what your doctor-husband has ordered for his weak, anxiety-crazed wife.”
I liked to believe Magdalene fell in love with me because of my sharp instincts in knowing how to talk to her, that and my devastatingly handsome looks and my balanced, secure lifestyle, having owned my own business and home for years. The truth was my sense of humour had reeled her in, or so that's what she admitted to me when we were bombing around on mopeds like school kids on our honeymoon. She said my goofball humour made it impossible for her to remain angry with me. For me, I just have to look at her, to be in her presence, to smell her woman smell, to recall the last session we had in our attic, and I'd become rock hard. Women are receptive to intellectual stimulation and men are suckers for visual arousal. And with Magdalene and her body, the essence of her sexual spirit, I lose control. My wife is the glossy, pullout centerfold and after one look the wolf is ready to howl.
With deliberate, gentle movements, I held onto one wrist, throwing her body over my shoulder in a fireman's lift with her tummy on my shoulder and her head looking at my bum.
“Shall we ascend the stairs?” I asked.
“Lead the way, baby. I need to be spanked and stretched and adored.”
I carried her the entire way, up inside the hallway stairs. When we arrived at the door, I kicked it open, placing Magdalene on the floor, standing face to face.
“Close your eyes, slave girl, and let me have my way with you.”
“Yes, My Wonderful Lord.”
Her leggings were off. Her half-naked body was irresistible. A tuft of pubic hair poked out, underneath her long-sleeved shirt. I turned her in circles to disorient her. Her hair swung and whipped around her head as her body turned. I blew air into her face and she laughed freely.
“I have an image in mind,” I began, “of you working in a brothel as the queen bee of lust, taking one man after another, day after day, night after night, and every man is unable to satisfy you. Your hips enclose their bodies. Your strong thighs squeeze the very breath of out of them as they bury their cocks into your wet pussy.”
I stopped spinning her. She staggered a little and I steadied her. I realized it wasn't the smartest way to begin a session, particularly after her anxiety attack. Yet, stressful situations incite Magdalene to sexual cravings and she adapted quickly. I pulled off her shirt, peeling the material over her shoulders. I unclasped her front-closing bra; the breast cups naturally remained in place, holding snugly onto her breasts. As much as I wanted those nipples, I left the material in place, covering her. The sheer lace allowed the outer rim of one nipple to be visible, for my eyes to see how the pink flesh looked darker against white lace.
“One man enters the brothel, a dark haired man with the blackest of black eyes, and hard, white teeth. He doesn't smile. His purpose is telegraphed with an enlarged groin. The outline of his cock catches your eye. You are enthralled with his size, observing how his cock curves and bends toward his outer leg.”
I dropped my hand. In between her legs, my fingers worked their spell on her pussy, touching and stroking, up and down the length of her pussy lips. I brought her off quickly, loved watching her legs twitch in an upright position. She shifted her hips up then down until the orgasm played out. I felt the liquid dripping out of her body, rubbing her juices between my fingers. Her pussy was ready. I directed her to sit, gently pushing down on her shoulders.
“He chooses you out of all the women because he can smell your scent, making it impossible for him to focus. His eyes pass over other women vying for his attention, yet even the young ones are not seen by him…your lustful body is an intoxicant.”
Magdalene gasped as she sat on the one and only chair, the chair that made real the desire for penetration, the chair that separated pussy walls. The ivory dildo and its monstrous, long, curved projectile head entered her slowly. Her walls stretched one inch at a time. I measured the dildo when I had ordered the chair, and it surpassed seven inches. The human vagina is approximately three to five inches in length in its normal, non-aroused state. Once aroused, ballooning takes effect, elongating the vagina by an additional two to three inches and widening the walls by another two inches.
I lowered her body slowly, until her pussy had fully received the apparatus.
“This dark, powerful man follows you into your boudoir as you hold onto his hand, leading him. No words are spoken. No words are necessary. You want him without taking money. Mirrors line the ceiling in your room, and he lies down on your oval bed, watching you undress, registering the approval of your body.”
Her nipples were soft, the way I most want them, until my tongue suckled and absorbed their softness, until the nipple extended and I had to stop myself from biting off the tip. She kept her eyes closed. Her smile never left her face. I ran my hands through her hair, touching behind her ear lobes, tracing her jaw line, dropping lower in front of her neck.
“After you undress, he orders you to straddle him as he whips out his cock. He is fully clothed. You tear open his shirt and buttons fall to the floor. His cock has entranced you. The size is the largest you have ever seen, the thickest, and the most perfectly circumcised cock to be licked. His upper torso is bronzed. You want him, to know what it feels like to suck an enormous cock.”
Out came the wolf, extended, hard, expectant, and surely welcome inside Magdalene's mouth. She naturally opened as she heard the sound of my zipper descending. Few sounds filter into our attic because of the insulation, save the occasional car passing in front of our house.
Before I die, whenever that day will come, I would make a last request that the luscious lips of a beautiful woman wrap around my wolf and suck me off, until the last drop of my cum was expunged from my body.
I held Magdalene's cheeks in my palms as her head moved back and forth.
“And he points to his cock, without saying a word because his eyes speak to you silently, and he motions you to come closer, to straddle his unruly beast. You are ready to take him, to make him your own, to show him what kind of women you are, and to demonstrate your skill as being the supreme whore of a thriving brothel.”
As she sucked, I pinched her nipples, holding onto them tightly, without letting go, until I could feel the buttons between my fingers. I pushed my hips into her head and felt the tip of my cock touch the back of her throat. Magdalene did not gag.
In the sanctity of our room, in the liberation of our games, she was relaxed and submissive. My deliberate, fantastic stories erased her inhibitions.
“On top of him, with his cock buried in you, your breath escapes in a gradual exhalation, a pant of resignation. His cock fits snugly. The walls of your cunt take him. You don't want to move. You don't want to bounce up or down or swing forward and drop your nipples into his mouth. You want his fingers to reach out and pull you toward him.”
The ivory dildo was my ally, not my enemy. Heterosexual men are unnecessarily intimidated in using dildos. I suppose the thought of using a tool that is sturdier than their own is enough to kill a hard on. I, on the other hand, used the dildo for its intended purpose, to supplement our lovemaking sessions. I held her nipples as the second orgasm took over.
“Are you contracting your pussy walls, slave girl?” I pulled my cock out of her mouth, allowing her to speak.
“Yes, My Lord.”
“Good. Keep going. I can feel the orgasm in your nipples.” I let the wolf hang out in front of her, pushing the tip back and forth across her lips.
“Bite the tip, please…a small nip…don't draw blood.”
I inched my cock toward those strong teeth and she nipped. A shiver ran up my spine. I very nearly came in her face. I pulled Magdalene off the dildo, and turned her backside to my face. That spectacular ass and its vantage point, the gateway to the orifice of red, and that crinkled hole and path leading to her pussy are the stuff of charcoal drawings and salacious paintings, the makings of a watercolour feast. I rammed my cock into her and fucked hard as she held the chair's arms for support.
That's when it happened. A fantasy became realized of Magdalene and Sandrine, end to end, one mouth in each other's pussy, as I lay back on the rack watching, as they coupled on the hardwood floor, under a cloud of dust particles, the smell of their women scents intermingling, the sounds of their lips kissing, the look of their naked bodies, their hairless bums, devouring each other, pulling and prying fleshy pulp apart. I shook my head and re-focused.
The mind is an undiscovered universe and our room was the planet orbiting around our lustful thoughts.