Mona Lisa Blossoming

Chapter Nine

We were back in what I thought of as the dungeon. It wasn't, really. It wasn't even in the basement, probably because houses in flood-prone Louisiana did not have basements. The houses here in this wet state were actually perched up on blocks of brick or stone.

The dungeon was just a room set back in the house, not far different from the other rooms in the house. Only this room had chains of silver manacles secured to the wall. There were a few changes to it since last I saw it. It was clean for one thing. And instead of Wolf Boy, those chains now contained Gerald, the less powerful of Mona Carlisse's guards. One she had never taken to her bed before. He was shackled in those chains in his full naked glory, slender but well muscled.

If I was uncomfortable there was no one else to blame but myself. It was my idea, after all.

No, we hadn't tackled Gerald to the ground, stripped him of his clothes, and snapped those manacles around him. He'd actually removed his clothes and willingly stepped forward and allowed us to secure him in those strength-draining chains.

We, or more accurately, I, had explained to Gerald what we were hoping to do. He'd looked at Mona Carlisse, his Queen, with naked, yearning devotion shining in his lovely hazel eyes, and replied, "Yes, anything."

The brilliant idea was to have the man completely at Mona Carlisse's mercy, to put her in total control. To have her take him.

Of course, I hadn't expected to be in the same room when she did it.

"I will not be able to do this thing without your presence," Mona Carlisse had told me.

"But don't you want some privacy?" I'd wailed. Obviously not. "You make me feel safe," she said. I had looked at her blankly.

"You stopped Amber from raping me when he was filled with bloodlust and barred inside that hut with us. You risked yourself instead."

Not quite the whole truth. "I did that not really to save you but for a more selfish reason. I didn't want Amber declared rogue for raping a Queen." I shrugged. "I was willing. It wouldn't have been rape."

"Nevertheless you saved me, and then again later, as we fled from there. I feel safe in your presence. I will not be able to do this thing that you ask of me otherwise."

And so I found myself stuck inside that little room, backed into the farthest corner, not knowing where to look after I had secured Gerald's shackles, placed the key down on the ground next to his feet, and backed away. Gerald didn't seem to mind. He was slender but well muscled, and down below, heavy and full. He stood there pointing at full mast, face serene. The chains had enough length so that he stood several feet out from the wall, a willing captive, arms and legs slightly spread, patiently waiting for whatever his Queen desired to do to him.

"You may not receive any pleasure or satisfaction. Much less power," Mona Carlisse had warned him.

"Anything you desire, my Queen," Gerald had replied in gentle understanding. "Even blood, even pain."

I don't know that I could have made such a promise knowing what she had gone through.

Mona Carlisse reluctantly walked to him now, still fully dressed, a folded black tie in her hands and uncertainty in her face. Gerald averted his eyes and lowered his head, as if he knew it would be easier for Mona Carlisse to tie the cloth around his head and blindfold him if he did not stare at her. He may not be the strongest of her men, but he was worthy of her.

She stepped back hastily as soon as she had knotted the cloth, her face pinched, her hands trembling, wary of being so close to a man, even one of her own. She stood there a moment, a shudder passing through her body, and I had a moment's thought that she would not be able to do this. But the inner, unbreakable core of strength beneath the soft pretty surface that had kept her alive and enduring and sane for ten long years came to the fore then. Mona Carlisse let out a tremulous breath, squared her slender shoulders with determination and lifted a delicate hand. It stayed there, lifted, airborne, in uncertain promise before slowly, slowly, moving forward to touch Gerald's hair. His hair flowed just beyond shoulder length, loose in soft waves, released from its constricting tie, a rainbow of colors from rich brown to the palest yellow, like grains of mixed sand blended together, rippling with a healthy sheen.

The silky strands lifted and twined about Mona Carlisse's fingers with a bouncy life of their own as she caressed them, stroked them. She sighed and closed her eyes as she felt the fine, silken loveliness under her hand. Lifting her hand away, she brought her fingers to her own heavy coil. Pins dropped to the wood floor with little pings of sound, and her own hair loosened and unraveled, falling down and down, past her hips, a thick swath of extraordinary chestnut brown shot through with strands of gold.

And as her hair was freed, part of the tension that had gripped her unraveled as well, flowing from her, seeping away. Stepping past the chains, she moved to stand at Gerald's back. He stood calmly, unmoving, without tensing, though he must have sensed her closeness. Trust like that, devotion like that was a bit scary. There was a lot of anger, a lot of bitterness and fear in Mona Carlisse. Even I did not know what she would do to him, beat him or fuck him. Either would make me hugely uncomfortable, but for his sake, I was hoping for the latter. Of course, she might not do anything at all, which would then entail another session like this all over again. How fun.

And yet not doing anything but just standing there, they made a beautiful picture. And an erotic one. Mona Carlisse's dark fall of hair and flowing black dress was a stark contrast to the naked loveliness of Gerald's pure white skin. She was fully dressed while he was nude and exposed, vulnerable in chains, wholly at her mercy. It was an intriguing study of black, silver, and white, a play of textures, colors, and light. Standing behind him, she looked the part of a black widow spider dangerously gazing at her captured prey, pondering whether to mate him or devour him. There was a terrible, stark beauty about the scene and, God help me, I was becoming aroused despite myself. I fought to look away but my gaze was drawn repeatedly back to the portrait of them.

Mona Carlisse's eyes captured mine. "Do you like what you see?" Her voice was darkly inviting.

I swallowed and nodded, knowing she could smell my arousal. I was unable to hide my body's reaction to her; no use trying to lie.

"You are beautiful together," I whispered and looked away, embarrassed.

"No. Watch," she commanded, and I could not help but do as she bid. Mona Carlisse stepped closer behind Gerald so that she barely brushed him, her hands rising to touch his slender hips.

"You were beautiful together," Mona Carlisse said softly to me. "Amber and you, when you made love. You made what had become an ugly act for me beautiful once more."

Mesmerized, I watched. Her pale hands, framed by the blackness of her sleeves, drifted lightly over the flat plane of his stomach. Gerald tensed, then shuddered, his abdomen ridging as her hands glided upward over the gentle swell of his chest. Closing her eyes, giving a soft little sigh of pleasure, she embraced him, wrapping her arms completely around him and holding him tight, finding comfort. There was great pleasure to be had in just holding someone, of being held. Humans and Monère alike seemed to have that deeply ingrained need in them for the comfort of physical touch. I wondered how many years it had been since Mona Carlisse had been able to hold another man like this, of her own free will.

When she opened her eyes again and looked at me, wetness gleamed in the brown depths. She rubbed her cheek against Gerald's soft hair, hiding her face partly in the light, sand-colored fall. Then she stepped back.

She was done, I thought, and found myself pleased with the progress that she had made. And it was progress, her willingness to just touch a man, embrace him. But instead of walking away, she reached back. The rasp of a zipper sounded loud in the silence of the room and the weighty fall of cloth to the floor was an erotic whisper teasing all of our senses. She stepped out of her undergarments with a dainty step and I caught the flash of her milky whiteness behind him before I looked away. Looking at a naked man was one thing. Looking at a naked woman was quite another.

And yet… my gaze drifted back to watch her press herself fully against him from behind, to hear both their ragged release of breath at the brush of naked skin to naked skin, to almost feel the caress of her unbound breasts against his back, the curls of her silky thatch teasing his tight bottom. To see the pleasure sweep over her face as she absorbed the feel of unbound flesh against unbound flesh as she rubbed her entire body against him in a gentle swaying motion, sliding her hands over his bunched shoulders and down his bunched arms.

Mona Carlisse stepped out from behind Gerald, moving to his right, letting her hand delicately trace the muscles and tendons of that one strong forearm, smoothing her fingers over the silver shackle that bound him captive at the wrist. Silver was one of the Monères' weaknesses. They were sapped of their full strength once chained by silver.

She caressed the binding metal. Smiling at me, her eyes a glittering, shining blaze of brown, she angled Gerald to the side so that I could see them both in silhouette, so that she could still see me. Her loose and unbound hair flowed around her like a dark, rippling curtain, hiding one breast, revealing the lush fullness of the other, spilling down to curl just above her mysterious triangle of hair, drawing one's attention to the shadows there. With her dark, flaming eyes and that wicked, knowing smile, she looked like the original Eve. Only she wasn't trying to tempt Adam.

She moved to the front and touched Gerald like she owned him. She did with him as she pleased, and it pleased her to bury her hands in the fine richness of his hair, to nuzzle the tender line of his neck, seek out its secret hollows. To brush the vulnerable little bushes of hair peeping out beneath his outstretched arms, making him squirm in discomfort. To circle the brown flat nipples, peaking them to little points, making him squirm in pleasure. A finger traced over the seam of his lips, parting them, sinking a finger into his mouth and then pulling it out.

She was seeking out the most vulnerable parts of him, I realized. The crease of his elbows, his sensitive palms, the hollows of his knees, the softer, more tender skin of the inside of his thighs. And finally, there, where man was most defenseless. She cupped the tender sac of him in her hands, crouched before him, studying that part of him intently, his hairy bush almost brushing her cheeks, his risen sword pointing skyward, taut against his belly. Gerald trembled and I did not know if it was from passion or fear. A little of both, perhaps.

What would she do with that most vulnerable part of him?

Mona Carlisse rolled the little balls in her hands, tweaked some of the wiry hair, making Gerald jump, pulling a husky breath of laughter from her. She spilled her hands upward and grasped the fullness of him with both hands, firmly, not entirely gentle. He was of average size, not too big, not too small. Just right. One hand moved up, causing the loose, veiny outer skin to slip over his hardened shaft. Her other hand moved down, tracing down his length, seeking out and finding where he originated, to that little perineal swelling behind his scrotum from where he rooted. Having found what it had sought, the searching hand returned to its sister, snaking around his heavy shaft, pumping it fuller. An agile thumb slid up, smoothed around the crown, finding and spreading the drop of pearly essence that had leaked out from that weeping eye.

Mona Carlisse lifted her head and our eyes met and clung. Holding my gaze, she pulled his shaft down like a lever, stretching him level. Gerald pressed his lips tight at the sudden, abrupt move, holding back a cry. He trembled as he felt her hot breath fall upon his sensitive flesh. Groaned as she reached out with her long pink tongue and licked him, long strokes up like she was sipping melting ice cream. Held his breath as she pressed the plump length of his shaft against her opened mouth. As she dangerously grazed him, letting him feel the sharp edge of her teeth when she traced the length of him and swallowed him in, then released him from her red, red lips with a slurpy wet pop.

Mona Carlisse's arousal rose like heat in the air, a musky sweet scent to twine with Gerald's and mine. It excited her, having me watch them. It excited her having control like this.

She licked her lips with that pink tongue, her eyes glittering up at me. "Still like what you see?"

"It's a good show," I answered in a raspy whisper.

"It's going to get better." So promising, she stood up and lifted her pelvis over his levered-down length. Squeezing him between her legs, she rode him, sliding that stretched out shaft between the dewy cleft of her outer lips, so that it moved outside of her, not in her yet. I saw his staff disappearing between her legs and re-emerging, the veiny dorsal surface wet and glistening, christened with her juice. She slid off of him and he sprang back up to slap against his belly, making him flinch and catch his breath. She grasped him again, angled him back at a 45-degree angle, then straddled him once more. With her legs wrapped around him, she sank down, engulfing him into her, swallowing him whole into her body.

I closed my eyes, the image of his length impaling her, sliding into her, disappearing, eaten up by her, seared across my vision. The sound of her wetness as she moved upon him was slurpingly loud, calling forth my own juice. The sounds of his groans and her moans swelled my breasts, hardened my nipples.

"Watch," Mona Carlisse said softly and I opened my eyes, unable to do other than her bidding.

I watched her take her pleasure. I watched her ride Gerald with such vigor and force that he staggered backward under her uninhibited wildness, thrown off balance. His hands came up to grip her legs, support her, and the chains slackened with each step back that he took. He hit the wall hard, careening into it, then used the solid support to brace himself, his knees bent, his hips still, as she thrust herself upon him with fixed, ferocious intensity. Her slender white arms stretched up over her head like pillars of ivory, reaching for the chains anchored high above in the wall. A twist of her wrists and her hands wrapped those thick silver chains around her delicate flesh. With the hard metal biting into her palms, she lifted herself up, sliding herself almost off his shaft, and then dropped herself recklessly back down, plunging herself fully upon him with the force of her entire weight, crying out as she impaled herself upon his engorged length. Again and again she lifted herself up and dropped back down, sliding up off his glistening flesh, then slamming back down onto him, riding him so hard that I feared she would hurt herself, that she would hurt him. But his groans were of pleasure, not pain; her fervent cries not that of fear. She took him as if she was taking back a part of herself, with sobbing ferocity, with almost angry passion that was both beautiful and frightening to watch.

Brilliant light filled the room, coming free from their bodies—his bracingly still, hers bucking and heaving like a wild thing above him. The luminescence limned their bodies white and translucent, washing them in the beautiful color and dazzling brilliance of the moon's own rays, claiming them as her creatures, her creations—incandescent beings of light, their skin so radiant, so luminous that that was all they seemed… pure glorious light. Nothing but a wash of energy, stillness, and motion. Giving, receiving. Taking and giving. Surrendering, demanding. Claiming, reclaiming. Power flooded the room, and then she was shattering. And as the power of her release began to take her, she became shockingly still. So still, so frozen, as if she wished to feel fully the inner undulations of her secret convulsions, to savor abundantly the flooding heat of her claimed release. Tiny shivering spasms danced over her skin like ripples over a pond, fluttering over her closed eyelids as she shattered within.

With a harsh cry and one almost gentle thrust, as if he could not hold himself from that one small act after all his remarkably passive constraint, Gerald clenched his jaw and shuddered in his own groaning release.

Their panting breaths, my quickened breathing, sounded loud in the room as the light receded and returned back into them.

Mona Carlisse unwrapped the chains from her arms and tore the blindfold from Gerald. She cupped his face softly, and with him still buried deep within her, she kissed him gently. It was a tender act, more intimate than all that had just gone before.

"Thank you," she whispered against his mouth.

Gerald smiled, kissed her gently back. "My pleasure."

They both turned their heads and looked at me.

"Thank you," Mona Carlisse whispered to me.

"My pleasure as well." Opening the door, I quietly left them.