Dark Passions (3 page)

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Authors: Jeff Gelb

BOOK: Dark Passions
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Susan closed in on him, pulling him by the front of his pants to the kitchen. “Please, Artie, I don't want you in a bad mood the first time we make love in our new home.”
She hiked her skirt up a little, teasing, then pulled it up past her hips and hopped onto the kitchen counter, spreading her legs wide. “Like?”
His face turned red. Damn it! He wasn't quite as sexually liberated as she was, and she knew it. What had come over her? She jumped off the counter and went to him. “Artie, I'm sorry.”
She hugged him through his discomfort, and they stood like that for a few minutes. She could feel the squelching between her thighs when they headed for the door. Artie still hadn't said much, and she wondered what he thought of her right now. What did Mark think of her?
She hoped she'd see Mark, but the hall was empty. She pressed the call button, and again it was a nipple under her fingers. She shivered. Almost as if it were her own nipple. The doors slid open coquettishly, teasing her with their molded rubber labial folds. When she entered, pulling Artie along, the heat struck her again, and she felt the flush creep onto her face. The Lobby button yielded to her touch like a young virgin, and she almost giggled helplessly at the thought. The doors winked at her as they closed, and she winked back.
She spotted the Hold button, and before she knew it she'd caressed it and the elevator had stopped between floors.
“What are you doing—” Artie began, but she'd pushed him backward into the side and now saw herself in the mirror behind his shocked face. “Susan?”
She knelt down in front of Artie, massaging the crotch of his khaki pants and feeling him stir.
Finally!
Slowly she undid his button and zipper and pulled the cloth down around his thighs. He was straining in his shorts, and now his breath came rapidly above her. She freed and took him gently into her cool mouth and engulfed him, slowly bobbing her head while he grew harder. When Artie reached the point at which she could no longer comfortably fit him in her mouth, she concentrated on his head with lips and tongue, stroking his shaft with her right hand, her left hand gently caressing his scrotum. She pulled away and let him slip out of her mouth with a wet
smack.
Susan's clitoris tingled, and she started to moisten again. She stood and nearly ripped her black lace panties off with one hand while massaging Artie's member with the other.
“Fuck me,” she whispered, her eyes half closed, lids heavy with ecstasy. She saw herself in the mirror and wondered when she'd dyed her hair red. But she hadn't, had she? It had to be a trick of the light.
Even Artie couldn't ignore this force of nature. When she reached up and balanced her left arm on his shoulder and straddled him with one leg up, he slid himself upward and inside her wetness. He thrust slowly and deeply, keeping time with their labored breaths. Susan gasped. He had never seemed so huge. She thought he would scrape the bottom of her ribcage with his erection. She leaned on him, allowing him to surge even higher.
The elevator wall beneath her hands seemed to tremble at their passion, and when her left hand slid downward it naturally found the lever (
the old seat bracket, Mark had explained, Mark Mark Mark
) and her fingers encircled its bulbous head and she groaned as it came to life under her touch and began thrusting out at her in rhythm with Artie's own thrusts.
Susan almost let go of the handle, but it felt so real, so alive, and so urgent in her hand that instead she massaged it as if it were a second lover.
Artie's thrusts gained urgency and seemed to reach up into her chest, making her nipples crackle with electricity even as he approached his climax, taking her with him while she masturbated the metallic hard-on in her hand, until Artie finally exploded, sending jets of his seed deep into her. The phallic lever spurted hot come into her palm, and she groaned and came as she'd never been able to before. She felt Artie's semen sliding along his shriveling member and down her thighs in cooling rivulets.
When she opened her eyes and stared at herself, her hair was its normal color again, and her hand still gripped the lowered seat bracket, but it was dry and not fleshy at all. What the hell had made her think otherwise? She shook her head, dazed, then unstraddled him. They cleaned up as best they could. Artie wouldn't look at her as he jabbed the Hold button and they began to descend. Her body still tingled where Artie'd plunged into her. And the elevator seemed to tingle at her touch as she slowly returned the seat bracket to its upward position, wondering at what she'd felt—how real it had seemed.
Just then the doors opened. Mark stood outside, his wide grin turning into another leer as he saw her hand leave the bracket. Susan knew their disheveled clothing was a giveaway, that and their sweat-stained faces. She took Artie's hand and pulled him docilely out of the elevator, spotting her torn black lace panties in the corner, but too late.
“We'll see you soon!” she babbled as they burst out into the lobby and headed for the street door.
“Nice to meet you!” Mark called out after them as the door closed. Susan thought she glimpsed him bending over to grasp her panties. She laughed until tears came. And, for once, even Artie seemed to think what had happened was one for the books.
 
 
Two weeks later their furniture arrived, and after rearranging the couch and armchair seemingly a hundred times, they went shopping for new furniture. As they left, they ran into Mark and said hello. Both of them burst out laughing as soon as they were away from the building. Artie hadn't talked much about “the incident” in the elevator, but Susan couldn't get it out of her mind.
Days, while working, Susan thought about Mark's lips, wanting to crush hers against them. At night, while Artie gigged, Susan fantasized about Mark sliding in and out of her. When she made love to Artie, vigorous, aggressive lovemaking unlike what she'd once preferred, it was Mark she thought of. For his part, Artie had begun to talk less, withdrawing into his music and sleeping later into the day after late-night gigs. He let Susan use his body like a love toy, but his emotions seemed to drift further and further away from his flesh and its needs. She wondered if he could sense her feelings for Mark.
And then, a month after moving in, Susan discovered a fresh need.
She'd been riding the elevator to the basement laundry facilities all afternoon, finding herself becoming more and more aroused. Her lingerie retrieved in a basket, her thoughts turned to the lost black lace panties. She was sure Mark had them. He seemed to smile at her too widely every time he passed her in the hall. And did she catch him winking at her whenever she entered or left the elevator?
Mark rode the elevator a lot, and Susan had started to ride it as much as she could. Even though she had promised herself to use the stairs for exercise, whenever she walked past the elevator to the stairs, she was drawn to the button and found herself calling for the car. She felt a strange tingle every time she touched the buttons inside or out of the car, and today the temptation to ride was too strong once again.
She caressed the button, watched the rubber labia opening to swallow her body, and then once inside turned to see herself in the mirror. Her hair always looked red in the smoky mirror, and she always seemed flush with desire. This time, her mind had already presented her with the solution to her needs. She pinched the Hold button between her fingers like a nipple, then wrapped her hand around the phallic lever and swung it down so it pointed at her like an erection out of a Giger catalogue. Excitement flowed down her inner thighs as she turned and raised her leather skirt, baring her buttocks. She'd taken to skipping panties on wash days, or any days she might bump into Mark. But now her need was greater than she had expected, and she bent over and backed herself toward the rubber-encased phallus, feeling it meet her lower lips at exactly the right height. And angle. She skewered herself on its fist-sized head and felt herself slide over its length as if it had been created for her.
Perhaps it was,
a voice spoke within her, but she dismissed it as her own sense of humor.
Her first orgasm rocked her within seconds, and she rode it and felt the second and third building even as the first crested. She let the elevator fuck her until the sweat poured down her cheeks and pooled on the carpeting below, watching herself the whole time in the mirror. Seeing someone else smiling in the reflection, and not caring.
 
 
Rumors spread that the elevator wasn't working, but Susan knew it was her trysts that kept it out of service. Mark winked at her every time he saw her, as if he knew. Artie grew colder and more distant every day. And nights he'd once stayed home he now found gigs to fill.
Susan felt herself splitting apart—one side wanted to repair her relationship with Artie, while the other wanted to do lewd things in the elevator, with or without Mark. Like most people locked in self-conflict, Susan wished she could do both. While it tore her apart, she found herself irresistibly drawn to the elevator. And once there, she surrendered to her desires in ways she could barely admit to herself were unlike her. Yet she felt so good, she couldn't stop.
They had moved in weeks ago, but she had only recently noticed the machine-whirring sounds coming from behind the wall in their spare bedroom. This was the farthest wall from their front door, and she'd heard it late one night when she'd been working at her desk as postgig Artie snored the sleep of the half-drunk in their bed.
The whirring wasn't continuous. It started and stopped irregularly, and soon Susan realized that it sounded like the elevator being called and traveling like a phallus up and down in its enclosure. Just thinking about it made her wet.
The intensity of her excitement easily overwhelmed any guilt she might have acknowledged.
She opened the closet and leaned in, hearing the motor turning nearby.
So near!
She found a seam in the drywall and used her sharp letter-opener to pry off a large triangular portion of painted drywall, which split and tore, becoming paper and chalk in her hand.
Flickering light shimmered in the darkness beyond.
Susan felt a deep shiver work its way down her back. For some reason, she felt hot wetness begin to gather between her thighs.
Without hesitation, Susan reached into the hole and tore out another chunk of drywall.
She
had
to get into that space, whatever it was!
Ducking, she crawled through the hole and found herself in some sort of shrine. The shimmering light came from dozens—
no, it had to be hundreds
—of lit candles of all shapes and sizes. Melted wax had crusted along the length of most, but she could clearly see that many of the tapers had been phallic in nature. Flickering dildo-shaped candles covered every flat surface, their flames dancing in the rush of air caused by her entrance. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she realized that the extensive shrine had been carved out of the elevator mechanical room, which apparently butted up against the rear of their apartment.
Everywhere hung or leaned paintings and photographs of the lusty Aurora, some clearly taken from old movie magazines. They were ringed by ranks of shimmering candles by the light of which she saw numerous vases as well as Greek urns and pottery that might have been imitations but which she somehow knew were quite ancient. She approached one and gingerly picked it up, her fingers tracing the erotic design of women bent over and being penetrated from behind by well-endowed males. The next vase showed a ring of figures entwined in an orgy of genitalia and mouths. A set of ornate platters portrayed various sexual positions between various combinations of genders. One included a pair of hounds. She picked up a cracked pitcher and found that the handle she grasped was an enormous phallus complete with scrotum.
She turned, and on another surface stood a collection of wooden dildos, from three inches long to about fifteen. She touched the tip of the largest, and a spark jabbed her fingertip.
Voices seemed to whisper in her head. She felt the urge to reach under her skirt and swallow the gnarled phallus with her moist flesh. Her fingers encircled the sleek wood.
In the center of this phallic collection sat a bowl, Sapphist in design. A bit of black cloth resting in the bottom of it tugged at Susan's attention. She reached in and pulled out a pair of black lace panties,
her
panties.
She whirled when she heard a loud
click.
A column of light dispelled the gloom and broke her trance.
“Who—who's there?” Her voice cracked. Then she gasped. She could see Mark's profile in the doorway.
“Relax, Susan,” he said, a smile in his voice. “You're the One. You're the Chosen.”
“Wh-what?” Susan felt an equal mixture of fear and lust, both fueled by the grotesque shrine to Aurora DiLuisas and its ancient erotic artifacts.
Mark came slowly closer, his hands reaching out to her.
“Aurora herself selected you from the many we have seen come and go,” he said, his voice soft and musical. “And come,” he added. “You've noticed that your urges have been on the rise, yes?”

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