“Follow the Red Light”
25 MIN READ
Wake up, beautiful. I left something on your doorstep. Call me before you open it.
Send.
Cree is not an early riser, but I am. I drove to her house and set a small package at her door on my way to work this morning. I hope she’s more pleased than startled by the surprise. I imagine she’ll open her eyes, rollover, and check her phone. I want my message and her gift to be the first thing she sees. To tell the truth, this gift is selfish. I want to start getting her ready for tonight. We haven’t officially made plans, but we will.
There she is.
“Good morning, gorgeous.”
“Good morning,” Cree’s voice crackles as it crosses the bridge between dreaming conversations and real ones. Her face still partially hidden between the covers and a slipping bonnet she murmurs, “Max, baby. I miss you. Good morning.”
“I miss you too, Cree. Did you get my message?”
“Yes.” Cree mumbles with her eyes closed.
“Did you check outside your door?”
“Not yet.”
I excitedly press. “Cree!”
“Do you want to lay down for a little bit longer or would you like to see your surprise?”
“You got something for me?” Cree’s voice perks up. Her eyes are still closed but the corners of her mouth turn up into a soft closed-mouth smile. “I want to get up.”
Cree pulls the covers back, revealing her bare skin and the stripes of light cast on it by the blinds above her bed. I catch snapshots of her shoulder. Then, her collarbone and a single breast, her earlobe and neck. They are my caffeine. She lets out a sweet, grumbling grunt as she rolls over and places her feet on the wooden floor. I am treated to a view of the ceiling as she reaches for the wine-colored silk robe hanging behind the door. As she becomes aware of the opportunity to tantalize, she props the phone up, inviting me to be her audience as she slides her arms into the robe but doesn’t tie it closed. Her breasts are barely covered and my eyes trace the line between them. The flesh left free is like the spine between the pages of an open book. I know what story I’d like her body to tell tonight. She promenades while I conspire.
She rubs her eyes and shuffles to the door, opening curtains along the way. Cree cracks the door open, peeking to see if anyone outside can see her. If they can, she either can’t tell or doesn’t care. Daylight covers her face as she opens it wide to retrieve the gift bag on her welcome mat. Her chest is all I can see through the phone. The space between her breasts and the line where their fullness meets her ribcage are either the only thing visible or the only thing I care to see, I cannot tell. Her nipples firm as the cold air kisses her skin and they peek through the veil of her satin robe just as she peeked through the door.
“What is this?” Cree asks, returning to the warm indoors, finally closing her robe.
“Open it.”
Cree sits cross-legged on the couch and props the phone up on the table beside her to give me a full view of the reveal. I multitask. Listening to the rustling sound of her opening the bag and rifling through the tissue paper. Watching her face awaken with the prospect of surprise. Listening to her giggle with anticipation. Watching the fabric drape between her crossed legs and feeling my own preoccupation with everything that rests there rise.
“Awww, Max. That’s so sweet!” Shuffling through the bag and verbally itemizing its contents, she comments, “You got me candles and chocolate-covered strawberries and palo santo. Thank you, I love it.” Her tone is polite, somewhat indicating that while she is pleased, she is equally unimpressed.
“Read the card out loud.”
“Okay.” Clearing gruff morning undertones from her voice before speaking, “Paint your day in red, the color of passion. Start with these red berries. Please chew them slowly, savor them. If the juice drips when you bite into them, please promise to let it drip until you’re finished. Cleanse slowly in water and smoke. Savor the day. And when night falls, fill your room with red shadows cast by candlelight. You bring your shadow, I’ll bring mine. ”
“Max.”
I love it when she says my name like that, with her eyebrow raised, like she wants me. “I need you to do something for me.” I matter-of-factly answer back.
“Oh, okay.” Her tone graduates to curiosity.
“Light the candles at 6 pm, just when it starts to get dark. Can you do that for me?”
Cree pauses, tilts her head, and smirks, hopefully imagining the possibilities. I can tell that she’s intrigued. She begins to trace her bottom lip with her finger and thumb. Her touch, a temporary substitute for mine, lets me know her answer before she speaks it.
“Whatever you say.”
“Remember, six o’clock.”
“Sex o’clock?”
“That too.”
We laugh and begin our respective days, ready.
***
My phone pings and I open one eye to check the time. It’s blurry. 8:27 am. Let me check to make sure it isn’t an emergency. From Max: Wake up, beautiful… It’s not an emergency.
I open one eye to check the time again. 10:22 am.
Wake up, beautiful. I left something on your doorstep. Call me before you open it.
Well, this is exciting. I push out an ugly yawn before tapping Max’s name on my phone. It’s ringing.
There she is.
“Good morning, gorgeous.” Max’s voice makes the sweetest humming sound. I can feel myself smiling. I miss her.
I could drift back off to sleep to the sound of her voice. But, wait...
“You got something for me?” I ask, considering the prospect of fully opening my eyes and committing to the day. I say, “I want to get up,” while rechecking the message with a new set of eyes. What’s outside my door, I wonder.
This is a nice way to start the day. Max’s voice coaxing me into the morning and a surprise on the other side of my door. I roll over and step onto the floor. It’s cooler than I’d like so I reach for something to cover up, but only slightly. I want the sun shining through the windows to love my skin the way the covers have. I want to flirt with the sunshine and my Max at the same time. So, I take my time walking to the door, saunter even, drawing the blinds, bathing in their collective gaze.
“What is this?” I ask, settling in to inspect the bounty.
“Open it.” Max smiles with her eyes and mouth. She’s glowing. Her smile looks somewhere between sweetly and mischievously proud.
I take her in, brown skin, locks, bright white smile, disrespectfully perfect eyebrows, cheekbones, the warmest sparkle in her eyes. She’s so handsome. I’m falling for her and I think she knows. I don’t care. I want her to know.
Beneath a layer of tissue paper and tender intention are three white candles in red glass holders. “Awww, Max. That’s so sweet. You got me candles.” I say, smelling one of them and inspecting the scent. Nag champa, plumeria, and sandalwood. “And chocolate-covered strawberries, and palo santo.”
Max proposes, “I need you to do something for me.”
I’ll bite, “Oh, okay.”
Well, now I’m intrigued. I do love a little mystery and adventure. I do love an intentional woman. No matter where my attention goes today, a piece of it belongs to Max from here on out.
***
If only it were possible to rush the sun. As soon as it sets I light the candles. When the wax begins to pool I use the flame to light the palo santo and pace the room with it until it smells of soot and flowers.
Max texts and teases. Wow. Someone’s presumptuous and prepared. I like this game. I’m already biting my lip and smiling at the phone.
I turn off all of the lights and let the last bit of day fade to black, naturally. The red glass around the candles casts a filter over the room.
Everything is bathed in red. Including the surface of my bathwater and the white tile around it. I soak my skin in salt and effervescence. I play the first song Max sends, it is melodic. The second is full of low tones and a steady rhythm. The third makes me close my eyes in the water.
The next song wakes me up. So I get out and coat my damp skin in gentle touch and a blend of amber white scented oil. I want to wear the pear green lingerie. I like the way it fits up over my thighs but drapes loosely over my breasts. It sits like a velvet rope between a crowd and the entrance to an exclusive event, suggesting that what lies behind is both restricted and available. What’s inside will be easily revealed to those on the guest list.
Max is my VIP with privileged entry. I can pretend for now. I want my hands to be hers. I want her hands to be the ones grazing over my nipples, outside of the lace, pressing its softness into mine and awakening my clit. Arms crossed across my chest, my right fingers circle and graze my left nipple. Left fingers, circling and grazing the right. I lay back on my bed and lean into the experience of red flickering lights and the radial warmth of my own touch. I can’t keep my legs closed. My pussy wants to be touched so badly… but not yet.
The first release, divinely timed with Max’s arrival text.
Freshly warmed up, I pull back the curtains and let the light behind make me into a shadow. An exaggerated arch in my spine will surely give the profile of my breast, ready nipples, and ass the shine they deserve. There she is, stationary beneath my window, a standing-room-only audience of one. I reach for my phone and text her, “The door’s unlocked,” and set the phone down. As the message is on the way, I slide one side of my pear green lingerie over my awakened nipple, exposing the silhouette of bare skin and my caressing hand before covering it and closing the blinds.
***
5:59 pm
Light the candles in your bedroom and tell me when you’re done.
Send.
Sending that makes me feel a devious sense of power and pride. I like it. That’s exactly the same energy I get from Cree’s reply of “Yes, daddy.” It’s trite, but I’m not above that sort of flattery. She’s right.
I’m sending you a playlist. Let it play until I get there. Let it play while we make love. Let it play while we fuck. Let it play while we make love again. Let it play while we fuck again. I won’t stop until every single song has played. Every song is timed perfectly for the vibe I want you to be on at that exact moment.
Send.
Cree immediately answers back, It’s six hours long, Max.
My ETA is in forty-six minutes. Hit play while you get ready for me.
We will definitely need music. I have sounds to make. I want you, Max.
Tell me more, Cree.
I am going to spend the next forty-six minutes listening, like you said, while I soak my body in a bath and then rub my skin with the oil you like. While my hands slide over my thighs I’m going to imagine they’re yours, getting me ready. I want you to wrap your arms around my dewy skin, grab my ass, and trace my pussy from behind with my favorite finger to see if it slips like me, like the bathwater, or like the oil. You know the difference, don’t you?
My dick rises all on his own but I want to keep my cool.
Which one’s your favorite finger?
The middle one. The big one.
Then, that’s the one I’ll use to test your water when I get there. Make sure it’s all you.
I’m already getting there.
Light the candles and draw your bath. I won’t text you again until I’m downstairs.
I love this feeling. The butterflies. Excited is an insufficient word. I’ve been plotting on this moment for a little minute and I know exactly what I want to do. On the ride over I listen to the playlist, too. I want every moment for the next several hours to be synched tight like those swimmers with the legs dancing above water, pointing their toes and holding their breath. This anticipation feels a bit like being upside down and holding my breath underwater. Breathe, Max. Stay cool.
Arrived.
Cree’s bedroom window glows red. I can feel myself getting anxious to touch and hold her. I want to fuck her right the fuck now. As I sit in my car to take a few breaths to gather myself, I wonder what she’s thinking. Does she want me to take charge and take her body? Does she want to talk for a little bit and build up to romance? Okay, I’m going in. I catch her passing silhouette from the sidewalk outside and pause to wonder what parts of this moment are even real. In my fantasy, she comes to the window to slowly peel off any layers for me and the night sky. I imagine her red room is the backlight that erases everything but an outline of blackness. In my imagination, shit’s theatrical. So, I text her, I can see the red light from your window. Open the curtains. I want to see you before I come up.
Her shadow reenters the door frame and is exactly as I imagined. She draws the curtain back and I automatically look around for passersby before I agree with myself to get lost in obscurity. This dark red room and the beautiful woman seductively bending her body are the things of dreams.
Oh, that’s a titty.
The distinct outline of her nipple sends me to a place. My face warms. Aware that I am still outside, I subtly lick and press my bottom lip between my teeth but otherwise remain stone cold. I can see her texting. I’m going in.
***
I can hear the door open and feel her coming closer. I can’t wait any longer. She can join me as I’m in progress.
***
I have no interest in keeping my cool. I’m galloping up the stairs at this point. Cree yells from upstairs, “Wash your hands.”
***
Still standing, I lean back, brace myself against the window sill, and allow my legs to return to their compulsory position. My pussy is as open and inviting as my bedroom door and neither Max nor I will apologize for letting ourselves in. Anticipating her arrival and reaction, I pinch my nipple to remember where I left off and finally brush over my firm clit. When Max reaches the doorway, I graduate to circles and lines.
She stops, visibly surprised, eyes focused on the exhibition. Max begins to approach and I float two fingers in the air, elegantly suggesting she doesn’t. My limbs unanimously agree to remain in concert. Legs fanned open, bouncing and swaying along with my fingers, over my throbbing clit. Its own tympanic pulse like the vibrato from an entire orchestra beholden to the movement of a conductor’s baton. Ground-level stall seats for an audience of one.
I position myself in Max’s direct line of sight, washed in red candlelight and her resplendent attention. I am emboldened by her stare and escalate both pace and posture. Dramatic turns around my raised clit knead the places deep and unseen beneath the lace lingerie and the surface of my pussy. Her astonishment hits me in a primal place. I wish to be an untamed animal furiously seeking pleasure regardless of civilized expectations.
***
Momentum stalls the second I hit the doorway. She is still in the window, conjuring some force that stops me in my tracks. The red light is in her hair and the whites of her eyes. It seems to amplify the energy radiating from her pussy and it is alive.
The room, her pussy, the energy are alive. Time and my sense of control are not.
Cree is engulfing. I want to put my lips on her neck behind her ear while I put my fingers inside of her. Immediately. I want her moans to coax my left ear while she nibbles it. I want to pick her and fuck her while her legs bind me and delimit my stroke. I don’t want to say words until after her pussy spills out, over my fingers and down my wrist. I want to know that I got her pussy ready and now we’re taking turns satisfying it. But I stand motionless, engulfed in a demonstration of Cree’s ability to handle her own.
***
Rubbing over lingerie gives my firm touch a silky slide. The combination of sensations tickles and nudges my clit to capacity. Watching Max watch me press harder and rub faster excites me more than usual and I feel myself about to cum.
Warming up to explosion is as rewarding as the climax but for this show, knowing this is the first of many, I choose to race toward the latter. There is no gentle caress left in my fingertips. Only a complete disregard for delicacy or a flirtatious seduction remains. I fold into a new posture. Animalistic hunched back, bended knees, and a rhythmically synced shoulder and wrist furiously grinding into my clit with unapologetic desperation. Like an Arkansas hot spring, I am a natural phenomenon, begging and pleading, just below the surface, to bubble and surge. I neither restrain the force of my release or the sound of satisfaction. Uncivilized grunting, unholy convulsions, and an unremorseful mess of saturated lingerie and the stream of female ejaculate dripping down my leg to the knee are the first course.
Max’s own experience of nature resembles magnetic force. She runs to me, or rather my pussy, attempting to consume a waterfall with her tongue, darting from cascading stream to spray to gush to drip.
I order, “Drop to your knees. Hold your wrist behind your back. Only touch me with your mouth.” Max obeys and her eyes never leave my pussy, like it is the thing that demands her obedience.
Her tongue curls like a dog lapping water from a bowl. I will gladly be that water, mixing with her own drooling mouth to drip over her jaw and down her neck as she enters and drinks me from below. Tilt your head toward heaven, Max.
She finally braces her leaning body against my pussy with her face, fully trusting that it will push back and keep her from falling. In her comfort, she unhinges her hands and reaches for my thighs, just above the knee, and begins to slide up. I do not indulge her. I abruptly stop all moaning, wrap my fingers very gently around the back of her neck to request her eyes.
“Only your mouth.”
***
I try to pull Cree’s drenched bright green panties to the side but they are fixed to her skin like wet clothes. I pray for the strength to rip them apart with my teeth. I need to taste her. Instead, I peel her panties over and away and notice a slippery, clear, yet thick fluid gathering across my face. Fuck. Her shit is so fucking wet. I plummet in. Trap me, drown me, waterlog my lungs, let me choke and die happy. And so it is. There are so many versions of me to be reborn.
I beg to submit. “Tell me what you want to do to me.”
Cree’s voice dips low. “Don’t ask me what I want to do. Tell me what you need.”
I tell the truth. “I need you to fuck me.”
***
Sensing her conflicting desires to be both dominant and submissive, I decide on her behalf. Max’s response is a clear path of entry: A familiar open door. Submissive it is. Don’t be gentle.
I flip Max from top to bottom. Hovering over her, arms positioned alongside her ears, face to face and framing Max’s focus, I peer into her eyes and beyond our shared agreement to transfer dominance.
Max tries her last pinch of control, “Give me your fingers.”
I swat at the request as firmly as I clinch down on Max’s now restrained throat. Politely rejecting her authority with a dose of pressure and civilized stinging, I slap Max across the cheek and lick her wound. “You can’t control me.”
Max doesn’t resist. In fact, she passively helps remove her pants, leg by leg. I unbutton and yank at them, indicating it is time for Max to lift her hips. I pull them and her boxer briefs off at the same time. Next comes the shirt. I twist the neckline of Max’s shirt, tangling the fabric into a handgrip I use to control the rise and fall of her chest. Her Cuban links dangle. “Take it off. Everything,” I order, “Give me your skin.”
As Max sits up to remove her t-shirt and sports bra, I take two steps back so she has room to raise her arms and lift her shirt all at once. When her arms are raised, the shirt covers her face and I am inspired. I step forward and take control. Gathering Max's wrists above her head with one hand, pushing her backward, back onto the bed with the other, rendering her blindfolded and loosely restrained. I press my lips against her covered lips and nibble. The moisture from our mouths gathers in the fabric between them.
Still holding Max captive, I use my free hand to lift her bra and expose both of her breasts. I wrap my lips around a single nipple and use my tongue to twirl and graze it against my teeth like a top spinning against a summer sidewalk. Nothing but the tip, dancing with concrete and air. I hope the current sparked in my own nipples in the window sill now runs through Max’s. They stand to receive ignition. I tickle one nipple with my tongue, pinch, release, and pull at the other. Max’s submission makes my pussy swell with power.
I take my hand from Max’s breast and place it into my own wet pussy. A ribbon of cum floats between my pussy and my slippery fingertips. I coat my middle finger entirely and rub it together with my thumb before employing them both in Max’s pleasure. Now both of her nipples are wet. One with spit and the other with cum.
Still on her back, sideways across the mattress, Max frees her face and arms, removing the shirt to look down at me, sucking and twisting. Her full breasts quake, a little bit, with each pull and release. The sight of my absolute control over her undoing tips the scales and threatens to spill over. I know because Max’s wayward hips begin to dance. They circle round and round like my tongue against her soft, brown, unashamed skin. Max’s nipple does not retreat, her pussy does not apologize for wanting, and her hips beg on its behalf.
I stop and step back for the last time. Connected by gaze and energetic frequency, we stare into each other’s eyes. Max takes over her own nipple play as I take off my pear green lingerie—brushing the straps from my shoulders, letting the top fall to her waist, slowly rocking the soaked, fitted bottoms down over my ass and thighs and letting them fall onto the floor. My hand follows the same road south, down over my soft belly, a silky tuft of hair, and against the sticky coating over my pussy. Confident of my ability to slip over the inside of Max’s thigh and into the top position, I take a step forward.
I’ll take the top. Straddling one of Max’s open legs, I move my wet pussy along her soft inner thigh, just above the knee, and drag it slowly, slowly up to meet her wet pussy. I’ve never seen her this wet. I want to see it. I pull back and reach down to open her wide, revealing the full length of her clit before meeting it with mine. Our bodies interlock like the tangled fingers of longtime lovers holding hands. Our pussies slip like warm coconut oil and ten-foot water slides. Our clits grind like the ball and socket of a single joint that was never made to move another way.
“Fuck, Cree. Ride me,” she whispers, as her head tilts to the side.
I determine that this will be Max’s last jab at authority.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Pussies face to face, I lean down to lick her slightly parted lips. “Open for me,” I order, tapping my fingers against her cheek. Max opens her lips to receive mine and then opens her mouth to receive my tongue. Her kisses make my pussy drip into hers.
The music in the background speeds up. I kiss her harder and tap the tips of our swollen clits together as the beat emerges. Max is about to get fucked. To be clear, I slap her again. Fingers, palm, and stinging this time. The clap of my hand against her cheek is almost as loud as the clap of my ass slapping against Max’s open legs. Both of their vibrations echo into the unseen. Max responds instantly and audibly. I answer her animalistic cry, “You like this wet pussy on yours? I’m about to nut in your pussy this time. Do you remember what my pussy did to your face? Do you remember me spilling into your open mouth and down my leg?” I slap her again and demand, “Tell me you remember.”
All Max can do is nod her head and continue to tug at her nipples. I slap her a third time, three times as hard as the first one. “Tell me you remember!” I bark.
“I.. I.. remember.” Max forcibly stutters.
I approve but don’t relent. “Good,” I state and pick up the pace.
My belly rolls as I push my hips backward and forward, pressing my clit against the space between Max’s hard clit and the soft opening of my pussy. I like it. Watching my body move makes me want to cum. I stroke like my hard clit is my eight-inch strap while Max fills the room with moans and grunting.
“I’m about to fill your pussy up with my cum and then suck it out until you beg me to stop.”
“Cree, I’m cumming.” Max announces, pouring every bit of herself into our medley of sweat and sap.
Both of us groaning, both backs arched, pressing pussies closer together than before, rubbing furiously, nails digging into flesh, every pore opening to invite sweat to mingle under our skin in one shared body, we climax together.
Max’s limbs fall open, limp and lifeless. Her chest heaves and her body quivers involuntarily, alive with the energy of trust and release.
Panting, I collapse against Max’s thigh and knee, briefly resigned to fulfillment. My breath slows around the same time Max’s convulsions subside. I gather my faculties to unpeel my body from Max’s and fall to my knees on the floor beside the bed. As though praying, I bow my head and meet my face with the alter.
I begin at the bottom and drag the width and length of my tongue slowly up Max’s pussy and over her clit. I pause, just over her, so Max can see.
Max’s pussy glistens. A smeared brew of satisfied desires makes for the perfect cocktail.
And I drink. I drink like a parched Pekingese, lapping up a fresh bowl of water after a long walk. Licking juices directly from the source and splashing them over my face with each flit of my broad tongue. I even cock my head to the side, like one would when drinking from a water fountain, slurping messily at the well.
Max squirts so hard that her nut slides down my throat and into my nostrils. Choking and deprived of air, I continue for an eight-count of stroking and licking until Max’s legs lock around my head, restricting movement entirely.
Pause for a fit of madness.
Just as Max relaxes, I spread her knees further and prepare them for the finale. Tongue still lengthened, mouth still open, I pull back to wipe Max’s melted pussy from my chin and face while she watches.
Now I have her attention.
I put my fingers into myself. She can’t see them from her position on the bed, but I allow her to watch pleasure cover my face before placing my newly dampened fingers in her mouth to suck. Max drags her tongue between them as one would to save melting ice cream.
I take those same fingers and stick them deep into a dripping Max, to stroke and curl their way to her explosion.
I want to know what she tastes like from deep, deep within. So I put those fingers into my own mouth and suck them dry.
“You taste so fucking good, Max!”
Feigning resuscitation, Max sits up to kiss me, passionately sucking the concoction from my tongue.
Begging for a turn at the top, Max breathlessly exhales, “My turn.”
To which I reply, “No, I’m done.”