Read Online Dolorosa Soror by Florence Dugas - Free Book Online Page B

thighs, held open with both hands, the very caress I specialize in.
    Skylark, I will pluck you.
    Her hair streams against my skin; her lips bite mine. Her tongue buries itself in my sex; she searches and drinks, then goes back around front. I am nearly astride her now; her breasts are between my thighs. She plays with my clitoris, and her hands move toward my belly, sculpt my cunt, hips, buttocks, and back, scratch me, restore my form, give me new life.
    I come standing up, shaking with spasms, my knees wob- bling, my sex glued to her mouth.
    She gets up again and pulls me to her—my breasts lie against her black sweater. She kisses me, licks my ear, my neck, and the bridge of my nose, then buries her face in my shoulder. Her hand descends towards my groin, brushes against my sex...
    "No!"
    I nearly cry aloud. The idea of even the slightest arousal repulses me.
    She couldn't care less. With her hand, she forces open my thighs and masturbates me violently, as violently as I have sometimes seen her flail away at herself, gritting her teeth, her crotch jumping under her fingers. She folds and unfolds the surface of my groin, thrusts her fingers inside me, jabs me again and again as a clumsy boy would.
    I cry out and come again. Never, I think, have I had two orgasms so close together.
    She undresses quickly and lays me down on the bed.
    She embraces me, her groin against mine, mound against mound. She leans all of her body between my spread legs and I come again.
    She does not let me caress her—not really, in any case. She makes me come eight or ten times—but I can no longer even speak of having individual orgasms, for all of me has become erogenous, from my hair to my fingernails. She sucks my toes, and I come; she licks the insides of my knees, her fingers plunging in me more deeply than any man ever has, and I come. I come. I come.
    Men thrust inside you as if they were going to tear your vagina from your body, or else they curl up the tips of their fingers. Her fingers give. At one moment, I nearly have the impression that my hand is in her vagina at the same time as her hand is just as deeply lodged in mine.
    I am annihilated. I reach out as if to caress her but she stops me, and I am too exhausted to insist. She puts my head in the crook of her shoulder and I curl up against her warmth, one hand on her breast. She pulls the red-and-black quilt over us.
    I fall asleep briefly in the heat of her skin. When I wake up, she again sucks and licks and forces me open until I cry out.
    ***
    Slowly I return to consciousness. "How did you know?" "Know what?'
    "Why did you ask me to undress like that?" "Oh! That! I telephoned J. P. on another matter this morning, and he told me about last night." "Why?"
    "So I would know, I imagine." 1 She kisses me on the cheek.
"You know, I think we love being whipped for different reasons."
She kisses me again.
"Nathalie?"
"Yes?"
"Do you really like being beaten?'
She looks at me. Against the light her eyes appear darker than normal'.
    "I like to be hurt,".she says. "I like it when someone hurts me. Often, standing in front of a mirror, I torture myself with needles, burying them into my breasts, until I transform them into pin cushions, martyred Saint Sebastians. You've never tried it?"
    What to say?
    "I don't know," I answer. "Honestly, I don't. Each time I tell myself I will refuse, that the last time was truly the last, and the instant afterwards, I hold out my wrists for him to bind and I have a lump in my stomach that slowly disappears with each blow. Though I cry and beg him to stop, I am aware that another 'me'—and truly it is as if I were another person—offers her buttocks and arches her back and waits for the blow to come.
    "When he hits me, I think of nothing—nothing more than the sensation of my torn skin. I want it to stop and I want it to last forever. But afterwards, when I am no more than a mass of burning, a thousand things come to mind. Amidst the pain, at a