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simone-de-boudoir · 1 year

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Blood on Her Lips - Ch. 2: Desire, Desire

Blood on Her Lips: ABOUT

It was finally time. Rose’s final private dance of the night. She was rattled by a sense of jittery nervousness that she hadn’t felt since her first days as an erotic dancer. But now, just like then, her nervous energy was not entirely fear-based; rather, it stemmed from excitement and eagerness. She was chomping at the bit, perched expectantly at the starting line waiting for the signal flare to go off.

Rose took a deep breath in an attempt to ease her shaking hands. She laughed at herself. How ridiculous to be nervous after all this time! She shook her hands as if drying them, in an effort to release her nerves through her fingertips. She glanced at the time—how could there still be 12 minutes left? She had been in this private dance room for nearly twenty minutes, ensuring that everything was prepped and ready.

Her phone was in place and set to play Anna Calvi’s “Desire.” She checked it again just to make sure. Everything was in order. She drummed her fingers restlessly and heaved an anxious sigh. Needing a distraction, she bolted to the tall, french-door style windows across the room, and propped open one pane. She pulled up a chair next to the window and took out her vape filled with liquid marijuana. She drew a few languorous puffs and felt the calming potion wash through her.

Her pussy also seemed to be hyper aware of this upcoming client. It tingled with readiness, seethed with anticipation. Would she fuck him? It had been quite some time since she had fucked a client, mainly because it had been some time since one interested her. Toying with the idea of fucking this mysterious young man gave way to toying with herself.

She was naked apart from a garnet necklace and thigh-high fishnets held up by a simple garter-belt. Patent leather heels adorned her feet. This left her pussy exposed and accessible. Her fingers traced along the curve of her hip bone, over the sensitive skin of her stomach, and across the softness of her upper thigh. Her nails dug into the flesh of her thigh before moving over the delicate folds of her pussy. Her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted.

Her fingers explored the contours of her clit. She rubbed herself gently, gingerly at first, before intensifying the motions. Like the graceful legs of an ice skater, her middle and forefinger spread open and slid down the grooves of her pussy’s innermost realms.

She purred and moaned as her fingers picked up speed. Her pussy, made agape by one leg propped up with its pump against the windowsill, felt like it was glowing. It was true that if any passers-by on the streets below should look up, they would catch an eyeful of Rose pleasuring herself, since she had opened the drapes and window in order to puff on her vape. This thrill of exhibitionism urged on her exploratory fingers.

Closing her two spread fingers into a firm arrow, she plunged them deep into her exposed opening, now wet and trembling with desire. At first, she let her hand take the lead, pulling her glistening fingers in and out of herself in heaving waves. But her hips quickly joined in, rising and falling, up and down onto the chair, her bent leg still steadied against the windowsill. The pointed tip of her pump peeked out past the window pane into the open air.

Rose withdrew her two fingers and darted them into her mouth, as much to gain extra wetness as to taste her own dripping pleasure. Her fingers lingered in her mouth for a moment, then rushed back down again. Her wet fingers licked the outer layers of her throbbing pussy, as her moans got louder. Her free hand clutched an uncovered breast, squeezing it tightly, while her hardworking fingers continued their dance inside and all around her beating cunt.

Her fingers rubbed and thrusted, thrusted and rubbed, exchanging focus from her inflated clit to her slippery cavern, and then back again. Rubbing and thrusting, clit to cavern. Thrusting and rubbing, cavern to clit. Cavern to clit, clit to cavern, until—with violent force—her body erupted into a paroxysm of pleasure.

She lounged back in the chair, her limbs draped languidly over the arms. Both feet now rested on the ground. She felt relaxed and empowered, ready to perform.

~~~~~~~~

Finally, it was time to go downstairs and collect her client. Rose patted the sweat from her brow, fixed up her rustled hair, and covered herself with her silk robe. Her skin was hot and charged with the afterglow of sexual pleasure, and the silk felt sensual and cooling against it. Goosebumps flared and hard nipples protruded through the thin layer of silk.

The dark stranger was waiting in the narrow entrance of Theatre La Chatte. It was 11:30 at night, yet he wore sunglasses. Shyness could perhaps explain this, along with some of his other odd behaviors, Rose thought to herself. Or maybe he prized anonymity. Was he scared of a less-than-understanding girlfriend finding out, or perhaps he worried about crossing paths with a coworker? Irrelevant to Rose, these were common distractions that hovered in the minds of her clients. Her role was to distract them from their distractions.

"Bonsoir, chéri," Rose greeted him. In addition to the sunglasses, he kept his head bowed, and all he gave in recognition was a subtle nod.

Rose always flashed a peek into the contents of her robe to ensure her clients liked what they saw before going off to have their private dance. This one, however, turned his head away, averting his look. She shrugged mentally at his seeming disinterest, then took him by the hand and led him up a winding flight of stairs and into the private dance room she had arranged. She directed him to sit in the chair she had placed in the center of the room—the same one on which she had just pleasured herself—and set up her phone to connect to the speakers and play music.

“Ready?” she asked over her shoulder. He nodded. She noticed he still did not remove his dark sunglasses.

“First, the rules,” she said, turning toward him. “Rule one: you must stay in that chair until I tell you that you can get up. Comprenez-vous?” He nodded slowly.

“Rule two: your hands are free to touch yourself, as you like, but they can only touch me when I guide them. Comprenez?” He nodded. She smiled.

She turned to play the music, her finger hovering above the play button, but stopped herself. She turned back around and approached him slowly. Coming close enough to touch him, she traced her fingers along the outline of his sunglasses.

“You would like these to stay on, or may I—” He answered by abruptly pushing her hand away. This startled her, but she had certainly encountered much more bizarre requests from clients, so she shrugged and acquiesced.

Finally, she played “Desire” and began her act.

Rose tossed off her robe and gave the seated stranger a full view of her body. Her necklace dripped a trail of twinkling garnets between her exposed breasts. Legs in fishnets, hips in garter-belt, feet buttressed by heels, she rested in a standing pose. Her own hands caressed the lines of her body until they reached her chest. She could feel his eyes following the movements of her hands. She cupped her tits, gazed down and admired them lovingly. She then coyly raised her gaze to his eyeline—this little trick typically gave her clients the titillating sensation of being caught looking at her, which in turn gave her a little thrill. But those damned sunglasses blocked this effect, at least on her end.

Anna Calvi’s deep, throbbing voice rang out: “But it's just the devil in me / The devil that's calling as I come undone.”

Rose had planned on dancing a good distance in front of him for a while longer, as she typically did in her private acts, before shifting to the portion where she touched him. Yet she felt herself compelled to initiate that part faster.

“The sky is getting dark tonight / Darker than the fear that's gonna pull us apart,” beat the song.

She stood directly over him as he remained seated, gazing up at her, his eyes blacked out by opaque rectangles.

Bending her knees, she sat down on his lap facing him, her legs spread apart and flanking him. She ran her hands along her own legs, savoring the woven, binding texture of her fishnets.

“And it's the fire, the fire, the fire,” chanted the song. “It's heavenly, heavenly—”

Rose grazed the length of his neck with the tips of her fingers before tightening them around his throat.

“Desire, desire,” pounded the song. “Desire, desire.”

She released her grasp and let her hand fall onto his groin. Its hardness was unmistakable. She felt her own wetness respond. Rose undid the button and zipper of his pants, allowing the hard cock to spring forth. Propelling herself off his lap and onto her knees, facing him, she brought her mouth tantalizingly close to his erection. She refrained from touching, however, permitting only her hot, wet breath to coat it. She watched him writhe at this teasing, this hinting, this promise of touch.

He was not touching himself, for reasons Rose could not discern. This was rare, but it happened. Instead, his hands remained locked on the chairs’ armrests.

Gazing at that hard, silky cock that protruded just inches from her face, Rose noticed two sources of wetness gather like a storm within herself—both her mouth and her pussy salivated for this dick in front of her. She felt it deserved some touch, so she sprang up, twirled herself around, and perched herself back on his lap. This time she sat with her back toward him, as the firm softness of her ass cheeks pressed and grinded against his penis.

A moan escaped his lips. He was behaving so well, Rose noticed, his hands still perched obediently on the arms of the chair. Yet, upon closer inspection it seemed that his fingers were gripping those chair arms with agonizing tightness, apparently in a battle to maintain control.

Rose was feeling generous. She gently clasped his hands with her own and lifted them off the armrests, brought them up around her and onto her tits. His cold hands triggered goosebumps on her flesh and made her already hard nipples pucker even further. She gasped slightly at this shock of coldness, but continued on, pressing his hands harder against her chest.

“You don’t know how much I need this.” These breathy words were the first he had spoken to her, but it was as if they were not directed to her but merely fell carelessly from his mouth, almost unintentionally.

Reaching backward, she caressed the side of his face with her palm and turned her profile toward him, eyeing him compassionately out of one eye. “There’s more to come,” she uttered softly, sweetly, with a wink.

Rising from his lap, she turned to face him again. Standing, she bent herself at the waist, bringing her face close to his. Her hand reached down and grasped the hard cock below. She began with gentle, teasing strokes. Even his cock is cold, she thought with surprise. The blood filling it with stiffness was somehow not translating to outer warmth.

Still bent over him, she brushed her lips against his. He stayed motionless, apart from his accelerated breathing. She pressed harder and his lips parted in response; soon their tongues were dancing.

“It's coming, coming, coming for you,” warned the song.

She drew her face away from his, a single thread of saliva lingering between them before splitting apart. Pushing his knees wide apart, she crouched again in front of his towering erection. The garnet necklace glittered between her tits and cast a crimson gleam against their inner curves. Her tongue, still wet with his saliva, stroked the length of his shaft and tickled the tip of its head. She watched as it twitched with yearning. In a full sweep, she swallowed his entire cock, rested a moment with its entirety inside her, then released it with a slobbery backstroke.

Now that there was sufficient wetness, her hands joined in. Her mouth and hands stroked up and down in winding, twisting motions. She found herself getting lost in these motions—up and down, in and out—it was as if a cock-sucking demon had taken possession of her. She craved his hardness deep in her throat, hungered for his smooth head against her tongue.

She had gotten so caught up in sucking his dick that she lost track of time. The song was still playing, suggesting not too much time had passed. But how was that possible? Had she put the song on repeat? The reality of the world around her was hazy and faded into the distance, as if swallowed by the walls encircling them.

Rose stood up and threw one leg over his thigh, a patent leather heel hanging over the side. This brought her pussy to just hovering above the tip of his penis. With the faintest of movements, she allowed the head of his cock to get a taste of the satiny wetness of her pussy, which now ached to be filled. Thrusting her hips back and forth in undulating strides, the tip of his dick was now coated with her pussy’s sweet nectar.

“I can go fetch a condom,” she offered in a whisper.

In a surprise move, he pushed her off of him. Had she completely misread things? A pang of panic and embarrassment rushed through her. But he was not finished. He picked up her entire body with startling strength and nearly flung her onto the perch of the half-open windowsill. Rose noticed, with both horror and delight, that she had forgotten to close the window and drapes.

Her back was mostly against the closed pane, but one shoulder peeked out from the open pane. The coldness of the glass against her back reminded her of his cold hands. Through the ajar windowpane beside her, she smelled the cement and exhaust of the city below. Distant honks and motors chimed in her ears. A view from outside would have revealed her nearly-naked form framed by the tall, narrow window, with her hand pressed against the open pane to steady herself. She was both inside and outside. She was exposed yet secure. In this liminal space, she surrendered herself.

Now it was he that was crouched in front of her. The coldness of his hands on her inner thighs gave her a fresh thrill. The iciness of his tongue surprised her most of all. A sensation of prickly needles shot through her. It bordered on pain, but she didn’t shy away. She needed more. Her eyes clenched shut, as if she needed to dull all her other senses in order to fully and only experience the feeling of his touch.

His icy tongue stroked her engorged clit and whirled inside the depths of her pussy. From the corner of her eye, she caught passers-by going about their business on the street just a few stories below.

“And it's the fire, the fire, the fire,” called out the song, climbing steadily toward its climax.

Then, in an unexpected turn, she felt the sharp clench of teeth upon her clit, like an oversized staple piercing into her most sensitive patch of flesh. This sent a lightning bolt through her and tensed her entire body. Her fists tightened, toes curled, upper lip snarled, and teeth clamped together. The pleasure tiptoed so close to ferocious pain that she felt as if she were dangling off the ledge of a skyscraper. The intense rush of this quasi-dangerous pleasure ignited every cell in her body. She felt life flush into every extremity, every inch of her skin tingled with an electric charge. Usually, she had to ask her partners to bite her clit. It was a bold move to try this without being prompted.

“It's heavenly, heavenly—” the song was nearly at its climax, and so was Rose, “Desire, desire! Desire, desire!”

With one final icy thrust of his tongue, a primal scream erupted from deep inside Rose’s throat. Her body spasmed violently, causing her hand to slip from the opened windowpane. She was in no real danger of falling out, but nearly a quarter of her body hung out the open side of the window.

“You don't have to be lost,” the song concluded.

A frosty hand pulled her away from the window and onto her feet. “My hero,” she teased.

With a start, she noticed that his sunglasses were gone. Had he taken them off, or had they fallen off? When his gray eyes finally, at last, met hers, she felt an aftershock of an orgasm rattle through her body. It was almost stronger than the first. He seemed embarrassed and quickly averted his eyes. Had he noticed her aftershock? What’s to be ashamed of? He had pleasured her with surprising alacrity!

“I should go,” he muttered, stuffing his still hard cock back into his pants.

“Wait!” Rose ran to him and gripped his shirtcollar with both hands. This forced his eyes back into hers.

He blinked rapidly, either alarmed or thinking over something very serious. He chewed the side of his lip. Then, finally, through quickened breath, he asked: “Do you live nearby?”

Rose nodded with a wry smile.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Get dressed, I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

~~~~~~~~

He was smoking a cigarette as he waited for Rose outside Theatre La Chatte. He threw it onto the cobblestone street and stepped on it without a word when she came out.

“It’s this way,” she said as she began walking. He followed her.

“Wait!” Rose explained, glancing at her phone. “It’s nearly midnight.”

“And?” he responded. “Do you turn into a pumpkin?”

She smirked and took him by the hand. By now, she was not startled by the cold temperature of his skin. She pulled him along with her as she made a sharp turn down a sidestreet.

“Let’s go to the river. I like to watch the Eiffel Tower twinkling,” she explained over her shoulder.

After a few blocks, they arrived at a bridge stretching across the Seine. The Eiffel Tower could be seen in the distance, through the mist and darkness of the night sky. They arrived just in time to watch it transform into a dazzling display of twinkling lights at exactly midnight.

Rose leaned her elbows against the bridge’s railing. Reflections of the lights danced in her eyes and in the water below. They watched the full five minutes of the show in silence. When it finished, Rose escorted the man back toward the direction of her apartment.

“How long have you lived in Paris?” he asked as they walked side by side.

She was surprised to hear him make small talk; he was usually so stolid and silent. “Two years,” she answered. She chuckled slightly, “And I’m still not sick of these light shows at night.”

“No? I’m sick of all things night-related.”

“All things?” she quipped.

It was the first time she saw him smile. Leaving her question unanswered, he remarked: “You know, most Parisians would be ashamed to admit they like the Eiffel Tower’s lights. Most call it kitschy and gauche.”

“Sometimes I feel like a Parisian,” she said thoughtfully, “and other times I feel very, very different.”

“I know what you mean.” He said these words almost without thinking.

“Where are you from?” Rose asked him.

“East,” he replied.

“Eastern France? Or…farther east? I swear sometimes I can detect the faintest of accents when you speak, but then other times I’m not so sure. But I guess I haven’t heard you speak very much yet, you’ve spoken very little really…”

“Do you mind if I smoke as we walk?”

“Not at all, we still have a few blocks to go. Mind if I vape? It’s weed if you’d like some.”

He shook his head. They each pulled out their smoking devices, and the irregular-shaped cigarettes in his gold case caught Rose’s eye. “Do you roll your own?” she asked him.

“Yes. I like to add extra tobacco.”

“Health nut, eh?” Rose joked. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a puff on mine in between pulls on that death stick of yours?”

It was a silent chuckle expressed solely through his shoulder motions, but it delighted Rose because it was the first time she had seen him laugh. “After,” he replied, exhaling a long, billowy stream of smoke.

“How about we switch for a few puffs?” she offered.

“I thought mine was a ‘death stick’...”

She shrugged. “As I said, sometimes I am Parisian.”

They stopped at a corner and traded smoking devices, each taking a few puffs. “You’re very mysterious,” she told him through the pillowy white clouds of smoke released past her lips.

He looked at her and his demeanor changed. He quickly exchanged her vape for his cigarette back, but instead of smoking it he threw it on the ground. “I have to go,” he stated starkly. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why?” He had already begun walking away as Rose called out these words. She ran after him and caught his hand with her own. Again, the coldness of his palm did not startle her.

He stopped and turned toward her, but he kept his face turned away from hers. He didn’t speak, but the fact that he stopped made Rose optimistic.

“Look,” she said, “obviously you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but I was really looking forward to spending the night with you. Did I say something wrong?”

“No…” His lips remained parted as if he had more words to say, but instead of uttering them he closed his mouth and ran his hand through his dark hair. He was holding something back, Rose suspected.

“Do you not want to come back to my place?” she asked delicately but directly. “It’s just around the corner.”

He looked at her for a drawn out length of time without speaking, then cast his gaze off into the distance. He chewed his bottom lip, as if words were trying to escape and he was fighting to hold them in.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Rose repeated. “But we could have a glass of wine, smoke some more, talk…”

Without warning he took Rose by her shoulders with both hands and pushed her against the stoney wall behind her. “I don’t want to talk,” he said, then pressed his lips firmly against hers. The cold of the stone behind her matched the icy slickness of his lips and tongue.

They continued kissing, deeply and hungrily, for several more minutes. He pulled up her skirt and slid a frosty hand past her panties and cupped her pussy. She felt an icy finger pierce into her, and she let out a moan of satisfaction. He fingered her rhythmically as they continued making out. She threw a leg around him to help spread herself so his finger could go deeper.

“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Don’t cum in me until we have a condom, but you have to fuck me. Now. Please! Fuck me…” It was a plea, she was begging.

He did as he was told and released his hardened cock from his pants, then slid it into her soaking wet pussy. She groaned louder this time. The hard, freezing dick inside her gave her an unusual, new feeling—like being fucked by smooth, solid steel.

He continued fucking her against the wall, neither of them checking for passers-by or open windows in close range. With each new thrust, she felt something rise inside her. The fuse had been lit and it was rapidly reaching the explosive. Her pussy clenched around his thrusting, steel-like cock. She pressed her hips harder against him so that her clit felt the full force of his body against it. The fuse was crackling and burning, quicker and quicker. Her pussy tingled hot and every inch of her skin sizzled with the approaching pleasure. Then, at last, the explosion erupted like a volcano. She pulled his hair and dug her nails into his arm, as she released a fiery, hot-breathed scream into the misty night air.

She kissed him energetically, still overcome by pleasure and desire. “This way,” she said confidently, knowing instinctively that he would follow her without protest this time as she again took hold of his icy hand. She led him to her apartment and welcomed him inside.

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3: The Morning Hunts You Down

Companion song: "Desire" by Anna Calvi

*Visit SimoneDeBoudoir.com for companion media (stripteases & sexier boudoir photoshoots) + more!*

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