We spill out of the club in a wash of laughter and Samara stumbles across the parking lot in her red heels, a drunken African goddess. Rekha grabs a fistful of her dreadlocks, wrenches her head back, licks her ebony face and playfully slaps her ass. Pounding dance music, acrid cigarette smoke and the clamor of voices cling to us like ghosts as we dance out into the chilly, autumn night; the women hold hands and twirl under a canopy of bright stars. Rekha pulls the tall Nigerian woman into a deep kiss, pushes her against our parked SUV, and they forget me until Samara breaks away, panting. “I’m coming home with you,” she says, white teeth flashing like lightning in her dark face.
Rekha shoots me a questioning glance and I nod, a knot of anticipation growing in my stomach; my dick is already twitching with anticipation. I drive and the women sit behind me, purring and whispering, the wet, frantic sound of their kissing making me want to pull over and crawl back there to push between and inside of them. It’s hard to watch the road in front of me because I keep stealing glances into the backseat where Samara’s red skirt is up around her wide, smooth hips, my wife’s hand busy between her thighs.
When we finally get back to our house, I light fat, white candles that smell like vanilla when they burn and the women, laughing, fall onto the divan in a tangle of legs. I pour big glasses of red wine and lean against the wall, watching the women wrestle, play, and laugh.
Samara unbuttons Rekha’s shirtdress, licking her neck and murmuring softly with every inch of exposed, olive skin. My wife has small, firm breasts and isn’t wearing a bra. Samara scratches her nails across them then sucks a dusky nipple between her red lips. My heart pounds. I crouch beside the divan, so close I can taste the sweat and perfume coming off of the women. I pull my dick out and stroke it, slowly, my balls already full and tightening.
Samara looks up at me from where she is nuzzling my wife’s nipple and winks, lifts her mouth to kiss Rekha hard and slow, then growls. I get even closer, my dick straining, eager for my wife’s invitation to play. Samara pushes Rekha away, laughs while she pulls off her own dress, and returns her mouth to my wife’s neck, shoulders, nipples, and stomach, sliding her tongue down to the dark, wet tangle of her pussy. She licks Rekha tentatively at first, playful and coy, smiling when my wife whines with anticipation. Samara moves her tongue slowly, pushing it deep into my wife’s pussy, tracing the cleft of her sex with the gentle caress of a lover and tasting the sweet musk that I’ve come to crave. Samara purrs and licks her lips, pushes her finger inside Rekha and then sucks it clean before burying her face. Rekha spreads her legs and lifts her thighs, opening herself to the woman’s tongue and fingers, panting, biting her lip, eyes rolling madly. My wife tangles her fingers in Samara’s thick, honeyed braids, grinds her hips against her mouth, throws her head back and squeals. Samara’s thick, round ass is swaying seductively just inches from my face and, while she’s eating my wife’s pussy, one of her hands is busy fingering her own wet slit.
Rekha turns eyes the color of rust towards me and smirks, flicks her tongue. I’m like a dog waiting for permission from his trainer, set to explode into frenzied action, every molecule taut with electric excitement; she finally, lovingly, gives it to me with a nod and sly grin. Right then, with my wife watching me, something like a large, bristling eel tries to shove its way out of Rekha’s mouth and between her lips; she swallows hard, a spiky tumor sliding down her throat, and I hesitate.
“Come play with us,” she moans. “I want to watch you fuck her, baby.”
Samara is rubbing her own clit between two long, black fingers, her thighs damp and sticky where she’s dripped her desire. I massage her ass in my hands, spread her cheeks, and dip my head to push my tongue into her salty-sweet pussy from behind. She startles, surprised, but then eagerly wiggles her ass back against my face, giving my tongue a deeper reach into her pussy.
Rekha smiles, watching me lap at Samara’s sex, her eyes heavy and enigmatic. It’s not long before my wife lifts Samara’s bobbing head, licks her face clean, and asks, “Do you want my husband to fuck you, baby?”
Samara giggles shyly at first but then Rekha bites her cheek, hard, making the woman whimper. Just as quickly my wife kisses her again, grinding their lips together and reaching down to pinch the Black woman’s hard nipples. “Do you want to get fucked, baby?” Rekha murmurs in the space between wet, heavy kisses, not letting the woman answer. “Do you want us to use you, tonight? Do you want him to drain his balls into your pussy and for me eat it all out? Do you want us to fuck you? Say it, baby, that’s right. Say it, again, louder.”
“I want you to fuck me,” Samara whispers, looking back at me over her shoulder. “I want you to use me.”
I’m already slamming my throbbing dick into Samara before she can finish her sentence; she groans with pleasure as I bury myself as deep as I can go, slide out, and slam into her again. Her wet pussy is hot and tightly muscled, snatching my dick eagerly with every thrust. Rekha pinches her nipples, licks her face while Samara moans and pants, and then pushes her gasping mouth back down between her thighs. I grab the woman’s wide, black hips and hammer my dick into her even harder, making her body buck with each thrust; she writhes frantically with orgasm, whines and growls, her tongue slamming into my wife’s pussy with every shuddering stroke. Rekha’s orgasm is heralded by a choked cry, her pussy gushing wetness that Samara excitedly laps up, even licking and nuzzling my wife’s thighs until every drop has been tasted.
“Fuck her baby!” Rekha urges me. “That’s it! Fuck her deep! Use her pussy, baby! Drain your dick inside of her, baby. Come on! That’s right! Yes! That’s right baby! Oh, baby!” My wife moans, biting Samara’s neck while I buck against her like a wild animal; I growl when I finally cum, head thrown back, muscles convulsing painfully. My mind becomes fluid, my bones seem to liquefy, and it feels like every drip of my existence is draining out through my dick and into Samara’s tight, black pussy. She squirms and grinds her hips around my dick, her pussy greedy for all of it.
I slide my dick out of Samara and collapse on the floor, laughing while Rekha pulls the woman onto the divan. I watch, transfixed, as Samara spreads her legs wide and my wife lowers her face between those black, quivering thighs. Samara yelps while Rekha uses her long, thick tongue to explore the depths of her pussy. Rekha croons her delight as she gobbles the white, sticky mess I shot into the ebony-skinned beauty. When she’s done eating Samara’s pussy, they kiss and lick each other’s mouths, laughing, whispering, and hissing in the candlelit darkness.
When they finally pull away, both women are panting, slick with passion, and wild-eyed. “Let’s go again,” Samara says, kissing my wife’s shoulder. “Upstairs this time, in your bed.”
I start to stand, my dick already starting to go rigid for a second time, but my wife shakes her head almost imperceptibly and my desire cools. “Only the girls are going to play, now,” she says into Samara’s ear while watching me. “Go upstairs, wait in my bedroom. When I come up, I’ll show you something wonderful.”
“But-what,” Samara looks to me and then to my wife. “But what’s he-? I feel-I mean, did I do something wrong? I didn’t know-”
Rekha hushes her with a kiss that looks like love. “No, sweetness, you’re perfect. Everything is perfect. Desmond will be down here, entertaining himself while we play. Right, baby?” Samara accepts my silence as agreement; when Rekha tells her to go upstairs again, she does, laughing and scooping her dress off the floor. The candlelight makes her shadow seizure and break on the walls.
“Did you enjoy fucking her?” Rekha asks, rising, her body like a curl of living darkness in the flickering light.
“Yes.”
“Is it okay with you if I play with her alone for the rest of the night?
‘We were supposed to play together.”
“Not this time,” she says. “I feel like being cruel and I don’t want you to see me like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll stop loving me.”
“I’ll never stop loving you, Rekha.”
Rekha comes to me then, wraps her arms around my neck, and pulls me into a hard kiss. When I open my mouth, her thick, slug-like tongue slides easily down my throat, pushes deeper until I gag then vomit. Somewhere inside my chest her wriggling tongue swells, opens hundreds of tiny, fanged maws along it length, and excitedly devours my rising bile. I shudder in her embrace, bitterness oozing from the corners of my violated mouth, and cough when she withdraws the thrashing whip of her tongue. I drop to my knees when she steps away, moaning with a sudden, wrenching orgasm that sprays her feet with my sticky seed. “Get some rest, baby,” she says, and I know then that she won’t hear another word of protest. She kisses my eyes, gently, before following her lover upstairs.
Long after the candles have gone out I’m still sitting on the floor, naked and warm, and listening to the moans and laughter coming from upstairs. I stroke my dick, imagining what must be happening between the two women upstairs, and I’m about to pour myself another glass of wine when the sounds change.
There’s a loud crash followed by deathly silence. My dick shrivels as though it already knows what’s about to happen. Samara starts whimpering and pleading, softly at first, then with increasing desperation. The sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor. The noise of glass shattering. Samara’s accent is loud and strong; she begs, curses, and threatens, spurned by the panic she must be experiencing. I don’t hear Rekha at all but suddenly the other woman screams in terror, the sound echoing through the house like a siren. I cover my ears, close my eyes, and wait for it to all be over.
Later, when the screaming has stopped, Rekha comes downstairs, straddles me, kisses my hands, face, and tightly shut eyes. I can’t see her in the darkness, but I can smell the blood, feel the stickiness of her bare skin where it presses against me; I’m happy that I can’t see her right then. I can imagine what Samara saw when she still had eyes to see: Rekha spread on the bed, unfolding like a great, horrible blossom of impossible geometry, all spraying flesh and elongated bone, her body stretching and sawing, snaking with too many eyes and bristling, black legs, skin like the gleaming, black carapace of a giant cockroach as her pussy yawned and whispered and the world bent itself around the screaming.
“Are you okay, baby?” she asks, nuzzling my face, her breath sour. There’s an odor like cinnamon and sour pork rising from between her thighs. “Were we too loud?”
“I’m fine.” I try hard to sound like I really am but I never get used to it. “Is…Samara…?”
“Fuck me, Desmond,” she whispers in my ear. My body responds instantly. “Hurt me.”
I never get used to it.
By the time Samara comes back downstairs, I’m done with Rekha and new candles are burning. My wife is sprawled on the floor between the divan and coffee table, her body covered with angry welts, bruises, and maybe worse. She’s smiling in her oblivion. I’m exhausted. There’s early morning sunlight hinting in the windows.
The woman we brought home from the nightclub who isn’t really the same woman that we brought home from the nightclub at all stands at the bottom of the stairs; something not really a spider or a scorpion but maybe both and neither plays around her dark lips before she yawns and allows it to vanish inside her mouth. She smiles, pinches one of her swollen nipples, and starts getting dressed. “There are stars in her mouth,” she says in not really Samara’s voice, pointing at Rekha.
I watch her, wary and bored, until she quietly lets herself out of my house after blowing me a kiss. I don’t know where she’ll go or what they do after Rekha is done changing them; we never see any of them again.
When Rekha stirs in her sleep and murmurs, I gently caress her soft back. Her body is warm, and rippling where I touch it, a host of unseen things shifting and writhing just beneath her olive skin. I used to recoil when that happened but now I just kiss the place where her skin has come alive and wait for the new day.