Chemical [se]X (21 page)

“How are you feeling?” Gerald murmured.

“Good…”

“Not good enough?”

She made a small, frustrated noise. “Not quite.”

“
Virgin’s
not enough for you. I told you, it’s a bunch of overpriced, diluted bullshit.”

“It’s doing something. I just need a little more.”

“You need to eat it faster. Get more of it to hit you all at once.”

She opened her eyes and blinked at him. His features were hard to make out with the overhead light above him, but the rings in his face glinted. She imagined Gerald staring down at her earnestly, perhaps too gently, and defiance lashed through her for a moment. Agatha opened her mouth terrifyingly wide. A challenge.

He laughed. “Baby, you make me want to put something other than chocolate in there.”

She tensed. “Start with the chocolate.”

He loaded her up, a whole boxful consumed in a matter of seconds. She wanted her head to buzz. Agatha gaped again, a baby bird demanding even more. If nothing else, the sudden influx of sugar made her head pound.

Then, something snatched at her brain, a need that she’d been holding down since what seemed like forever. It didn’t feel the way she’d expected it to. She’d thought, the night Brother Anselm had offered her a dollop of saliva-coated sin on the tip of his finger, that temptation would come from outside, but this thing that grabbed her now had always been within. Agatha found that she knew what to do after all. She smoothed her hands down her sides, tugging her shirt down as she went, moaning aloud at the feeling of cloth against her skin. She shivered in her clothes. A flex of muscle here and a shift of position there, and her clit pressed against the seam of her jeans. Her breasts began to slip out from the cups of her bra, its lace edging rough against her nipples.

“Why don’t you pull that shirt up instead?” Gerald murmured.

Agatha jerked her head off his leg at the presumption, and he raised both hands in innocence. “Sorry. The truth is, I want to see your body. I know I’m not supposed to ask for anything, though. I’m an asshole. You don’t have to listen to me.”

“You’re not an asshole,” she said. For a moment, Agatha was tempted to give him what he wanted because he’d been a nice guy so far. Then she shook her head. The whole point of this was to find out what
she
wanted. Gerald had agreed to help her overcome herself, and she’d never promised to think about his desires at all. “The shirt stays on for now. This is already… hard for me.”

“I get it. It’s cool.”

Since it really seemed to be, she let her head fall onto his thigh again and went back to stretching the confines of her clothes. She rolled on the bed slowly, allowing her left knee to crawl up along her right thigh, paying attention to the squelching, sliding sensation that created in her panties. Agatha clutched herself through her jeans. Her fingers wavered, then she forced them to squeeze. It hurt to claim herself this way. It made her ache with the need to burst out of her past, out of her life so far.

“I’m going to take off my pants,” Agatha whispered.

“If that’s what you want.”

She looked up toward Gerald as she did it. She still couldn’t see his eyes, but she needed to distract herself with him. The chocolate was making her undo her button and zipper, but that was a lie. Her hands were doing that on their own. This was simply a delayed reaction to a decision she’d made many years ago to know this sin. She knew that, but she didn’t want to, so she let herself look in his direction instead.

Sister Maris Stella must have been right about the corruption in her blood. As Agatha freed her lower body, a wild smell poured off her skin, the soupy tang of a freshwater river bursting with plant life and toothy fish. She laid her palm over her panties, and her hand came away damp.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said.

Agatha’s desire reached another conclusion. “You can take off my shirt,” she told him.

“Are you sure?”

“Just don’t do anything else.”

It was an odd sensation to feel the garment pulling away from her as if of its own volition. It reminded her of Brother Anselm’s spanking. She wondered what Gerald would think if she told him about that. Agatha moved her arms out of Gerald’s way when he needed her to, and the rest of the time pressed the heel of her hand rhythmically against her clit.

Her skin itched with anticipation. “Get rid of the bra, too,” she said after a moment.

Gerald seemed afraid to let his fingers touch her skin. He skimmed the bra away mysteriously, causing only sensations of pressure, and very little heat. Agatha toyed with her nipples. One had beaded hard, the edges of it rough and the center of its point impossibly soft. The other seemed determined to stay gentle. It would not pucker, no matter how she stroked it.

Something tickled her cheek, and Agatha focused at last on the musky scent that had been pouring from Gerald’s crotch for some time now. She stirred, uncertain of whether to pull away or draw closer. She thought of all the chocolate he had fed her, and decided to take that at least as an excuse. Holding her breath, Agatha pressed her temple against the erection that had been creeping toward her down the leg of his pants.

Gerald’s breath cracked open. “Sorry. You don’t have to…”

“I know.”

She slid her face up his hot length, luxuriating against it like an affectionate cat. “Take it out. I want to smell it.”

The haste of his fingers betrayed how badly he wanted that. She settled her nose against the root of his dick, surprised to find that his skin there was softer than that of her face. A coarse pubic hair curled into one nostril. Agatha inhaled salt and privacy and primitive need. She closed her eyes. The herb-laced chocolate had turned bitter and grassy in her mouth, for all its pretentions to nicety. A furry aftertaste had grown in the sides of her cheeks and behind her molars. His dick seemed natural and sweet by comparison.

“Can I put my mouth on it?”

Gerald made a choking noise. “That’s way more than I expected.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I’m going to do it the way you like.”

“Doesn’t matter. Go ahead.”

At the tip of his cock was another metal ring. Agatha prodded it with one finger, amazed by how it shone. Gerald hissed in response. She liked that the tip of him wasn’t flesh. It made it easier for her to dart out her tongue and lick the ring, then slyly slip farther downward to the skin on the head of his dick. Would Brother Anselm have tasted like this? Agatha wondered if sex was individual or universal, but the grassy undertone of the chocolate made it too difficult for her to trust her perceptions.

She tried to forget taste, paying attention to smoothness instead. Her lips ached as she wrapped them around the head of his cock, chapped skin cracking. She knew this was called “sucking dick,” but sucking seemed like a strange thing to do. She focused on getting him into her mouth instead, bit by bit, gradually guiding him toward the back of her throat. She had to breathe carefully with him there stoppering her throat. She fluttered her cheeks. Gerald keened a low, continuous moan, his hips trembling beneath her, microscopic motions that never broke out into the thrusting he so obviously wanted.

She smiled around him, pleased by his gentlemanly restraint. The back of her throat contacted the piercing at the tip of his cock, muscles clenching in surprise. Gerald gasped and pounded both fists into the mattress beside her head, but kept his lap still.

Agatha had wound up at an awkward angle, her back twisted oddly. She rolled onto her stomach, letting his cock take the weight of her head. She liked the spongy feeling of it pressing against the farthest recesses of her mouth, and she liked his wound-up intensity. Her head floated now, somewhere up around the ceiling. The herb had to be working because she didn’t care anymore about sin or who she was or where she had come from.

Her hands were doing more things. One dug its way under her body, awkwardly, wrist seizing. Undeterred, it found its way into her panties, plunging into her changed sex. She had become a rain-sodden jungle there, overflowing with strange, pungent fluids, tangled growth, and ancient needs that preceded language. Her other hand tugged at Gerald’s pants, clearing more space, discovering more territory. She couldn’t believe how warm and soft his balls were.

The chocolate really got going now. She could tell by the way her thoughts tripped over each other. For the first time in her life, her mind became too unclear to guide her. Her body took over instead.

Agatha discovered instinct.

Her head moved. Up and down. Her heart was a drum that set the beat, pounding faster against the cage of her chest, making her head move faster. Her hand in her panties was an instrument, too. She played herself in rhythm with her mouth. Gerald began to dance to her tune, his grunts adding to the song that took her over, his cock coming to life beneath and within her. The raised veins along its sides struck and thumped her tongue with their own insistent pulse.

“Fuck,” Gerald said. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

Agatha’s heart soared higher with each curse. She wanted his words to speed up and overflow with the same force as whatever had been unleashed in her body. She sucked now, her cheeks tight against his shaft. She was close to something, but it wasn’t yet clear whether whatever was on the way would come from him or her. It was hard to breathe, she wanted this something so badly.

Gerald grabbed a handful of her hair. The tug against her scalp felt good. It reminded her of Sister Maris Stella. She didn’t expect, though, that he would suddenly tighten his grip and pull her off his cock.

She stared at him in confusion. Her eyes wouldn’t focus, and it was hard to make sense of his features or the situation. The room spun. Agatha’s hand still moved in her panties, as if of its own volition. A voice in the back of her head told her she ought to stop touching herself and talk to him, but her hand no longer seemed open to receiving commands. Her head felt separate from her crotch. Warmth spread through her clit, down her thighs, into the base of her stomach. Her entire lower body tightened, preparing for something. Her mind yammered uselessly.

“Agatha! Agatha! Can you hear me?” Gerald had been calling her for a while. She had been struggling with him, her mouth wanting back on his cock, his grip on her hair not allowing it.

“Let me… Please…”

“Remember what we said? You’re a virgin? You just wanted to give yourself an orgasm, not get too carried away.”

She shook her head emphatically. “I want to lose my innocence.”

His cock seemed to grow when she said that. Was that real, or an optical illusion because she’d focused on it?

“I don’t want you to regret anything,” Gerald said softly.

Agatha made a disgusted noise. “You should have brought chocolate for yourself.”

“I thought one of us ought to stay straight.”

“Yeah, but if you weren’t thinking now…” Agatha understood in a flash how Brother Anselm must have felt that final night. If she had licked the chocolate off his finger, if she had taken what he’d offered, he would have taught her how delicious sin could be. It would have been dirty and glorious if she had joined him and Sister Maris Stella on the chapel floor. She hadn’t understood at the time that working at being virtuous taught people much more about depravity than being naturally good and kind, as Gerald was.

Gerald, however, hadn’t had Agatha’s practice at exerting his will. His grip relaxed enough for her to break free and lunge onto his cock. She slurped it up with a boiling greed that proved she was a lust-struck, savage little glutton after all.

“Fuck!” That was a cry of surrender if Agatha had ever heard one. She showed mercy, albeit for a selfish reason.

“Take off your clothes,” Agatha commanded.

“That’s the chocolate talking,” Gerald said, but a bit of her abandon must have infected him because he obeyed even as he protested. His bare chest was pale and nearly hairless. Both his nipples had been pierced.

Agatha descended on him, sucking his left nipple ring into her mouth as if it were a piece of candy. He cried out in pleasured anguish as she tugged at his flesh. She wanted so many things, she couldn’t articulate them to herself. She wanted to annihilate herself in his body. Brother Anselm would have done that to her, but Gerald was going to follow his buddy’s rule after all—he wasn’t going to give her the drugging sex she needed unless she could take it for herself.

Gerald clawed at Agatha’s sides. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to tug her into position or shove him away. She wrenched herself free and stood. There was still a small, sane part of her mind, locked away in a corner, preserving itself against her current, howling need. She banged at that mental door, wanting logical Agatha to come out and reason with Gerald.

No dice. She turned back to him, and was forced to speak from wildness instead. “I’m going to fuck someone tonight,” Agatha said. “I want it to be you, but I get that you didn’t agree to that.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” Gerald said. That certainly seemed true. His eyes were fucking her already. She could feel his gaze tearing at her panties. He clearly wanted to pull her hand away and replace it with something of his own.

“You’re a good guy,” Agatha said. “I get that you’re trying to protect me. But I don’t want to hear any more about how I’m a virgin or it’s the chocolate talking.” She put a hand on the doorknob. It
was
the chocolate talking, actually, because sober Agatha could never have been serious about walking into the dormitory hall wearing nothing but damp panties, searching for someone boorish enough to take her innocence with no questions asked.

“Wait,” Gerald said. He shed the remnants of his clothing and spread himself out on the bed. His many piercings made her think of images of the martyred Christ, but that didn’t mean what it used to. Her pussy was awake, at last, and it was demanding.

She stepped toward him, shoving her panties down the sides of her hips. She couldn’t take her eyes off his cock. She didn’t know what it would feel like, but she knew what she needed it to feel like. Agatha wanted to be stretched, battered, and overwhelmed. The inside of her skin itched everywhere. She needed Gerald’s cock to obliterate that nagging tension, release her from internal conflict, and fill her past any point of resistance.