The Spur Ch. 16

Literotic asexstories – The Spur Ch. 16 by Spartamac,Spartamac
WINTERLUDE

JAMILA

‘Twas the day before winter break up in the Uni;

I had plans for our Jill that would make her all swoony.

I crashed her work party, and whisked her away

To the brownstone on Spruce Street where she and Steve play.

(I’d conspired with Anaïs, Jill’s Valkyrie boss,

Who told me Jill’s absence wouldn’t cause undue loss.)

She let us both in with her duplicate key;

I yanked on her hair and hissed, “Listen to me!

Go use the bathroom, make sure you are shaved,

Then we’ll do something fun and a little depraved.”

She scampered away like a good little slut,

And I wished I had time to light up her sweet butt.

She returned in a wink, with her face all a-blush,

And not a stitch on from her head to her tush.

Her snatch was as smooth as a baby’s wee bottom,

And I gave her some prezzies. (She’d guessed where I’d got ’em.)

And I said, “Put these on while I run to my car,”

(It didn’t take long, for it wasn’t too far),

And from the back seat took a crate five-foot four

That once held a lamp that now stood on my floor.

It was wrapped in red paper all patterned with wreaths,

And I’d drilled a few holes so our subbie could breathe.

I stepped into the flat, and beheld with a thrill

The adorable holiday tart that was Jill!

In a red velvet teddy with a neckline so low

I could draw you a map of where Steve’s tongue would go.

A lace panel in front, and a thong in the rear,

And the look on her face made me grin ear to ear.

I placed a red cap on her pretty brown locks,

Admired the effect, and said, “Get in the box.”

The sub safely crated, and the box sealed with tape,

I stepped to the window and opened the drape,

Bid farewell to the elf, who was giddy with thanks,

And promised the new year would see more such pranks.

I watched from my car for an hour or more,

Till, at last, Steve appeared at the vestibule door.

He turned on the lights, and he saw the big crate;

When he re-closed the blinds, I left Jill to her fate.

And I smiled to myself as I drove out of sight;

“Merry Christmas, you kids; ho, ho, ho the whole night!”

CHAPTER 16

Dying into a dance,

An agony of trance,

An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.

W.B. Yeats, Byzantium

JILL

“New Year’s Eve parties are always such a let-down,” he said.

“Let’s just have a small get-together with a few friends and toast the New Year at midnight,” he said.

“Seriously, do you remember a single New Year’s Eve party you’ve ever been to?” he said.

Well, bollocks to him!

Hiding in Steve’s bedroom, Jamila, Anaïs and I asked Jeannie to cue up a CD. When the music began, we entered dancing.

No one was expecting it, and the gasp from the astonished guests was such a rush! I was especially pleased to see Steve wide-eyed and slack-jawed. It had been really difficult persuading him to throw a big party without telling him we’d be dancing–in fact, he didn’t even know I’d been taking lessons. When Anaïs and I had floated the idea of making our debut at a New Year’s Eve party at Steve’s place, Jamila had been so game we had to insist on letting us pay her, knowing she’d have had many lucrative offers for that evening.

After our little trio, Anaïs and Jamila stood back, while I stepped forward for a solo. While the flute played a slow, sinuous melody, I flowed with the sound, moving as liquidly as my underprepared but enthusiastic body could manage. Funny–I was acutely self-conscious about my collar, which had not been so openly on public display since nyotaimori night. But then, of course, neither had I.

After my piece, Anaïs stepped forward for her solo. Lacking my public-performance anxiety and having plenty of self-confidence and raw talent, she had really blossomed under Jamila’s teaching. She used a veil, moving it deftly around her body until it seemed like her personal atmosphere. She ended by tossing it into the air, then stepping into it so it clung to her face and her athletic body, revealing as much as it concealed.

When Anaïs was finished, she stepped back to where I was standing, and Jamila stepped forward, carrying a scimitar. I had never seen her dance so well. After balancing the dull side of the curved sword on her pelvis, her chest, and her shoulder–dancing all the while–she finally moved it to the top of head. Her isolations–the way she could swivel only her hips, her chest, or her neck without moving anywhere else and without dropping the sword–kept the whole audience spellbound. When the music sped up, she began to whirl, holding the sword in front of her by both ends and turning and turning until she became a blur of ecstatic motion. The applause was thunderous. When the music changed again, Anaïs and I stepped forward to reprise our little opening pas de trois while the guests clapped along in time to the music.

After the long standing ovation following the performance, Jamila, for reasons of professionalism, donned a cover-up and joined the guests, but Anaïs and I took the western Orientalist fantasy route, staying in our costumes and butlering drinks and snacks like we were auditioning for a revival of I Dream of Jeannie. I actually didn’t mind this at all, because it kept me mingling and greeting our guests. Plus, I liked the attention. And it would be lying to say I didn’t get a frisson from the sight of my sexy boss serving food and drink while looking like a St. Pauli Girl captured by Barbary pirates and sold to some Turkish pasha.

I was so busy butlering and being the exhibitionist floozy I was apparently becoming, I didn’t get to talk to Steve for a long time–but I kept an eye on him. I noticed he wasn’t drinking; in fact, he hadn’t had any alcohol in weeks. But as he moved around the apartment among our guests, I noticed he dragged his right foot behind him in a strange way.

Anaïs also noticed, and asked me how much Steve had been drinking.

“That’s the weirdest thing,” I told her. “None at all.”

“Do you think he might have pre-gamed while we were picking up Jamila?” Someone had stolen the alternator out of Jamila’s car, so we had had to go get her. She would need a ride home, too.

“No, really, it’s been weeks,” I said.

The rest of the evening passed without incident, thank God; Steve didn’t fall and no one got embarrassingly drunk. We greeted the new year with silly noise-makers and kisses; I got an especially nice kiss from Steve, who whispered, “Thank you, Grasshopper; this has been wonderful!” into my ear. Anaïs and I began switching from butlering to bussing (she was being a total stud about the whole serving-girl thing, which I was really grateful for), and as the last guests were saying their goodnights, Steve put on his coat and told me he was taking J home.

“You know,” I said, “my name begins with ‘J’, too. It doesn’t actually say ‘Grasshopper’ on my birth certificate.” He grinned, and kissed me on the nose.

“You be Jillin’!” he said.

“What?”

“Oh, come on–you haven’t forgotten about Run DMC already, have you?”

“Oh, no; I always remember everything people tell me while they’re poking my feet with sharp sticks in a cage.”

“Good night, Veronica,” Jamila softly said with a grin, kissing me on the cheek and giving my ass a surreptitious squeeze. Blushing, I replied,

“Thank you so much, Jamila; your dance was amazing!”

“So was yours, sweetie,” she lied. Steve hugged Anaïs and thanked her for the dancing and serving; she kissed him on the cheek, gave me a wink and a wave, and was gone. Left alone and suddenly exhausted, I decided the rest of the mess could wait, showered and brushed my teeth, and crept into bed to await Steve’s return.

* * *

“Something happened to me tonight that has never happened before,” I told him later as we spooned. His right arm was under my neck, and his left hand caressed my belly. I pressed my back into him and nestled in his embrace, hoping we never stopped sleeping together naked.

“Do tell!” he replied.

“During her solo, I saw Jamila engulfed in dazzling white flame.”

“That sounds alarming,” he said.

“No, not at all!” I replied. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She looked like a goddess, powerful and bestowing gifts on everyone. The fire wasn’t consuming her–it was her fire, coming to the surface from some deep, hidden place, and shedding light and warmth into the darkness and cold.”

“Wow, Grasshopper,” he said, propping himself up on an elbow. “That’s incredible!”

“It was,” I replied. “And it was the first time I’ve ever seen a vision of someone I knew.”

“I wonder what that means?” he said, rolling me onto my back and sliding on top of me, kissing me tenderly on the mouth. Putting my arms around his neck, I said with a smile,

“It means you need to reward your slave-girl’s hard work by fucking her brains out.”

“Happy new year, Grasshopper,” he said with a grin, kissing me from my neck to my tits to my belly–lingering kisses that made the hairs on my arms stand at attention, along with my nipples. He left a trail of kisses down my left leg, worshipping both my feet for a lovely long time before following his breadcrumb trail back up my leg and landing between my thighs. Sucking my labia into his mouth, he ran his tongue back and forth between them until I began bellydancing on my back, rolling my hips to let him know I was ready for him. Catching my swollen clit with his teeth while I moaned and writhed, he continued teasing it with his tongue until I gave in and did what I knew he wanted.

“Please, Steve,” I begged. “Please do it now!”

He plunged his tongue into me at last, and we rang in the new year better than any falling ball anywhere. He even hummed “Auld Lang Syne”, so I was laughing right up until I came. My big, beloved doofus.

Happy new year to me!

STEVE’S JOURNAL

There was a strange car with Ohio tags parked across the street from J’s apartment, but it was empty, and she never lived in Ohio, so I let it go. But it’s bugging me.