MARBLE & SALT (Lesbian)

Chapter 18 SABLE ORCHID

Nota bene: the chapter features mature content!

I think she wants to get up again. For a split second, her face becomes her face again: mocking and at the same time proud, but I nip her rebellion in the bud. It's so nice to feel her heart racing under my palm which I persistently press against her chest forcing her to lie on her back again.

I feel great. Every breath I take feels sweet and fresh, although, I am still in the same room; every move I make seems powerful and strong. When I bend over her, my body is as flexible as that of a sable.

Hebe has always been an amazing beauty, but today she is like a fragrant strawberry found in a snowy forest: pure perfection.

"She is mine and only mine" this thought dominates my mind, forcing the body to move in time with my own thoughts.

Standing between her legs, I pin her harder against the table: her breasts are heaving, her cheeks are flushing, her red mouth is half-open and wet; languishing marble eyes appear dark due to pupils that widened with excitement. The witch's posture is open, arms bent at the elbows at her face level, palms up. She lets out a plaintive moan when I move between her thighs. The witch can deceive all her obedient lovers and familiars, but not me now: her body wants to be possessed. That's what she desires.

Innocence and inexperience seem like a myth. The witch was my first and almost always was my top, but I know exactly what I have to do now. My hands don't shake, and my eyes fixed on hers.

I win.

She looks away, wrapping her legs around my waist. The gesture is almost pleading. Her clothes are superfluous, foreign. I need to get rid of them. All I want is to pull her open collar to release the breasts, but to my surprise, the fabric rips under my hands like a paper napkin. Hebe flinches as if in fright, her head raises, her hair covers her eyes. I am surprised looking at my hand: it cannot be that the fabric is so fragile, but her dark nipples are much more interesting now than the fragility of the shirt. I lean over her breasts and take her nipple in my mouth, cautiously at first, then with all my vigour, one hand squeezing her left breast, the other sliding towards her trousers. I'm almost there. My fingertips brush against her abs and the delicate skin of her tummy. I suck her breast deeper into my mouth, causing her to scream.

The massive wooden door flew open, but I am in no hurry to look up at the intruder, for I already know who has come. I can recognize this displeased sniffing from a thousand.

"M-Mistress..." Mika mumbles not knowing what to do.

My gaze is slowly creeping in her direction. I don't know what will happen to me in the world of witches, but I know for sure that at this moment I'm the Queen. My lips reluctantly part with the Princess's dark nipple. I lightly lick it with my wet tongue one last time.

"You weren't taught to knock, Mika, were you?" I say without a trace of irritation, since I am the winner. The expression of Hebe's apprentice is painfully familiar to me: with the same expression I first caught Dasha and Danya kissing in the school locker room among warm multi-colored winter jackets and scarves that were hanging from the sleeves like long pythons in the jungle. I even feel a little sorry for her; I'm sure that she has been her helper and apprentice for more than one year... The poor thing probably hoped that one day the beautiful Princess would see a hidden pearl in her, because she is so devoted to her since childhood... I'm not sure anymore whether I'm thinking about Mika and Hebe or someone else.

"Don't you see that MY Hebe is busy?" My hand finally slips into Hebe's hot, damp place. The witch, who all this time has been dwelling in some kind of unconsciousness, screams out again, arching her back bringing her body closer to mine. I hug her closer to me, glaring at unhappy Mika. I'm sorry, girl, but the winner takes it all.

Mika lets out something resembling a moan and a sob. She disappears behind the door as if blown away by the wind. For a few seconds I look with sincere sadness at the place where Mika has just been...

I kiss Hebe imperiously as if I want to brand her mine. My fingers begin to move in her hot body again, and I understand that I am just as pleased as if she is touching me too. I like how she flinches every time I sharply pierce her or when I examine her by slightly bending my fingers inside. It's all new for me and not new at the same time as if I've done it all before.

Her moans seem endless. The slightest touch of mine on her body makes her tremble. Something is unusual... her submission? Eagerly I kneel down and pull her trousers off too quickly. I can hear the tissue tearing, I can hear her almost crying when I touch her lower lips as if I want to bite off a peach with a fantastic appetite of mine, closing my lips and swallowing her juices with pleasure. How funny... she's sweet! The first time I tasted myself was when Hebe kissed me on the lips after a fellation, but I was not tasty, salty. It's really funny: Velia doesn't like the sad saltiness of herself – she wants only her woman. My woman.

As if tasting a tropical fruit for the first time, I again fall to her with my lips and tongue, wanting to eat up all her sweetness without a trace. Bursting into her with my tongue, I want to try every nook of her beautiful body. I want all of her.

My hands are on her tummy. I feel her strong palms are covering my fingers. We both take a hard look at each other.

Where are her weaves?

In fright, I tear off my plump wet leaps from her, realizing that all her snakes have gathered under our palms, forming a bizarre pattern. I can feel their movement, their energy passing into me... But it is not only her weaves that wriggle: my arms are adorned with patterned tattoos that merge with her blue-gray weaves. We both scream.

I flop on my ass, and Hebe lies powerlessly supine on the table amid the forgotten royal breakfast.

With my trembling fingers, I grab the edge of the table and lift myself off the floor.

"Are you good? I mean... are we good?"

Her weaves circle randomly through her body as if lost their place and peace. During all the time I was doing her, she didn't say a word.

"Hebe?"

The witch sobs as she grabs the edges of her torn shirt. She speaks Latin very fast like a medieval priest, forcing the torn edges of the fabric to joint somehow. Even though I studied Latin in my first year, I was amazingly bad at it, so I don't understand a word she's "praying" now. Such serious things have always been difficult for me, it's amazing how I was able to learn English!

I raise my hand to remove a stray strand of hair from her forehead, but freeze when I see my reflection in a round silver tray that was miraculously able not to fall off the table. Hebe's unexpected shyness fades into the background, everything fades into the background when I see that my whole face, neck, and arms are blooming with sable black flowers reminding orchids.

Weaves.

But why are they so black and... frightening. Hebe's weaves look like a beautiful watercolor drawing, while mine look like I'm the Queen of the Night and ready to sing the aria "Hell's vengeance boils in my heart".

"Hebe, I don't understand what's going on..." I whisper plaintively, frightened by my own eyes that have lost all their greens, becoming as black as the newly acquired weaves, but the witch doesn't care.

"I have to go, I have things to do," she grumbles to me. Obviously, she wants to preserve her rad posture, but she fails. Hebe's unusually awkward movements betrays her mercilessly.

"You felt it too! What was it? Orgasm doesn't throw people in different directions!"

"We are not just ordinary people, stupid Pythia! Stupid, intolerable girl!" Hebe says this with a sob, though the expression on her face is remaining almost indifferent.

"So explain me if I'm that stupid! Make me understand!" I try to touch her again, but she withdraws her hand in fear. Why is she afraid of me? Hebe can't be afraid of me; Hebe can't be afraid of anyone...

"Later," she mutters and hurries to the door, somehow buttoning up the miraculously survived button on her torn trousers. "Ahhh, the beast is already running to the huntress," she mutters scornfully.

"What are you talking about? What beast?" I think she is talking some kind of nonsense, but when she hides in the darkness of the doorway, I see that she was not addressing me.