Twelve Days of Hawtness

Day 9 | The Exploits of Alfie Tell (2) | AJ Marella

THE GODDESS

Eight of them.

Eight was a good number.

Eight was an excellent number.

Eight might just tire me.

I couldn't remember how this had happened, exactly. Not that it mattered, but I remember it began with cards, or at least, there were cards around.

Did I win these women? Yes, I think I did.

I could remember my Tellers, through the vodka fog, the tiny pink feathers and the scent of powder puffs, I remembered them, four of my compatriots with cards in their hands and a woman standing behind each of them. No, not a woman, a courtesan. Each player brought a woman and I already had four of my own. Winner takes all and I, of course, had won. Won eight of the most exquisite courtesans in Paris. I had taken all and now I was drowning, drowning in flesh. Drowning in apples, pears, peaches, and a cornucopia of other fruits.

I lay on a coverlet of women as they held me, kissed me, and teased me with their collective charms. I was suffocating in sensory overload. The scent of Chanel perfume, bought as gift no doubt— a gift or a bribe, different words with exactly the same meaning. A Shisha pipe sat smugly nearby, watching us fall apart on its fumes. Its smoke clouded the painted ceiling, heightening and lengthening my already addled senses—

The sound of a beaded headdress smashing and scattering on the floor. The smooth-then-soft feel of velvet-then-silk underneath me as I moved from one fruit to the other. The snap of a garter belt. The feel of corset laces between my fingers. There were tastes too. My God the tastes. The taste of hot skin on my tongue as I rolled down a stocking. The taste of a ripe peach exploding in my mouth, the bite of an apple, the parting of the skin of an orange and licking the flesh beneath. The beaded sweat mingled with my own. The sights. Sweet fruits. Debauched courtesans. And a flame headed goddess that pushed me backwards, claiming her turn.

The fire red of her hair caught me first, then her emerald eyes. Were they emerald coloured? I shook my head, trying to clear my vision - but there they still were, two emeralds set in porcelain. She took me inside her in one fell swoop, whereas I took her in parts— a delicate collar bone, teardrop breasts, a corset trained waist and a cunt as soft as tulip petals. She entranced me.

The flame-headed goddess above rode me with the sensuality of a woman trained to deliver a man the greatest night of passion in his whole life. She must be used to older men, bored men, men for whom a night like this was rare and novel. For me, this was every night and always would be. I would never give it up. I should be driven mad if I was forced into office life. Alfie Tell, caged and shackled? No. But a woman caged and shackled? Maybe tomorrow night. For now, I lived only for the flame-headed goddess and the emerald eyes that held me as she rode, rotated, and milked my dick with innate sensuality by the dim light of a hundred tapers.

Another fruit leaned in to suck the tip of her teardrop breasts, but I moved her aside. I wanted nothing obstructing my view. I leaned back, allowed every part of me to be attended to, and watched her ride.

I was surprised when she came so quickly. Most women don't from on top and as I watched her closely, noted through the haze that she hadn't gone limp afterwards, that her core hadn't contracted and tightened around me, I realised with hazy disappointment that she'd faked it.

I cocked an eyebrow at her. Women only faked it when they thought a man wasn't capable. That simply would not do.

I nudged her off of me, dethroning her with a mere twitch of my thigh.

I was nowhere close to the finish line and she had just issued a challenge. I plunged into the nearest peach, a pale haired one this time, a fruit I planned to take fast and hard until she was nothing but pulp. She turned out to be a screamer. Usually I would have covered her mouth but this time I let her rip as I held the gaze of the flame-headed actress. She was just an actress now, no longer a goddess. I took the screamer's clitoris between my fingers and manipulated it systematically, working it until I found the right spot. After a moment, the screamer shuddered, gasped, and I grinned. I repeated the action as I pumped hard and steady, driving her upwards.

The actress watched as the screamer fell apart on me. I held her gaze and she knew that I knew she was a pretender. The screamer fell limp and I withdrew. The actress advanced, moved for my lips, wanting her chance again, but it was too late, she'd disappointed me now. I placed a finger to her rosebud mouth.

"Tsk tsk tsk," I admonished. She paled and I wondered if she was concerned about her pay-cheque. I fell backwards into the pit of fruit and wonder and we became living, breathing ecstasy. All of us moving as a single unit with one goal in mind, pleasure.

I took a nipple in my mouth and sucked hard on the bud, my cock plunging deep inside a warm, waiting opening, the face to which it belonged I couldn't quite make out, as it was buried in the fruit of another. Kisses were planted down my spine and painted fingers drew electric lines along my skin. The room shook with moans and gasps of pleasure. I reduced them all to screamers, all except her, every single one of them fell into the pit of debauched depravity with me except for her, the flame-headed actress, who had to watch.

By the time the candles burned down and the sun rose, the actress looked like she might cry. Sure she'd had one or two orgasms, by her own hand or with the help of one of the other fruits, all the time holding my gaze, waiting for me to join in. But I didn't. Instead, I implored her to watch as I knelt between the legs of another, two fingers curving inside those delicate tissues, moving in just the right way. I pressed a palm to her lower abdomen, holding her down as she writhed and cried out, and I drank in the sight of her explosion, that rush of fluid that I could never get enough of. Why? Because they fell apart when they did that. They didn't just come, they came apart. It made me God.

Another straddled the exploded fruit, embracing her in a deep kiss and giving me the most delicious view of her succulent arse. She reached behind her, taking hold of me, and with a teasing smile she guided me to her rear. I slid in easily, surprisingly so, and groaned at the tight grip she held on me. I was close now. I was ready and I took her hard, her cries mingling with the fruit that still lay underneath, whose mouth was moulded so readily to hers.

I was close, seconds away, but who would I gift it to? There was, of course, only one answer. I pulled out and stood, turning to the actress. I took her chin in one hand, keeping her gaze on me as I finished on those perfect breasts. I held her there long enough for my seed to spill down over those sweet tips. Hope left her eyes as she knew then that she would never get to experience what the others just had. She would never experience the kind of ecstasy I can give. And worse, she knew it was her own fault.

Women had this way of looking at me, as if I owned the earth the sky and everything in between, which was almost true, but the look in their eyes told me something more, too. They looked at me like hungry, thirsty, starving women. As if I was their salvation, which was insanity, I was no one's salvation. Even Hedone, the Goddess of sensual pleasure, had taken a restraining order out against me. I left behind my slowly sinking ladies. They were exhausted which was no surprise, as the sun was just beginning to rise.

I wondered so many things about women. They all said yes, no matter what I asked of them, they gave in to me. I wondered what it would be like to meet one who would slap me in the face and run away. Who would take my money and stamp on it. Take on all of me and never falter, who could match my stamina, my mind, my temper. It was a foolish thought and I laughed at myself for thinking it. I didn't believe in fictional creatures.