The Erotic Writer

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A Certain Manner

This story is very loosely inspired by Alice Bluegown‘s exquisite lesbian erotica. Although in my opinion it doesn’t possess the lyricism and grace of her work it is a period piece set in the second decade of the 19th Century, around the time Communism/Socialism began to really strike fear in the heart of capitalist America. -X

I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of crying or begging. I faced them head-on.

Their hands were like iron, but I slid out of their sweaty grip just before the biggest man put the whole weight of his body into stomping my backbone.

“You’ll break my spinal column if you do that.” I pointed at the man’s shovel sized foot. “You wouldn’t want the fun to end before it started, would you?”

He looked questioningly at the only woman in the group. She was younger than me, tall with bobbed hair and pale eyes. She was pretty enough, but she looked mannish amongst all those thugs. The men cracked their knuckles eagerly as they waited for her to make her decision. It must be her show, but I’ve yet to figure out why she wants to hurt me in the first place. She couldn’t possibly know my secret.

She took off her thin jacket slowly, revealing a startlingly feminine silk and satin paneled dress in the modern style. The cloth shone with glass beads in the factory’s bright electric lights – it was certainly not made here. The men’s faces fell.

“Get out,” she barked. They looked at her quizzically.

“But you told us we’d get to-” She put a gloved hand up and all of their mouths shut at the same time. It was an imperious gesture – she was used to telling men such as this what to do.

My heart was going to pound its way right out of my ribcage.

“We’ll wait in the car.” She waved her hand again, grimacing with the apparent frustration of having to deal with them. She remained perfectly still until the last man closed the door. Adrenaline made my temples pound, and my hands turned to claws. I would bury them into her pretty face even if I died doing it.

“Raawwrgh!” I landed on her, wrapped my legs around her waist and pulled her hair viciously. I wanted to feel her scalp give way until I had two handfuls of her thick brown hair. I beat on her shoulder with a clenched fist as I pulled, savoring my impending victory…

She wasn’t fighting back. In fact, as my grip on her waist loosened I saw that her face was flushed and her eyes had a look I was very familiar with – but not in the midst of a fight. I fell off her and crouched underneath a machine. When I looked down, more than a couple of her hairs stuck to the sweat on my palms. I waited for her to open the door and call her thugs to finish me off now that she’d had her fun. I panted in the dusty darkness. Her kid heels clicked as she walked toward me. I couldn’t help staring – each was tied with an enormous silk grosgrain ribbon. I’d always dreamed about owning such shoes… it made even the most ungraceful, large foot look delicate. I looked down to my own. Her hand wrapped around my scuffed leather boot and pulled me squirming into the light. I expected her to bury her beautiful shoe in my ribcage before I could get my bearings. Instead, she laughed.  I looked at her, goggle-eyed.

“Come now, don’t give me such a look. It’s positively hideous.” She sat down without crossing her legs. Her pearly gray silk stockings stopped right above her knees, and beyond that all I could see is rosy flesh and inviting darkness. My cheeks burned and I crawled back underneath the sewing machine. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help wondering whether those fine stockings were any silkier than her flesh. My hungry belly growled.

She reached underneath and started to pull me out by one of my thick braids. I pushed her onto a scrap-covered counter and slapped her. As she moved her hand to her face, I bit down on the bit of naked wrist beyond her tight kid glove. Just as soon as teeth hit flesh, I nearly lost strength in my knees. Her painted lips parted and her eyes fell closed. I let her hand fall to her lap and took a trembling step back. She opened her eyes and dreamily inspected the damage to her wrist.

“Good heavens, why did you stop?” Her nipples poked through the silk at the front of her dress. Her cheek was livid with my palm print. The bite mark shone with my saliva, and she licked it slowly, placing her teeth where mine had dimpled her flesh. “You are a lively cunt, I’ll grant them that,” she said. She got up and smoothed her dress out. I backed right into another machine table and sat on it. Her face hardened at my apparent lack of enthusiasm. “You do know why I am here, do you not?”

I looked down at my boots. I would not play their games – if they wanted to kill me, so be it, but I was not sorry.

“Tell me, girl. You can’t be so goddamned stupid that you don’t know why I’m here.” I looked up in shock. I’d never heard such a fine-looking lady curse so terribly, but my shock turned to fury once I realized what she’d called me.

“I am not girl.” I was so angry my accent came back. She gave me a slow up and down look that made my skin prickle. There was a flash of humiliation when I compared her Paris-bought dress to my tattered cotton work dress, but I swallowed it.

She lunged forward and grabbed my waist. To her amusement, I bared my teeth at her and moved away. “You’re corseted. How fin de siècle.” I couldn’t hold back a haughty guffaw. At least I wasn’t walking around the streets without any underwear whatsoever, like a whore.

Like her.

“My word, they were certainly right about you!” She started to unbutton her gloves. The hands underneath were pale and soft, and her short nails were unvarnished. Sweat itched underneath my corset. I couldn’t believe how much I was sweating in this cold, abandoned room. She threw her gloves on the dirty floor and pointed to them. “Come here.” I looked at the crumpled gloves, but didn’t move a centimeter. “Let’s talk awhile. I won’t hurt you. The men are gone.”

I would not let her toy with me like the bosses did with the others.

Her breath became ragged with rage. “Come here you fucking slut, or I swear I’ll have them tear you limb from thieving limb while I watch!”

I did not move a muscle.

She ran to me and slapped me so hard my eyes watered. She scratched and she spit and she kicked with her eyes closed with passion. My breath came in gasps but I didn’t move. She was taller but she was also more slight. If I wanted to, I could stop her assault.  She pushed me up against a wall and started to pull up my skirt. I pushed her away forcefully enough for her to tumble onto a table like a pile of rags. She laughed.

“A modest crook. I guess it takes all sorts,” she said. I shrugged my shoulders. How could a spoiled bitch like her know what it was like to go without? They had everything, yet they wanted more… if they stole what little we had, I would steal it back. I would not watch my family starve so privileged cunts like her had a new spring wardrobe. My face stung with her scratches, but I gloried in the pain.

Let them beat me to death – I will never apologize. Never.

She saw the resolve on my face and stomped the floor. “I’ve never had to work so hard to get one of you bolshie whores to capitulate.” She grabbed my face painfully and made me look up at her. Her face was white save for a bright red spot at the top of each cheek. “I am going to be completely clear with you. My father’s men are outside waiting for my signal. If I am forced to call them up here,  they will use you until you’re unconscious and then wring the life out of you.” She twisted her neck at the end of each sentence, as if biting it off. “Comprennez-vous? You will die if you do not do exactly as I tell you.” Pain shot up my leg as she ground into my worn boot toes with her sharp heel.

What did a spoiled brat like her want from me?

She stomped on my bruised foot. I screamed back into reality and shoved her away. Her hip bumped painfully into an old sewing machine, but she just laughed it off.

“Mmm, I like it that way.” She hiked her skirt up and exposed herself to me. Even as I ran to the other side of the room, I couldn’t erase the image of her creamy thighs, the fact her silken pussy hair stuck to her lips with wetness. Stupid bourgeois whore.

Beautiful, but they got what they wanted so easily that they lost their subtlety.

I looked back at her and her long fingers moved between her thighs in a way that was universally recognizable. My mouth watered involuntarily. Her hand slowed when she noticed I was looking.

“You know, we can make this easy, or we can make this very hard.” She walked to me and caressed me with wet fingers. I hated the fact that her scent made me shiver, and not with fear. She tugged on my skirt and jammed a leg between mine. Her thighs, strong and slim with a lifetime of horseback riding, pressed into my mound and rubbed obscenely. When I tried to push her away, she clamped on my leg painfully and laughed.

“Ooh, hot-headed.” I tried to slap her, but she grabbed my wrist. “You will fuck me, or all your little compatriots get the boot…so to speak.” My arm went limp. If they were thrown in jail, the children would surely starve.

“Greedy whore.” It slipped out before I could stop it.  Her thigh began to rub again, but I didn’t fight. Regardless of my anger, it was easy.

“You’re lucky I even like this sort of thing, or I would’ve just had Daddy’s thugs kill you.”

She tore at the buttons on my dress and watched a drop of sweat race to the valley between my breasts. She licked the trail from fat salty bead to the hollow of my neck.

She pressed her lips on my ear. “No society bitch sweats like that.”

She sighed longingly and hiked up my skirt again. Her fingers slid into my rough cotton stockings and pinched my skin, but it was more greed than sadism. Her hand moved up the inside of my thigh, underneath my bloomers. I could feel the heat radiating from her fingers on me. I thrust my hips forcefully. She was taken by surprise and staggered back.

“Damn you!” I slammed into her and she fell back onto a cutting table. I climbed on top of her and slapped and pulled her hair. Her face was twisted with some powerful emotion, but I didn’t care. The delicate lace of her pretty dress scratched at the skin of my inner thighs, so I tugged on it. Surprisingly, it gave.

“Selfish rich bitch, see how you like me now!” Cloth tore and beads clicked to the floor as I destroyed the beautiful dress I would never wear. I pulled the glass bead necklace from around her slim neck and it snapped, spilling beads onto the table. I clawed and I ripped until there was only naked flesh, then I scratched. She fought underneath me, but just enough to make her firm little tits jiggle.

Her nipples were red and taut. Her breasts mocked me with their creamy perfection after my assault, so I slapped one. She groaned, and I slapped harder. They bounced and settled, each with a blooming hand-shaped welt. I pinched the nipples and pulled until her breasts were teepee shaped,  but she didn’t fight me. Instead, she arched.

“That’s it, woman. Show me what I am.”

I slapped her painted mouth shut with shock. She liked my treatment? She sucked on her bruised lip and ripped at my bodice. The wood buttons clattered on the table. She tugged until my breasts were free from the corset and sighed. I knew I should, but I couldn’t stop her as she pinched my brown nipples to life. She squeezed my breasts. She weighed them in her hands and cooed with delight.

“Mmm, so heavy. How delightful.”

I slapped her hands away and put my hand on her neck. She pouted, but she didn’t fight. Sneaky fingers rubbed between my legs again, and her eyes narrowed. She pressed the seam of my bloomers between the lips of my cunt. I shivered.

“That isn’t sweat, woman.” The seam rubbed into my bud and my hand loosened on her neck. She smiled. “I know your secret…” Her sing-song made me see red.

Who had discovered my secret lust for women? Ever since leaving my country I had tried to do everything right, even letting a fellow or two call on me. I dressed as femininely as I dared and avoided any woman I was attracted to.  I didn’t want to get married, but there were many ‘normal’ women in the movement who chose to remain unmarried…

I tried to get off of her, but she pulled at my gold cross necklace. The thin chain cut into the back of my neck. “Uh uh, darling. That’s not how it works.” I tasted bile.

“Fuck you.” The words came out rusty. I wasn’t used to cursing so vilely. She pulled until my naked breasts pressed against hers. Her undeniably sweet breath made me whimper. Her hand began its rhythmic caress between my legs again.

“When was the last time you fucked anyone…and by that I mean, anyone you really wanted to fuck?”

My thoughts drifted to my dear friend Luka back home, to her expert caresses and her hungry mouth. My hand twitched on the table as I thought of her long black hair between my fingers as I pressed her to my sex, of biting my other hand so the other nurses didn’t hear me moan.

She unbuttoned my bloomers and reached inside. Her eager touch made me buck into her. A finely groomed hand massaging the wet, sweaty folds of my pussy was too much to resist. It had been too long. She sat up and spread her thighs until my ass was on the table. Her finger still danced over my clit. I spread, and she tugged and pinched until she coaxed a moan from me. She pulled off my bloomers – so serviceable, with not a centimeter of lace – and pressed the sodden seam of the garment to her nose. I bolted and ran to the door, leaving my chain in her fist. Not surprisingly, it was firmly locked.

Putain!

She spread her legs and her nether lips parted, exposing the pearly pinkness. My head spun. “Putain is right,” she said. “Come here.” I shamefully realized it took willpower not to obey. She licked the seam of my bloomers, never taking her eyes off me. My thighs were slippery underneath my skirt. I’d never seen a woman be so enthusiastic to taste another since Luka. It made me ache with lust, although this woman was a spoiled bitch.

Spoiled bitch or not, she was here and she was eager. Muscle memory made my fingers twitch and curl as I looked at her wet pussy. She beckoned to me.

“We can do this all night. This part of the factory has been empty for years.” My legs moved of their own accord. She sucked the wetness from the cloth and licked her lips. “You do well by me and your friends will keep their places.” Her haughty attitude made me growl with frustration. My fingers slid easily inside her. Her eyes widened with surprise. “No preamble. I love that-”

I cut her off with a slap, then buried another finger in her cunt. My four fingers fit snugly inside her, and I pounded into her to the knuckle. She pulled weakly at the buttons of my skirt until it fell to the floor at my feet, then wrapped her long legs around me. I roughly pushed her on her back and reamed into her. It had been so long since I felt the maddening pressure of a hot pussy with my fingers, smelled the musk, heard it squish so sweetly. She was a smug rich cunt but pussy was pussy, and hers was eager and tight. I was soon bent over her, pumping and licking the wetness from her thighs as her legs slid on my sweaty naked shoulders.

“Fuck my hungry bourgeois cunt!” she yelled.

“Stupid whore, you don’t know what hunger is!” Anger made me rougher, and I slapped her flushed face as I worked my fingers inside her. Her hard clit stuck out, but I didn’t feel like rubbing it. That little act of defiance made my pussy twitch around nothing. I put a knee on the table for leverage and she saw my wetness.

“Please let me lick it!” She tried to sit up, but I pushed her back down so hard her head slammed onto the table. She winced, then smiled. “You can’t hide it, woman.”

She looked at my pussy and licked her lips slowly and moaned. It disgusted and aroused me at the same time.  I straddled her face, bearing down until I knew my wet lips had formed a seal around her nose and mouth. She licked up and down my slit, cleaning off the musky wetness before flicking her tongue on my clit. My thighs tightened around her face. She groaned into my flesh and tried to caress my ass, but I slammed her wrists to the table.

Her tongue danced expertly over and around my clit – she knew well what she was doing. Pleasure made the strength start bleeding from my limbs. She lifted her knees to her chest and spread as far as she could, her toes pointed in her expensive shoes. My thighs turned to iron again.

How many poor woman from her daddy’s factories had she coerced with the threat of being thrown out on the street? Her hips moved brazenly in the same rhythm as her tongue, her plump little mound fanning her animal scent to me. Her hands began to twitch as she ran out of air. I giggled softly as her legs twitched, then kicked. What was most fascinating is that her tongue didn’t stop moving. For a shining moment I imagined suffocating her with my come. I could easily snap her neck between my thighs and leave her there to rot…just another decadent pig drowning in her own vice.

The image of the thugs waiting outside broke my reverie, and I lifted my hips. She breathed raggedly into me. “Oh, do come on. I’ve had whores sit longer than that.” She shoved her face into my swollen pussy flesh and grunted. I involuntary curled into myself and fell onto her. She squeezed my ass contentedly as she rooted around with her tongue, then slid a finger into my asshole.

“What the-” No one had ever done such a thing, and I was surprised at how good it felt. I fell forward onto her belly, and she was suddenly close enough to lick. It had been a long long time since I’d seen a pussy that close, and I’d only tasted one other than my own. Her taut pink clit teased me as she moved her hips toward my face. I turned away and my open mouth rubbed against her wet inner thigh. Her taste flooded my mouth and made my eyes water.

I could not give in. She was a dreadful woman, spoiled, cruel, smug. I would not be bought-

I bucked into her face hard and rough. I wanted to make the cartilage of her pretty nose crack against me, wanted to make her hurt. She would pay for putting me in this position, for making it hard to resist her advances. She caught me by surprise and squeezed my head between her thighs. My open lips rubbed against hers, and my resolve vanished just as soon as her copious juices hit my tongue. I grabbed her by the asscheeks and licked feverishly, tracing my tongue on each of her sweet ripples and folds. She moaned roughly into me and slid a second finger in my ass. I spread her ass cheeks until the puckered skin of her asshole shone. I licked it wet and slid a finger inside. The giving was as surprisingly delicious as the getting – her muscles winked around my probing finger, and she was impossibly hot. I sucked on the tender flesh of her labia until she dripped onto the table, then sucked at her clit. My pleasure was not as urgent to me as the intense pleasure of touching, sucking and licking her. A faint voice in the back of my militant mind screamed “You’ve lost! You’re as bad as she is!” but it did not sour the sweetness of her cunt.

Smug rich cunt or not, right now she was licking me to the best orgasm I’ve had in years. I wanted to fill her mouth as she filled mine. My hands turned to claws on her ass. I licked her clit slowly and firmly, establishing a rhythm that she matched with her tongue. My eyes fell closed and I took in every nuance of her flavor.

Perfume, the faintest taste of piss, sweat and musk so enticing it makes my clit twitch on her tongue.

She’s good.

The realization went against every sensibility I had, but my tongue didn’t stop flicking and licking. In fact, my sexual defection made it all the more sweet. I let the feeling wash over me. Sweat made my belly slippery on her breasts, and I tightened around her tongue and her fingers. Fantasy fused into reality.

The bourgeois cunt is as fucking delicious as I had imagined it the first time I saw her climbing out of her daddy’s shining Packard for her monthly visit to the factories.

I sucked her hard hot bud into my mouth.

No. even more so.

She sucked on my clit just as eagerly and I groaned.

How had I sensed that she was a wicked, disgusting woman? How had she known that I was the same, deep underneath it all?

I teased her clit with tongue and lips until her thighs pressed against the sides of my face. I got an intense hit of that elusive taste, the pre-orgasm burst of juices, and I sucked in earnest.

Her cunt twitched forcefully and soaked my thrusting fingers. I wanted to coax as many little earthquakes as I could, so I licked firmly and kneaded at her pulsing flesh until she was screaming into my pussy. She kept coming and coming, each time a little more forcefully, until she nearly bucked me off her with her convulsions. By the time I was done, there was a huge wet spot on the table underneath her ass. I lifted my pussy off her face and she whimpered.

“No. You haven’t spent yet.” Three fingers slid into my pussy and curled into my sweet spot. Her pussy opened and closed slowly as she kneaded into me, knowing well I was ready. Heat bloomed in my inner thighs, moved up toward my belly, climbed up my spine and went straight to my brain. For a second there was only an intense pulse of sensation, then my back arched and I came copiously all over her face and shoulders. I hadn’t spent so much in forever, and the explosive release was worth my previous anger.

I had a sneaking suspicion my anger was what had made it better.

She cooed and massaged every twitch out of me, giving me what I had willingly given her.  I laid my cheek between her legs. She was still throbbing softly. My mouth watered so fast I drooled, but I crawled off her and tried to stand. My knees shook. She climbed deftly off the table and pulled her torn dress back on. I was struggling with my skirt, and she helped me pull it up and button it. She wrapped her hands around my waist and smiled down on me. Her eyes had gone soft with satisfaction. I realized that they mirrored mine.

“You were worth all the rigmarole it took to coax the truth out of you, woman,” she said, and handed me my blouse. I was too subdued to fake indignation.

“How did you know? Why would you even care? You can get a fine society lady.”

She twisted her lips in the universal sign for distaste.  She went into a dusty box of pins and helped me put on my blouse. Her dress opened up, and I touched her bruised breasts. Her nipples hardened again.

“I don’t want society ladies, they’re as boringly sweet as refined sugar. I prefer something a bit more…raw.” She reached underneath my skirt and cupped my mound. I sighed into her face. “Anyway, I cannot really say how I know such things,” she said through a mouthful of safety pins. “Maybe a certain manner, a certain kind of walk or talk. All I know is when I saw you, your eyes flashed in a way that let me know you were not just admiring my frock. Such desire is hard to hide even behind a staid, faux bolshie facade. I knew you’d be a challenge, but you are worth every bruise.”

Faux bolshie?” My anger made my heart beat white flashes in my vision. I was already syrupy with arousal again.

She climbed back on the table and gave me a crooked grin.

About ximenawrites

I undulate in your vision A strange beauty in a world of plastic, collagen and steel The endearing oddball the living, breathing Picasso that you want to figure out but too afraid to venture into my penumbra you cower at the gate, fingering the knob on the door to my most secret place wishing you could find the courage to walk with me love me, just as I am

5 comments on “A Certain Manner

  1. Eva St. James
    January 6, 2012

    Beautiful. Exquisite. Hot. Damn near perfect.

    • Ximena
      January 6, 2012

      Thank you, Eva :)

  2. paul1510
    January 6, 2012

    Ximena,
    while Lesbian sex isn’t my cup of coffee, {don’t like tea}!
    I’ve studied the history of the movement in the west.
    I love your faux bolshie comment, besides would a female of that class and time know what a real communist was?
    Nicely done.
    Warm hugs,
    Paul.

    • Ximena
      January 6, 2012

      I love your faux bolshie comment, besides would a female of that class and time know what a real communist was?

      As the factory owner’s daughter, yes she would – especially if she listened in on her father’s concerns about the workers wanting to start unions, etc.

      (I made sure to put in that she visited the factory every month… it was during one of those visits that they saw each other for the first time.)

  3. Alice Bluegown
    January 8, 2012

    Wow – I am blushing at the thought that I have actually inspired someone else’s work! This is obviously rather more rough-and-tumble than my approach (I have yet to try the catfight-leading-to-sex scenario, although I have a story called ‘Collateral Shift’ – not on the website – that comes close); but the period setting and the relationship (if you can call it that) cutting across class barriers is right in my bailiwick. Very nicely done!

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