Elliot Mabeuse (33 page)

Though my prick was aching for release, Emma seemed to have just found her wind, and no sooner had she gotten settled than she gave a wicked little snarl and started fucking me, using her legs and smooth rolls of stomach muscles to lift and slide her hips in a quick and belly dance, working me inside her. I held onto her tits and pressed my face against her shoulders as she threw her head back in savage joy, determined to show me what she could do. It was hard—her cunt was sucking at me like a vacuum, massaging me, her tight vaginal sphincters pulling at my stalk like a peristaltic pump, and she was doing it entirely on purpose, getting her revenge, giving me a lesson in how a woman fucks.

"Christ, baby! I'm going to come!"

"Come on, Conner! Shoot it in me! Give it to me, baby! Give it all to me!"

I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, frantic to kiss her but I couldn't reach her face. She was bouncing on me, just bouncing up and down, her hands on the arms of the chair, her ass slapping against me, tits flopping, all sense of decency and decorum gone, nothing but an animal out to milk her mate and take his seed inside her—savage, biological, beyond affection.

I reached around and found her pussy and slapped her, making her grunt like an animal; slapped her again and made her cry out; started slapping her steady, as fast as she was bouncing on me and Emma wailed, throwing her head back.

"Oh yes! Beat me! Slap my dirty clit! Make me come, Conner! Make your whore come for you, baby! She wants to come, you know she does! Make her give it to you.

Hit her, Conner! Hit her! Hit— Oh God! Oh God! Oh Conner! Oh God! Oh God!

Ohhhhh…"

And they were looking at us, all the little gods, shocked, stunned to see these humans fucking with the passion of animals three thousand years into their future—the man in the chair with his pants around his ankles, the woman half-naked, bouncing on top of him—looking at us as I began to fuck up into her, fuck up into her hot cunt, almost lifting her off me, holding her down with my hand in her pussy and shove-fucking up into her until I did lift her off me.

I braced my arm against the arm of the chair and levered both of us up, slamming into her with the hard flexing of my ass and thighs and belly. Emma started losing it, falling all over me like a rider on a mechanical bull and I had to grab her around the waist and hold her against me as I fucked her hard, violently, wanting to do her beautiful damage.

I heard her cry out that she was coming and I knew I was too, but all I remember was slamming into her and slamming into her as if I could some how force us together by sheer power of will and not thinking anything, being totally clean of thoughts. All I was, was sensation and the sensation was entirely her.

"Oh God, Conner I—"

"
Yes! "

"Conner I—"

"Yes!"

"I—"

"Fuck, Emma, yes! "

There should be a big detailed description of my climax here, and hers, but I don't really remember. I was too far gone, too exhausted, and the next thing I can really recall is Emma’s hands over my head, clinging to my neck as she gasped for breath, and then sliding off me and falling to the floor, her arms still around my neck, and me bending to grab her, pulling her up.

There hadn't been such passion in that place ever, I don't think—such roaring of hearts and rushing of blood through tattered bloodstreams, such gushing of hormones and dripping of salacious fluids onto the board floors marked with the dust of these decomposing figurines.

Thoth, Best, Anubis, Ishtar, Inanna, the gods themselves were born out of feelings like these and it was sad they couldn't have all stood up and applauded. It was sad they couldn't have all stood up and given us high fives or whatever they did because I know they would have. Out of the raggedness and shadows of human existence and the chaos of this world and the uncertainty of the next, to dwell on the edge of passion like that, connect with a woman like that, know the difference between the both of you and overcome it with that filthy fucking joy is surely something the gods would take notice of. It's surely something they'd understand.

As it was, I know they must have approved. I know they must have sucked up our energy and blossomed forth with their own energies in a way they hadn't in some

three thousand years. On that day from the basement of the museum, a burst of energy went out over the city, filling the skies and the clouds and the streets and the entire city with a rare and powerful beauty the likes of which the world hadn't seen in eons, a brilliant erotic energy picked up from what an oversexed orgasmic girl and her perverted poet lover did in the basement of the museum, the sheer savage power of our raw and joyous, marvelous human loving, filthy holy fucking.

* * * * I waited for Emma outside the ladies' room, looking at some of the museum's meteorites. One meteorite had fallen from the sky in February of and plunged through the roof of a house in Joliet, Illinois, striking the thigh of a Mrs. Margaret McWilly as she was taking a nap on the downstairs sofa at four p.m. on a Thursday afternoon.

There was a photo of Mrs. McWilly's bruise and a photo of the damage the meteor had done to the roof of her home. There was another photo of the hole it had burned into her sofa after it hit her. Burned, because it had been fiery hot. I thought of that meteor hitting her and Mrs. McWilly crying out, then the meteor rolling off her and burning its way into the sofa like a spent lover who was just too hot to quit. Strange to think of a chunk of rock drifting for millions of miles in interplanetary space for God knows how many eons and then falling through the atmosphere, falling through your roof and hitting your wife on the thigh as she naps on the couch. Why was she sleeping at four p.m.?

When Emma came out of the ladies' room, she'd changed. Her face had changed and the look in her eye, the way she moved and carried herself, the way she

walked. She looked calmer, and at peace, as if some war within her had stopped. She'd put her hair up and washed her face and she looked younger. She looked new.

She came over and we sat on a bench and she asked, "Conner, do you love me?"

I watched her as she sat down. "In all the ways there are, Emma, yes I do. I love you"

We sat there and I put my arm around her and noticed she hadn't put her underwear back on. I guess she was getting used to it or learning to like it. She leaned against me and I felt her relax. I felt her relax just totally.

We watched the people for a while, all the people we might have been, and then she said, "Let's go home."

* * * * The bucket drummers were gone from the plaza in the loop, and in fact the whole of downtown seemed strangely deserted for a weekday before rush hour. It had the feel of a resort town at end of season. The overcast had burned off and the sky was high and blue, with tall white clouds sailing in from the lake, and Emma put her raincoat on.

She was still naked beneath her clothes and seemed to have adjusted to it. The late afternoon shadows were deep and satisfied, as if they relished their jobs. Why not? In the Realm of the Erotic, shadows have wonderful things to do.

We descended to the subway and caught the train going north. It was crowded, so I steered Emma to the front of the car and we stood facing each other, inches apart, our hands touching on the pole. The train took off and we roared through the dark

tunnel, the car rocking and lurching, and I watched her eyes as they moved around the car, touching on the different people, the windows, me.

A station—the vertical doors slid open. People got off, people got on, the doors closed and the train started up again, hurtling through the dark, our bodies swaying.

Emma's eyes fixed on a map of the subway system, and in the double reflection in the dark windows, I could see the map superimposed on her body, the tangled and intertwined lines tracing over her breasts and her heart and face and stomach. I wondered if she caught this image too and made a note to tell her about it.

The car took a jolt and my arm swung and slapped softly against her thigh, and then again. She didn't look at me. I left my hand there, touching her leg. We were so close no one would notice, and her rain coat shielded us.

Another stop and more people got on and off, and when the train started up again I started to caress her, moving my hand back and forth on the inside of her leg.

Emma said nothing, gave no sign. By moving to my left slightly, I was able to shield her from the closest passenger, so I did. I held onto the pole with one hand while I continued to move the back of my hand on the inside of her thigh, feeling her warmth through her skirt.

Emma knew what I was doing but made no move to stop me. She was just there for me now. She seemed to be ready for whatever I wanted. She held onto the pole and stared over my shoulder, her face impassive.

I delicately took her skirt and started lifting it using just the one hand, my other on the pole. I lifted it until the hem was just high enough to get my fingers under, and then I

let it fall over my wrist and I was in, like a spy inside the enemy's tent, my fingers pressed against her naked thigh.

The train rumbled along, the noise deafening. People jostled against us shoulder to shoulder but to anyone looking at our faces, Emma and I might be perfect strangers. I doubt they would have seen the slight flare of her nostrils signaling the moment when my middle finger slid against the lips of her pussy.

What a good girl she was now, though, I thought! How much she'd learned and how much she knew. She held onto the pole and studied the subway map. Her nipples jiggled beneath her blouse as the train shook and jounced, but she gave no outward sign of what I was doing as I began to fondle her, masturbating her right in that crowd of people.

Someone bumped into her and murmured a quick, "pardon me." She flashed him a polite acknowledgement then looked quickly at me to make sure the link hadn't been broken, dropping her eyes and biting her lip, resting her head against the pole as I continued playing with her. She didn't challenge me, didn't ask me what I was doing or why, didn't tell me to stop. We were beyond that now. We'd left all that at the museum. I moved closer to her and began to masturbate her there in the El car, standing amidst all those people.

Because I couldn't see what I was doing, my fingers became my eyes and I felt my way around her. I felt the moisture gathering and I spread it over her, buttering her with her own juice, opening her up, handling her like a handful of pearls. The people around us had their backs to us and so no one saw my hand beneath her skirt and Emma kept her eyes down, not looking at me. She leaned towards me though, and I

could hear her soft little moans as I slid my finger along her slit, or penetrated her, or tapped her clit. I could see her knuckles getting white as she held the pole, and feel her nipples pressing into me as she leaned against me, hungry for the reassuring hardness of my body.

"Conner!" she whispered as the train made a stop. "Conner, I'm going to. I'm going to…"

"All right, sugar. That's all right. Move back Emma, let's get against the wall."

"No Conner, I can't. Not in public like this!"

"You'll be fine, Emma. Just step back, baby. That's it. There you go…"

I cleared us a path to the back wall of the car and turned her around so my back was to the wall with her facing me so I could keep an eye on the passengers. With her coat screening me, no one could see, and with no one facing her, Emma could let her face collapse into a look of expectant rapture as I went back to playing with her, my hand under her skirt.

It was crazy, nuts, absolutely insane. We'd just screwed that morning, then again in the museum not an hour ago, and now here I was, doing it to her again on a crowded El car. What was with me? Why couldn't I leave this girl alone? I pulled her close as the train stopped again . We waited patiently as the people got off, the doors closed, the train started up again, and my hand reached up to the damp crease between her legs.

"Oh, God…"

Not a soul looked, not a person stirred, lost in their newspapers and thoughts they might as well have all been on another dimension. I pulled Emma over so she

stood in the middle of the aisle, one hand on a pole on each side on the aisle, blocking it. Her coat hung open, totally screening me from sight, and behind its shelter I had my finger up inside her and was squeezing her breast, just openly mauling her, my hand pumping up and down as she hung from the poles as if being crucified, crucified by pleasure. I had the insane image I was driving the train, that Emma's body was the control panel and I was driving the train with my finger inside her and my thumb on her clit, my hand on her breast, stroking her face, running my thumb over her lips. She was in a trance, delirious with pleasure, the juice dripping in my hand.

"Oh yes, Conner! Conner, yes! Conner, I'm coming! Baby, I'm coming!"

No one even saw. No one even paid any attention.

Suddenly the light was breaking through the gaps in the tunnel ceiling as the train started rising at Armitage and Emma let her head roll back and moaned. I felt her lose it into my hand, her sweet, hot orgasm, just as the roar of the train became a loud staccato clatter and we burst out into the sunlight and the raucous life of the city. Emma hung from the poles with her head back and I stood in front of her and milked the come from her body, looking down into that beautiful, giving face as she poured it out for me, let it go into my hand.