Sneak Peek: Julia's Return (Patreon)

This sneak peek is set partway into the opening scene of chapter 3: The Story of Julia. After a brief recap of life after she left the night David returned from the Clinic, she acknowledges his desire for her. This is set in early October - after the first time clubbing, but before the Halloween party. Enjoy, and if you want, let me know what you think!

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            So, yeah. I was going nuts.

            One look, and Julia knew it, too.

            “I bought you something,” she said. “In Paris. Something for you to wear.” She gestured towards the bedroom with a nod of her head. “I want you to put it on.”

            I did as she told. It was gorgeous and elegant, a bondage-inspired bodysuit in blue. With straps sensuously coiled around thighs and torso, gold buckles gleaming and breasts left bare, I saw myself in the mirror and felt the now-familiar haze seep into my mind. Face flushed and heart beating that little bit faster, I touched up my makeup and rejoined Julia in the living room.

            She smiled at the sight of me, hungrily, pleased. “God, look at you,” she said, advancing on me. I shivered at the openness of her lust and dampened in the crotch. My nipples tightened and my breath caught in my throat and my knees felt weak.

            She stood over me. She touched my bare shoulder. I exhaled, softly, at her touch. Julia smiled. “You’re an eager little bitch, aren’t you?” she said.

            I bit my lip and glared up at her. “Is this what you wanted?” I asked.

            “Is it what you want?” she retorted.

            My eyes dropped to the floor, and I nodded.

            “Did you try it?” she asked. “The gift I left you?”

            She meant the dildo she’d left me, her joke and gift. I shook my head no—the truth, though I’d held it, considered it, gotten familiar with its feel though never came to terms with the actual reality of—what? Sticking it my mouth, or somewhere else? I’d had an actual man’s penis in my mouth, but never this sex toy.

            I didn’t tell her about Jonas, or anything else I’d gotten up to during those weeks she was way. She didn’t ask, either. I’m not sure why, except that I had this sense she wanted me to be ‘pure’ for her. She wanted to be there for each milestone, every step deeper into femininity, if not in person than still part of the experience. She’s engineered the date with Dan, after all—my first date with a man, first attempted blowjob, and the first time I’d made a man cum by my touch.

            And as for that first night following Julia’s return?

            She stepped closer. Her hand at my shoulder traced the silk and satin straps surrounding my lithe frame, and she played with the decorative bows. She slid a nail under the band binding my thigh, pulled and let it snap back. I felt her closeness as a palpable heat. Julia took my bared breast into her palm and smiled and kneaded. Her hand left my thigh and smoothed down my long hair and cupped my ass.  She gave me a little slap there, encouraging me towards the bedroom. In an aroused fog, I flounced in the direction she directed.

            “Where is it?” she asked, and I pulled the dildo she’d given me from the drawer where it lived. I shivered a little in the small darkness of my room. She extended her hand. I bit my lower lip. Julia smiled. Wide-eyed, I passed her the sex toy. Her smile grew. With a twitch of her head, she indicated the bed. Her long hair swayed with the gesture. Trembling slightly, I clambered onto the bed. I sat there, knees to chest, and felt the straps of French lingerie tightened across my frame. She sat next to me. She rubbed my shoulder and my back with her free hand and stroked my hair.

            “Relax,” she said.

            I shook my head. I wasn’t ready. I wanted this, but I wasn’t ready.

            She lay the dildo down at the foot of the bed and turned to face me. She held my face between both her hands. Her nails were shaped and painted a deep purple, and she traced my cheekbone. “I’ve been thinking about you,” Julia said, “a lot,” and she drew me into a kiss.  Her lips were soft, and so were mine. Our fresh lipstick mingled, my gloss a little tacky, strawberry flavoured; strands of her hair or mine stuck to my makeup. She laughed and I giggled as she drew the hair away with her finger and pulled me into another kiss.

            And it felt—nice—so nice, and my heart beat quickly in my chest and I felt hot and I felt—young—like a teenager—like a first kiss with someone I’d crushed on for ages—and the time apart made these first kisses of the night blossom beautifully in my chest and I don’t know that I ever felt as fondly for Julia as I did in that moment.

            Her hands left my face and explored my body as I sat there, arms limply at my side with hands palm up on the bed as she kissed my cheek, my neck and bit at my lower lip. She cupped my breast, passed her thumb across my nipple and I gasped. “You like that, don’t you?” and she did it again and threaded her fingers through my hair.

            With a gentle push she guided me towards the head of the bed. I sat up, resting against the headrest. She sat next to me, still fully clothed. With a smile and insistent hands, she parted my knees. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties and tugged that scrap of silk fabric down my thighs, over my knees and past my ankles.

            Julia drew closer. Her fingers drew up my calf, tickled behind the knee and traced the long lines of my thigh. She pressed her palm down over my groin. She felt the heat there and smiled. She felt the wetness, too. “You really haven’t tried my gift, have you?” she said, slowly shaking her head in disbelief. “Why not?”

            When her finger swept across my labia, I shuddered, and when she languorously drew her nail between those wet lips, I hissed with anticipation. She continued and with each pass I felt myself grow warmer and the warmth radiated outwards and flowed through my tummy, into my chest; and down my legs and curled my toes. “Relax,” she murmured, and I did, slowly with each stroke of her finger, and I slid down until my head rested on a pillow. I closed my eyes. My fingers coiled and uncoiled into the bedsheets. I breathed, deeply, and submitted myself to Julia’s touch.

            And God—did it ever feel good!—why hadn’t I done this earlier?—except that my few failed attempts at pleasuring myself hadn’t felt anything like this. Her finger continued to elicit pleasure. A gentle moan escaped my lips—a sigh of contentment—even as, alongside the pleasure grew a growing need—a demand—a frustration, even.

            Her touch felt good—so good!—and Julia was patient, even as her other hand continued to stroke my flank, or brush against my face, or she’d lay a soft kiss at my chin, or flick her tongue across a nipple and draw from me another happy moan.

            But—I wanted more. Quickly—so quickly—I felt the all too familiar aching need of the past month return; it’d never really gone away. My back arched, slightly; I twitched my hips forward. Julia stopped her gentle ministrations.

            My eyes fluttered open. “Why’d you—”

            With the softest of touches, she pressed the pad of her index finger to my clitoris.

            And when I moaned, it wasn’t quiet or gentle and like sparking flint applied to tinder, she ignited a fire in me. Her finger began to circle the clitoris, a slow but insistent orbit around the point of my pleasure and with each languid cycle I felt the flickering flames inside of me grow.

            And it felt—so good; and it felt—terrifying. And it—stopped.

            I jerked my head up to glare at her over my heaving tits. “You—”

            Julia grinned. “What?”

            “Don’t you dare—”

            And she resumed, and my head flopped back onto the pillow, and the heat swelled greater than before.

            She did this several times—edging me closer, and higher, and I glowered at her and called her a bitch, cruel, don’t you dare fucking stop, I hissed, I swore—and she laughed but there was something hard in her glittering dark eyes, like a diamond, beautiful but cold, and this time where she started again her finger moved faster, the pressure more insistent, and I knew this was it and panic welled up inside of me, but that fear was completely subsumed by the cresting wave of pleasure.

            There was no stopping it, this time. There was no thought of breaking away to take a piss. The fire she’d nurtured inside of me blossomed into an inferno and its fire swept through me in an instant.

            Julia grabbed my tits, roughly. My back arched. My hands clenched into tight little fists. From deep, deep within, a desperate growl rose in my throat. Buttocks clenching, legs clenching—whole body clenching tight—and that impossible pressure and heat and frustration, all bundled together and pushing outwards—it was too much—I couldn’t—but even then, I wanted more!—and then—

            Release.

            My voice ripped free from my throat in a long, shuddering wail.

            And I felt—

            Jesus.

            Okay, so fucking a woman, right, burying myself in her twat and holding her, yeah? holding her tight in that moment—that moment right before—however you got there, slow luxurious thrusts or a right proper pounding, furious and hard, up against a wall or luxuriously vanilla missionary or gripping her ass and banging her from behind—whatever—there was always a moment of control, and then loss. Loss and control: a point of no return where the buildup tips into inevitability, becomes too much and—

            Balls tighten, thighs clench and then thrust and pump, everything you’ve got into whatever bitch you’ve pinned beneath you and—its good, God, it’s satisfying and when it’s really good—a truly great fuck—that moment where will and control collapse into the intensity of pleasure draws itself out, that animal thrusting, the final release. Pouring yourself into her—physically, anyway. Always, I felt alive in those moments, no matter how drunk, even with a bad lay; and when the sex was good—and it was, more often than not—goddam, I felt alive, a candle flickering in a window on a dark and windy night: brief, but brilliant.

            David sought out those moments to feel alive. They came to define him; I could see that, now. Satisfying. Sometimes ecstatic—epiphanic, even. And complete; yes, almost always the sense of a job well done before the final dropping off into sleep, even if he never recaptured what he’d once known with Persephone, that meeting of selves, the sharing of—something more.

            Goddamn it, though, if Julia didn’t bring me close that night.

            I cried. Fucking unbelievable, but what shuddered through me in that moment was—it was more than I could process. My brain just didn’t know what to do with the information sent by body parts it struggled to understand was connected to. I reached for the sensation of balls clenching and opening; instead, I felt—wet; even wetter; physical bliss coursed through me but in the crash I found to my horror that not only was I ready and capable of more—but that I remained somehow… unsatisfied. And that lack of completion—both the possibility and burden of further pleasure—tore an ecstatic, disbelieving sob from my lips.

             “Did you like that, mmm?” Julia’s stroked my face and kissed me deeply. I writhed under her touch and wanted more. “Does my little slut want more?”

            I took a deep breath. Pleasure and the desire for more throbbed from my wet, eager hole. There wasn’t any possibility of words, and she damn well knew it.

            And that was when, with my eyes half-rolled back in their sockets, and with me breathing deeply torn between wanting more and wanting the ride to stop, with my eager prosthetic cunt betraying what little rationality remained—the Julia picked up the dildo and with one smooth movement buried it deep inside of me.

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