Slips Of The Tongue Ch. 05

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From a bowl of freshly cut fruit, Gwen deftly plucked a wedge of strawberry with the first two toes of her left foot, and then carefully dipped it into another bowl of melted chocolate. Domenique lay on her belly, and watched hungrily as her lover took care to immerse the entire piece of fruit as well as the tips of her toes into the limpid brown pool. If not for their shared fetishism, the foreplay might have been skipped for some other more usual and less messy means of arousal. However, as far as Domenique or Gwen were concerned, they would have nothing less. Slowly, Gwen guided her morsel toes to her lover’s open mouth. Domenique eased her head in close, and took a sumptuous bite out of the strawberry as Gwen held her foot steady. Domenique gazed lustfully into Gwen’s smiling eyes as she chewed. Then, swallowing her first bite, she began to lick the shining coat of chocolate from Gwen’s toes; gliding her tongue in rapturous delight, her eye lids closing, a contented purring rising in her throat.

“You love chocolate.” Gwen said, her voice silky.

“Hmm,” said Domenique wagging her head slightly as she opened her eyes again, “No. You; are what I love.”

“Oh, is that all I am to you; a what?”

Domenique licked her lips clean as she watched Gwen searching her eyes.

“The what of you,” Domenique continued as she observed Gwen trying to grab a slice of banana between her toes, “Is the tangible Goddess of you that makes me hunger for you, and your soul is the who you are, the conduit divinity, that makes your totality all the more succulent.”

Gwen’s eyes, her expression an alchemy of timorous astonishment, vacillated between Domenique’s warm gaze and the banana slice that simply would not stay between her toes.

“You did not just come up with that.” She said, finally using her fingers to set the slick piece of fruit in place.

“I did.”

Together, they watched Gwen’s foot hover over the bowl of chocolate, descend for a dip, only to leave the chunk of fruit to float in its little pond. Gwen, her expression suddenly stern, grumbled in frustration. Domenique laughed as she moved the two bowls aside.

“Banana wouldn’t have been my next choice.” She said as she drew herself closer to the holy temple between Gwen’s spread legs, “But let me see how it tastes this way.”

For this session of play, Domenique had rolled out the rubber sheet and spread it across the open terrain of her living room. It was a chilly November day outside, but the couple turned the heat up high enough so that lounging naked would feel as good as it should. Domenique sunk the banana slice into the chocolate, withdrew it, and then began to paint Gwen’s pussy with it. The rose that Domenique had trimmed into life for her was still plain to see inside its almond meadow of the rest of Gwen’s new hair growth. The black rose’s hair shined with patches of chocolate syrup. Gwen looked down to watch as Domenique painted her clitoral hood, her clit and her lips; parting them as she worked, spreading them and lubricating the temple’s vestibule with the disintegrating piece of soften fruit. Presently, what remained, she tucked inside Gwen’s chocolate covered pussy.

“You and I,” uttered Domenique, her tone now silky, “Are two flowering vines entwined,”

Domenique paused long enough to dart her tongue across Gwen’s rose and lap up the chocolate she’d left there.

“Loving, close yet loose enough, to while through our garden, rooted in the same mother soil, sweetly drenched with the Goddess’s rain or the nourishing light of Her indefatigable yellow sun;”

Again Domenique paused to lick the chocolate and banana from Gwen’s major and minor lips, leading Gwen in a lazy song of sweetly murmured bliss.

“Two queens, weaving our splendor, sharing it with other blossoms as we seek…”

Domenique’s words trailed off, her last utterance muffled by Gwen’s syrupy chocolate and banana paste lathered pussy. Domenique contentedly dined as Gwen stroked her lover’s soft brown hair. Relaxed, she felt Domenique drag her strong tongue from the bottom of her perineal to the top of her clef, and then across, in and out again, until she inevitably began to buck in the rhythm that Domenique had set for her. Can she? Is she? Is she fucking me now with her tongue? Why not? It’s long enough. Gwen had to see. Oh but I’m coming. Gwen eased up onto her elbows. Oh my God, yes, she is.

“Oh yes Nique!” moaned Gwen as she reached probing fingers to find the physical compliment to what she’d seen, and then feeling Domenique’s slick hard tongue disappearing under the arch and quickly reappearing again, “Fuck me with that long hard tongue! Mmm baby; yes, yes, mmmmmmm, yeah, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! Oh Nique, oh Nique, my sweet baby.”

With steady thrusts, Domenique drove her tongue deep into Gwen again and again. She’d forgotten that she could do it and couldn’t recall whom she’d done it for last. But, Domenique continued to fuck Gwen with it, enjoying the feel of it inside flesh that gave and antalya escort could suck it inside itself. Seconds passed and Gwen’s orgasm verged as Domenique began to literally ram Gwen with her tongue. Finally, Gwen’s climax sent her love muscles to grip Domenique’s tongue tight. It was an odd feeling, as if Gwen’s pussy was a living flesh Chinese finger cuff around her tongue. Meanwhile, whether or not she was aware of Domenique’s situation, Gwen held Domenique’s head by fists full of her hair. She rode her climax quietly, her body clenched, her back arched, the endorphins electrifying her until the breaker was flipped. Gwen fell back and simultaneously let her grip loose around Domenique’s tongue.

Domenique could barely speak for a while after that. She’d crawled up upon Gwen and got kiss after grateful and sympathetic kiss over her entire face, and was told that she’d uttered the most divine words Gwen had ever heard. Presently, it was Domenique’s turn to lay back and get appreciated. And so, Gwen ate Domenique for lunch, and didn’t waste a solitary chunk of fruit or single drop of chocolate.

“You really want me to move in with you?” Gwen asked as they stood together in the mall later that afternoon.

Domenique had popped the question after they’d gone through a fast coffee drive through and picked up two hot mocha lattés’ and two cream cheesed bagels.

“We’ve only been together for four months.” Gwen had said, her eyes on the road though it wasn’t her that was driving.

“I know.” Domenique had said, her gaze shifting to Gwen and then back onto the busy traffic around them, “I just thought; It was time?”

A silence filled the cab of Domenique’s car as they ate and sipped their coffees. Gwen changed the subject as they approached the mall, something about her IT job, and Domenique patiently listened to her lover’s venting her frustration over inept co-workers and people on the needy end of the help line who still didn’t know their local disk from their shared folder. Once inside the mall, they’d drifted apart for a few stores, and then met again at the fountains. Domenique watched the spray rise and fall. Gwen watched her watching, and paused to assess the mall traffic for unwanted onlookers. Presently, Gwen drew closer to Domenique, her face just a matter of a kiss away. Domenique turned to face her.

“Yes.” She said, her eyes daring Gwen to kiss her there, for all the passers by to see, “Yes, I do want you to move in with me.”

Then Gwen, her gaze shifting, her face reddening, but a smile raising her lips, said:

“Okay. Fine; let’s do it. But…”

Gwen looked away, toward a set of parents with twin girls in pig tails walking hand in hand.

“What about our elusive third rose?”

Domenique turned her gaze back into the flowing, rising jets of water.

“What about her?” She said.

The silence that fell between them was filled with the rush of the fountain, the chatting of passing groups of roving teens or the squealing, laughing or whining of toddlers and the thirty somethings that bore them.

“The next one,” said Gwen, her body uncharacteristically close for such a public setting, “Will definitely be her, you know?”

“I don’t know.” Domenique answered as she turned to face her, “Maybe.”

They stared at each other for a time, though Domenique’s gaze wavered, as if she had something else she wished to say.

“What?” asked Gwen as she searched her lover’s face.

“Nothing.” Domenique answered, “It’s getting late. Let’s hit Victoria Secret on our way out.”

Twenty minutes into their time in Victoria’s, Domenique found a shiny purple little teddy she knew she had to see on Gwen. Gwen had wandered off into the store maybe ten minutes earlier. The last Domenique saw, Gwen had been talking with one of the customer assistants, a young Puerto Rican woman with long black shining hair. Domenique checked the aisles deeper in the store, but still saw no sign of Gwen. Then, assuming she’d found a thing or two to try on, Domenique, toting the teddy, made her own way to the dressing room area. She called for Gwen, heard her laughing, pulled the curtain back and saw her in the midst of taking off her bra with the Puerto Rican customer assistant standing in the changing booth with her. Domenique’s face immediately darkened, before reaching the teddy in, putting it on the peg on the right wall, then leaving. “What’s the matter Nique.” asked Gwen another ten minutes or so later.

She’d found Domenique near the entrance of the store, standing straight and aloof like a brooding sentinel.

“Nothing,” Domenique answered flatly, her clenched fists stuffed in the pockets of her winter coat, “I’m just suddenly very tired.”

Gwen tried to look her in the eye, but Domenique avoided her gaze.

“I love the teddy you picked.”

She waited for a response, but all Domenique offered was a shrug.

“I tried it on. It looks and feels nice. I guess, I guess I’ll go pay for it and I’ll be right out.”

The lara escort ride back passed in silence for the most part. Gwen put the question to Domenique again and again as to what the problem was. Domenique’s reply was always the same: “Nothing.” The only departure was when she’d asked Gwen if she wanted anything from the liquor store she’d stopped at. Gwen had said no. Domenique exited her car without another word, and then returned with two bottles of maple Crown Royal.

What the fuck, thought Gwen, does she have to all of a sudden go and buy hard alcohol for? Why is she giving me shit now? Then it came to her. Domenique, now ready to settle into an exclusive long term together, feared the prospect of the third time being the charm. Somehow, at some point over the last couple of weeks, the pursuit of the third white rose had stopped being a game for her and was now a looming threat. Oh my God, she does love me. The words are real. So what about me? How do I feel; really? Gwen loved Domenique in as much as she enjoyed her immensely. And yet, she enjoyed the pursuit of their third with nearly as much zeal. But, she knew, it never would have been that way if Domenique hadn’t been an equal party to it, hadn’t been the initiator for each tryst, the director of each operation. Without Nique’s willingness, she thought, it just wouldn’t be the same. Still, don’t we both deserve to know who our admirer is? Or, is it that she already knows?

They’d arrived at Domenique’s apartment. Domenique grabbed her booze. Gwen took the bags. Her mind was swimming as she followed Domenique, and then waited for her to unlock her front door. Christ! That’s it, Gwen thought, she’s about to start her cycle. God, we’re not even living together yet and we’re in menstrual synchrony. Sure Gwen, Nique’s cycle started the very moment she entered the dressing stall. That has to be it; Nique’s coming down with the period . You’re so stupid. Gwen kicked off her boots in the hall, and then tossed the bags onto the couch before heading into the bathroom. If she wasn’t so upset, I would have asked her to join me and that Spanish girl. She was pretty. Nique would have liked her, I guess. It’s not like we did anything. Or maybe… Was that it? Was that…

Gwen was about to call Domenique when she was turned and helplessly choked by a pair of rolled up socks Domenique had suddenly shoved into her mouth. Gwen’s eyes went wide. Next she knew, Domenique had her two wrists gripped tightly in one strong hand, like she’d had that time months before, when she’d copped attitude with Domenique over the nature and scope of love. . Tears rushed from her eyes as Domenique’s fingers pressed against the major pressure points in her wrists, and sent her quickly to her knees. Domenique released her grip, and then quickly knocked Gwen over, simultaneously ripping her slacks and panties to her calves. Gwen tried to reach her free but still numbed hands to stop Domenique, to get the gag out of her mouth, but couldn’t manage a single move. Domenique was much too quick, straddling her legs, and then punching her left kidney, then her right, and then; while slapping one exposed cheek and then the other, repeatedly back and forth, she hissed through clenched teeth:

“I… decide… who you… fuck… not… you!”

Gwen could barely breathe. She was nauseated and she started to feel a cramp in her lower back intensifying. Still immobilized with pain, her lower back throbbed, her ass stung with the heat of a thousand pin pricks. She lay there sobbing, the taste of laundered wool in her mouth, her teeth, gums, tongue and palate painfully dry. Domenique was still straddling her, shoving her back down any time she’d make the effort to rise.

“You pull that shit again, and I will out you to your mother!”

Finally, Gwen crept a hand to her mouth, pulled the pair of socks, and then flung it away.

“You fucking asshole!” she screamed, ” You think you’re in control over who we fuck? You think that she, whoever she is, is yours to share with me! But if I find someone who I think I want to fuck, you can’t handle it, so you need to hurt me, you fucking bitch?” “You were intending to take us slumming.” Said Domenique as she rose to her feet.

“Slumming?” cried Gwen, turning herself over, “What the fuck Domenique, you’re pissed because the girl in the store was Puerto Rican!?!”

Domenique looked away.

“Oh my God!” Gwen said, no longer deigning to look at Domenique.

Gwen made the effort to re-dress herself, but it was slow going. She could hear Domenique in the kitchen, making herself a drink. She returned to the living room a moment later, and Gwen was still huddled on the floor, eyes shut, tears streaming and teeth clenched as she worked to stuff herself back into her clothes. What the fuck! Move in with you: you’re out of your fucking mind! Who the fuck did you become over the last fucking half hour?

Eventually, Gwen crawled her way to her boots, and worked them on as quickly as side escort she could, given the circumstance of her aching back and stinging ass. Domenique had flicked the TV on, and then crossed the hall into the kitchen with her empty glass. She crossed back a few seconds later, not looking at Gwen, as she ferried her newly filled glass and one of her bottles of Crown Royal. That’s it then bitch, thought Gwen as she got finally to her feet, and then began to work herself into her coat. You tie one on and I’ll make my escape. Gwen had been there before, and she’d never expected, especially with a woman partner, to be there again. But, there it was; resentment, alcohol and violence, tainting the good, good thing they’d cultivated. Gwen half expected Domenique to come running after her, to beat her more, to exert whatever control she thought she needed over her or to apologize and tell her that she’d never ever do it again; because that was always how it worked. A stupid girl would stay, but Gwen wasn’t a stupid girl anymore. That girl was gone. Gwen fumbled for her keys, took one last look down the hall, gripped the door knob, and then showed herself out.

“MHIS Help Desk; Can I help you?”

Still keyed up from the event, needing something positive to silence the teeming infestation of vacillation of ugly and precious memories, Gwen was eager to get to work on Monday morning. Work, she could trust; its easy manageability, its schedulized predictability and its acquaintance stream of harmless, socially distant, souls. Of course, each time she’d picked up the phone, Gwen wanted or expected it to be Domenique at the other end of the line, crying about how much she needed Gwen’s help, how sorry she wanted to say she was, to say how wrong she was and to ask for her forgiveness. Still, your darkest episodes far behind you, it was hard not to have stupid girl thoughts. Each time her outside line rang , a swarm of contradictions would rush from her head, to her heart and into the pit of her stomach, until she saw by the caller ID that it again wasn’t Domenique. That’s how it was when you lived and breathed someone day in And day out for months, until the very essence of them was in the air of every place you went; or at least it was alive inside your nostrils, perfuming the world with the alfactic memory of her shampoo, her hair, the skin at the base of her neck, her pussy’s aroma or the musk of her little pink anus. And you, from the insatiable hunger in your animal heart to the innocent, hopeful little girl at the core of your soul, couldn’t just quit that love cold turkey, even if she thought that it was okay to beat your ass out of rage.

“Hi, is this Gwendolyn Travvers?”

Gwendolyn? My mother doesn’t even call me Gwendolyn, she thought. Who the heck is this? Gwen read the caller ID: Trinity College? What the Hell?

“Yes it is. How can I help you?” “I just wanted to know if, how you liked the roses.”

Gwen paused. She tilted the back of her chair, and then scanned the aisle to the left and then the right of her cubicle. Everyone else seemed busy enough. She brought her chair forward again.

“Hello?” spoke the voice; a woman’s voice, sweet yet husky, rich, a deep sort of soprano.

“Yes.” Answered Gwen, looking to the right and left once more, “I, we…”

Again Gwen paused. Who was this really? ” How much should I really say? Maybe I should just hang up. What if…

“They were nice enough.” Gwen continued, “It was a bit odd though, to find them there in the middle of the night; like a kind of hit and run, no note…”

“I know,” the mysterious voice intoned, “But I couldn’t think of a better way of getting your attention and holding it for awhile until…”

“Until you placed that want add.” Gwen finished for her, “We called you, but you never called us back. I mean…”

The line fell silent. Gwen listened, waited. A hand cupped the receiver, a voice muffled, then clear again; the sound of a file cabinet door closing and then papers shuffled.

“I’m sorry, but this is a bit hard for me.” Said the voice, suddenly nervous.

Boo fucking hoo, thought Gwen. You have no idea what your little game has done. Fucking A bitch, this better be you.

“How can we,” spoke Gwen aloud, “How can I make it easier for you?”

Once again, there was silence across the line.

“Hear me out.” Asked the voice.

“Okay.” Said Gwen, checking her phone’s screen for any other calls in the cue, “Go ahead.”

“Did you know that the word personality comes from the Latin persona, and that persona means mask?”

“I did not know that.”

“Each of us generates and maintains a persona, a mask, the self of us we put on display and with which we interact with others. Yet, there are essentially three personality types from which we must generate our masks, whether we perpetuate the personality we were born with or adopt a mask more befitting the character we want to play.”

“Uh huh.” Uttered Gwen, her brow furrowed as she wondered why she needed the psychology review.

“There is the extravert, the neurotic and the psychotic. Now, neurotic and psychotic don’t sound as normal as extraversion might sound, but try to think of neurotic as another way of saying introverted and psychotic as impulsive.”

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