Continuing Tales


A Labyrinth Story
by Willa Suvia

Part 8 of 9

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There was nothing between them now and nowhere to hide but in their own skins. She winced as he raised his hand to her, trembled as he smoothed the hair away from her forehead. His fingers, naked now without the safety of either glove or gauntlet, were cool to the touch and wholly self-assured; he did not fumble with the buttons as his hands moved down the front of her blouse. He did not falter in pushing the faded denim jeans and girlish pink panties down around her ankles, lifting her feet one at a time to free them from the tangled clothing. This was a world of new sensation to her, the only path she'd dared not travel in this wild land. And was this her adversary, this man who knelt at her feet placing soft kisses against her belly, tracing the slight ridges of her pelvis with his tongue? He had to be; no one else had ever looked at her with such grave contempt, such fierce desperation in the final hour...and this horrible, fevered longing. His eyes burned into her flesh as he gazed up at her now.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, twining flaxen, shimmering mutely in the room's dusty light. He lapped at her navel, dew from a thimble, and teased the soft golden down at the zenith of her thighs. She swayed on her feet, afraid he would drive her to unconsciousness, then afraid that he would not. She freed her stance, spreading wider to admit his probing tongue as his lips became more insistent, more invasive.

She was sweet and salty on his lips, wet as a morning glory and rose-dusky. He could feel the change in her, the erratic beat of her heart as fear gave way to discovery. She was a new world, a land yet unconquered, and he mapped its terrain on the shy slopes of her breasts, in the warm river that rushed between her thighs, in the valley between her shoulder blades. Here, truly, was No Man's Land.

He stopped suddenly, his hands on her hips, lips glistening with her nectar.

Here was beauty unspoiled, innocence in a moment of rare perfection. She hadn't yet quite lost the plump baby-roundness of her cheeks; even her skin blushed the color of a new peach, downy and soft as a caterpillar's walk. Her dark, dark hair fell down over her eyes as she looked upon him, half in puzzlement and half in expectation.

He wasn't sure that he could do it.

"Jareth, please," she begged, sinking to her knees before him, "I need you. I need you..."

It was all the encouragement he needed. He kissed her until his lips weakened and trembled, until her own mouth was bruised and sore from the fury of his passion. His hands roamed across her white shoulders, stroked a soft trail through the velvety golden down on her arms, and caressed her fingertips and palms with infinite care.

Gently, he laid her back against the pillows and set to work with his hands, exploring the sweet dip of her stomach, the hard rise of each knee, the sensitive skin on the soles of her feet and between her toes. He parted her thighs with care, restraining the burgeoning demand between his legs as his hands massaged her, moving closer to the center of her pleasure. She was oven-hot, radiating a heat that threatened to consume them both, and glistening with anticipation.

She moaned, sobbing softly as he drew her swollen clitoris between his lips and suckled, his burning shaft begging to feel her around him. His teeth grazed her aching ruby and she cried out, pressing herself against him. He dragged his tongue around her sensitive jewel in slow, agonizing circles, closing his eyes against her pleas for him to stop, then to never stop, then to finish her. But she wasn't ready yet; he still had a long way to go.

He licked her slowly from the tip of her inflamed flesh to the wet, yearning mouth of her womanhood and up again. She arched her back as he entered her, probing her quivering walls with his tongue, savoring her salty secrets like dandelion wine.

This was her adversary, who kissed her between her legs as no man had ever kissed her mouth. Who brought her unimagined pleasure, and aggravated her to the point of despair with his exploring tongue. Who loved her not only with his hands and body, but with all his heart.

She hoisted herself up on trembling elbows and took his face in her hands. She kissed him deeply, tasting herself on his lips, feeling his incredible hardness pressing against her thigh. She did not have to convince him to lie back and let her love him; he did not argue as she slid down his chest leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses around his nipples, down the thin line of golden hair that spanned the distance between his navel and the nest of golden hair surrounding his rigid member as a forest encloses a tower. She knew nothing of how to please him as she slipped his engorged manhood into her waiting mouth, but delighted that her inexperienced tongue sent him soaring, ripped staccato breaths from his lungs and yearning groans from his throat.

She licked him, cradled him between her lips, sucked his purple-tipped shaft until she wasn't sure she could hold his massive size much longer. It had grown painful for him, too; he would release any moment now, and he did not want to end their union so quickly.

"Wait," he managed weakly, his voice a thin croak. He held her head in his hands, withdrawing from her mouth with a sigh. "Wait...a moment."

She obeyed, sweat beading on her forehead and at her temples. She sat back up, her fingers twitching, rubbing absently at her thighs. Jareth watched her hands with interest, wondering at her boldness as they snaked further and further towards the soft thatch of hair at the union of her thighs.

"Touch yourself," he whispered, fighting his own release. "Your fingers are mine. Touch yourself as I would touch you."

He watched her fingers as they parted her soft, moist labia, sighing loudly as they tripped lightly over her exposed clitoris. She moved lower and one fingertip disappeared inside of her, emerging sparkling and slippery. She raised the finger to his lips, glazing them with her juices before caressing herself again.

"Yes, Sarah," he whispered as her delicate fingers moved in quick strokes over the seat of her desire. She moaned loudly, rocking her hips as her hands took on a dangerous rhythm.

She threw her head back in ecstasy, and Jareth could take no more. She gave a shocked gasp as he pushed her back against the pillows and situated himself between her thighs.

"It will hurt," he told her, stroking her fevered face with a gentle hand. "I cannot take the pain away."

She writhed against him, rocking her hips and grinding them against his own. "Hurt me," she begged, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. "Please, Jareth, hurt me..."

He hurt her as only love can wound, and the pain cleared her mind and lifted the veil of desire from her eyes. He moved within her carefully at first, the shock of their union soothed somewhat by blood and her own salty liquor, and finally faster as his release grew more and more imminent.

She moved with him, rising to his strokes, falling away when he grew distanced, crushing her breasts against him until her eager nipples were chafed and sore with the friction of their bodies. He lay back, pulling her up and into his lap, entering her waiting body with acrobatic precision. She moved above him, crying out a horrible entreaty for him to finish her, please for her sake, finish her now...

She moved on top of him, surrounding him, and choked out a sob when his fingers massaged the searing flesh between her parted thighs. Her ample breasts bobbed like sweet, ripe apples and he rose to suckle them each in turn, his glorious fingers never leaving their task. She braced herself against his thighs, leaning back so that he could watch as he disappeared inside her, marveling how her body could hold all of him. She fell where he rose, and curved where he was concave; their bodies were a perfect fit, as though she was the mold from which he had been cast.

She moaned and bucked faster atop him, her hair falling heedlessly over her face. His hands molded to the shape of her buttocks and pulled her down upon him, filling her completely again and again until a scream tore from her mouth and he could feel her violent contractions. She pulsed hotly around him, adding to the exquisite torture of their joining. He closed his eyes and let go, no longer able to withstand the sensual assault of her voice, skin, and breath.

He lay there motionless for moments after, her dark hair spilled across his chest and neck in satisfied exhaustion. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, descending from its violent thunder to a steady rhythm.


A Labyrinth Story
by Willa Suvia

Part 8 of 9

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