EXTRACT FOR
Colette 2 The Descent
(Polecat)

      The room smells of baby powder. The winter sunshine enters through the windows, coating the green room with its soft light. I watch Pauline nursing at Gigi's ample breast. Always, when I watch her, I feel a pang of regret. It should have been my breast that she nursed at; it should have been my milk that nourished her; my arms the ones that would hold her, my face the one she would so adoringly gaze at.

      But that is not the way things are. I cannot complain; I created this situation and now I must live with the consequences of my decisions. My love for Luis, and my determination that he keep his promise to me that he would always, always, do with me exactly as he wanted led directly to this.

      Gigi catches me looking at her. She smiles sweetly, lost in that world that nursing women go to, when their baby suckles at their breast. I approach and kneel in front of the pair of them. She looks at me dreamily and opens her white blouse wider; her other breast, now free, falls, no longer contained by the soft fabric; large, engorged, voluptuous.

      My lips approach the beckoning nipple, my nose captures Gigi's smell, baby powder and buttermilk. My hands gently grasp her breast and my lips kiss the prominent nipple where, already, some drops of sweet milk beg to be licked off. I feel the warmth of her dark areola, as I squeeze on it.

      The thin stream of warm milk enters my mouth and I marvel at its taste, not as sweet as cow's milk, yet sweet enough; I also marvel at its quantity. How can Gigi make so much milk is beyond me; Pauline is satisfied every time she feeds and yet there is always plenty more left behind. I close my eyes and feed on my friend. Her free hand caresses my tresses, holding my head close to her breast. I hear her breath, deep and even, as she feeds us both, mother and daughter with her body.

      Pauline is six weeks today. When Luis arrives home the respite I enjoyed ends. I shall now, over a month, enjoy all the attentions he bequeathed on Gigi during my pregnancy. They will not be exactly the same, he told us, that would be boring; but they will be close enough. No less, I had demanded, and no less I shall receive. I embrace Gigi's torso and suck deeper of her breast's essence. Her eyes are closed, one arm holding the baby, now asleep, still latched on to the nipple, and the other, holding me. I close my eyes too, feeling the warmth of her breast through my cheek.

      "What a great sight," Luis' voice from the door wakes me from my reverie.

      In my dreamy state, I did not hear his car arriving. I release Gigi's boob and rise to meet him. He kisses me on the mouth, his tongue penetrating me, tasting the milk I've just fed on. Gigi also rises, holding the baby with expert hands and, placing her on the changing table, she prepares to change her nappy.

      I follow him down to the kitchen and help to put away the groceries, afraid to ask the question that begs to come out of my mouth. He senses my discomfort; he is good at that, but says nothing. Finally, I summon the courage to ask.

      "Are you going to start on me tonight?"

      "Yes; we shall start tonight," he answers with a rapidity that shows that, yes, he had guessed, and was waiting for the question to be posed. 

      Dinner is over and Gigi starts putting away the dishes, I get up to help her but his hand on my thigh stops me. 

      "Go up to the bedroom, there is a box on the bed. I want you to wear that tonight."

      I glance at Gigi who smiles shyly at me. I walk up the stairs, my steps heavy, hesitant. I wonder what will be in store for me. I take the box into the bathroom, undress and check myself in the mirror. I showered carefully today, shaved my underarms and trimmed my luxurious bush. I wish he would let me shape it into a line, or a small triangle, or even shave it off altogether, but he only allows me to give it the tiniest trim, to shape it into a large, thick triangle. He keeps Gigi completely bare, down there, but not me. I wonder why he does that.

      I apply a few drops of perfume behind my ears and, presto! I am ready. I feel the cold of evaporating moisture in my nether lips telling me that they, too, are ready. As they should be, since they haven't been touched since that summer day, when I declared that I would not come again until... now.

      I squeeze my thighs together and feel the electricity shooting through my pelvis. My hand slowly wanders towards my pussy. No! I must stop; this is for Luis to give me; not for me to take, not today.

      I open the box. It contains a see through negligee, almost the exact color of my skin, and a matching thong. I put them on and, taking a deep breath, open the door and step in the bedroom.

      He is already there, lying naked on the king size bed. The lights have been turned down somewhat, so the room is not as brightly lit as it could be, yet not dim by any stretch. He is looking at me, a wolfish grin on his face. As I approach the bed, I see his cock, growing even larger. I pause for a moment to take in the sight of him and squeeze my thighs in anticipation. 

      The bolt of electricity that courses through my guts hits me like a rocket. I almost faint from the intensity of the sensation that is almost, but not quite, an orgasm; one the likes of which I have never felt before. I approach the bed; he moves aside and taps the sheets beside him with his hand.

      My body slides besides his. His arms come around the nape of my neck, pulling me towards him. My open lips meet his and our tongues touch. I feel his presence in my mouth, seeping through my lips, through my torso; the sheer fabric of the negligee bothers me, I want to feel his skin, against mine. My breasts press against his chest. I feel my nipples straining against the thin fabric, reaching out to touch his hairy skin. I wish he would touch them, squeeze them, but he does not. He just lies there, holding me in his arms, kissing my lips and explores my mouth with his tongue.

      He must have missed this, he must want it as much as I do, yet he lingers, tasting my mouth, sucking my tongue, breathing in my scent, just as I breathe his. 

      His scent, how powerful it is, and how much I've missed it at my side. I revel in the muskiness, in the animal power that emanates from his pores. I nuzzle his neck, breathing him in. 

      His arms squeeze my waist, pulling me closer to him, I straddle his muscular thigh and, I take off. That is all it takes. My first orgasm hits me like a fist, punching me in the guts. I lose myself in its power, humping his thigh and soaking the frilly thong in the process. With the last spasms I open my eyes, to see him looking into mine, with a deep tenderness on his face. I try to go down on his cock, but he shakes his head. 

      He rolls me on my back, on the bed, and runs the tips of his fingers, through the sheer fabric, over my chest; I stretch my back and, when his fingers flick my nipple, draw a sharp breath. His fingers play with my navel; it has gone back in, it had popped out with the baby but now it's back to normal. When his hand moves to my lower abdomen, I hold my breath, waiting for it to arrive, to reach. And it does. It reaches my bush, still covered by the sexy throng. He touches, prods, the fabric, padded by the thick pillow of hair under it. I squirm under his touch, my skin wet with my sweat, my pussy wet with something else. He removes my thong and I catch a waft of my own odor; pungent, redolent with my need. 

      His fingers play with my pubes; I can't wait anymore, I grasp his iron rod with my hand. I feel it vibrate between my fingers. I must have him inside me, now. I struggle t bring him around; he resists.

      "Please, please, please."

      Smiling, he rolls on his back, his rock hard penis jutting in the air. I spread my legs and climb on him, impaling myself on his cock. I drop on him, feeling his rod filling my pelvis. As soon as it hits my cervix I come, screaming. 

      I ride him; again and again, each time the tip of his dick hits my cervix, a new wave of pleasure rolls over me, each orgasmic wave hits the previous one and merges with the next; they get stronger and stronger, until I forget to breathe, I just ride the waves, over and over. I can no longer see the room, or Luis, I can only feel, the rod in my pelvis, the pain when it hits my cervix, releasing the next wave, that hits me and just brings me higher, and higher, until nothing exists, except his rod, in my center, and the fire that consumes me, the flames that roar higher with each orgasmic spasm.

      "This must be what burning at the stake is like," I think, absurdly.

      It is only the fatigue, the total refusal of my muscles, of my thighs, to lift me off his impaling cock once more that makes me stop riding him. I am covered with sweat, chilled in the air conditioned room; slowly, I regain my sight, and see him, lying on his back, smiling at me, his cock shrinking in my love tunnel. I wonder if he came. I imagine he must have, since he is getting smaller; I lean forward and kiss his lips.

      "Thank you," I whisper.

      He embraces me to his chest, and kisses my neck, but says nothing.

      "I love you," I declare.

      "I love you too," his voice in my ear sends new shivers down my spine.

      I climb off him, his come mingling with my juices on his pubes, and on mine. I lie on my back, and feel our juices dripping out of my hole. I don't care; I am way past caring if I sleep on the wet spot or whatever. 

      My hand on his strong belly, I feel the tremors of his abs, I move lower, through his curly hair, and reach the base of his shaft, caressing it, not trying to coax it into an erection, just touching it, feeling it, enjoying its presence.

      His hand touches my breasts, he looks at me; I gaze at his face. I wonder if he can see the adoration in my eyes. I wonder if he can read my thoughts.

       "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, if you ask me," my words flowing easily out of my mouth. "Even if you don't ask me, there is nothing I wouldn't do, or let be done to me, if I know that it will please you."

      He remains silent, but the stiffening of his cock between my fingers tells me more than he could with a thousand words.

      I take him in my mouth. I taste my salty fluids mixed with his sweet sperm; I take him deep. He must have come more than once, during my orgasmic throes, since it takes him a while to achieve his full erection.  I turn over and offer him my ass.

      He enters me from behind instead. He rides me for a long time. I come, more slowly this time, the waves that engulf me, just as powerful, but with the power of a river, not a torrent. I feel him come, when he does, and feel his chest, on my back, his arms round my breasts. We fall, on the bed, he, still inside of me. 

      Before I fall asleep, his weight still partly on me, I hear his whisper:

      "You don't know yet how much I can take from you."

      "You can take my body, my life, my dignity, my soul," I answer, but I don't know whether he heard me.