Wednesday, February 2, 2011

An Interview with Author and Poet, Claudia Moss



  1. Tell the readers out there about you, some key part of your personality as well as your persona as a writer.
I love the body in motion.  I love my body when I am as fluid as the ocean, swaying and twirling, sashaying and spinning, high heeling it in a silky, ruffled-hemmed skirt or prancing sensually under a fan of feathers.  Dance energizes me, thrills me.  I come alive when my body is free to express itself electrically, so if anyone would ever want to regale me, a word to the listening would be to clear a stage for the marriage of movement, music and me!

When I sit to write or read, I flow freely in another way.  As I create, I slip into imaginary worlds and inhale the setting, stand up in the conflict and deeply feel the emotions coursing through my characters.  Same as I can dance for hours, I can write twice as long, my body oftentimes complaining under such stillness and mental activity, usually in the heat of the night, all night.

  1. If You Love Me, Come is your second novel. Between your first and a flurry of short stories and poems, there was a ten year gap before this one was published. Why so long a hiatus?
Excellent question, a query I expected only from you.  (thoughtful smile)  I wrote the first novel while teaching high school English, during the summer months, sitting down to write daily.  My baby was kicking and gurgling in his chair at my feet.  Hours of quiet were mine for the taking.  Consequently, I finished DOLLY: The Memoirs of a High School Graduate amid very little distractions in 1987.  Though married at the time, usually, I lived a solitary existence outside of the classroom.  In addition, a Sapphic butterfly, I was slowly coming out of the cocoon of my closet, and writing was a vehicle to birth that part of myself.

The more I wrote, the more the closet door opened.  Eventually, I started writing my second novel, If You Love Me, Come, and somewhere after less than 100 pages in, my pen sighed, stopped, and ached for validation.  That led to me sharing the opening chapters with the librarian at the high school in which I taught.  She loved the story, the characters, and she suggested that I send what I had to Marie Dutton Brown, who was highlighted in a feature story in the Atlanta Journal at the time.  I took a chance and called Ms. Brown one Sunday.  She answered, said she wasn’t accepting new writers.  Yet I continued to talk enthusiastically and eventually she reneged, asked to see the first 75 pages.  When I finally sent them to her, she loved “the flavor of the South” in the writing and accepted me as a client.

My dream was finally coming into fruition.  I could see my name in lights…until a power shortage left me fumbling.  Consulting with the College Board, I stopped teaching to write full-time.  My marriage crumbled.  The closet door creaked closed behind me.  And I discovered myself in a place I’d never been before; struggling to survive, I slipped into a deep depression and the novel was no more.  Writing shorter, tighter, more intimate, immediate pieces saved me, until I returned to the novel, years later, and finished it to the tune of 600 pages.  I sent the work to Ms. Brown, who loved it but directed me to cut it to 300 pages.  More years lapsed, what with me thinking I adored the work as it was, and wondering how I could part with words or chapters.  While I wavered and procrastinated, life and Ms. Brown moved on.

Eventually when I accomplished the objective, cutting the work to 333 pages, I met with a chilly reception in Ms. Brown’s New York office and was promptly informed me she was not accepting new authors.  So I shopped it around in an atmosphere in which publishers were tightening their fiscal belts and met with a stream of rejections.  It was a disheartening time, until I began writing for BLACK ROMANCE magazines and interviewed new author, E. Lynn Harris.  He, too, had met with rejections on his first manuscript, which led to his decision to self publish, something I didn’t want to do, although my sister Glenda had persistently encouraged me to invest in myself, like Harris did with Invisible Life.  The day came when I did precisely what I’d feared, and there was nothing to fear but fear itself.

  1. I’ve read a bit of the novel as well as the synopsis, but tell me in your own words what this new novel about?
If You Love Me, Come is the story of what happens when life takes you to the valley floor and you can make the decision to stay and wallow in your sorrows or go the only way Love beckons you to go: up. 

Always when we feel lost, there is someone present, be it a stranger or a loved one, who mysterious appears, and takes us by the hand, encouraging us to follow, if we love him or her….if we love ourselves.

Free Roberts is no different, nor is her good girlfriend Sharmayne, her boyfriend, J.T., her sister Rhonda, her mother Pastoria, nor the woman who asks her father the same question for 28 years.  Like all of us, each must learn to trust something greater than self.
  1. You’ve written very sensually in your previously published stories. Can we expect more of the same in this novel?
Definitely!  In this novel, a smoldering sensuality burns when Free and J.T. come together and sizzles when Sharmayne and Nzinga fall into one another’s arms, although Pinky and her lovers know a different sort of give and take, that is, until a lover of a different ilk enters her world.
                       
  1. Which of your characters from If You Love Me, Come is most like you, and in what way or ways?
(Soft laughter)  Me gusta esa pregunta.  Many of my characters are pieces of the main, me.  Free fulfills one of my dreams of owning a bookstore, a community hub where people are able to come and lunch and read and socialize.  She’s outgoing, positive and enigmatic.  But Rhonda is an English teacher with one son and Pastoria is shrouded in mystery, while Pinky is consumed with a longing that aches to be satisfied.  In the final analysis, we are all one.
  1. Parts of the novel have a feel similar to that of Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God with the use of dialect and the strong connection of the characters to the natural world. Were you conscious of that while writing?
Although I adore the work of Zora Neale Hurston, I was conscious only of my grandmothers’ voices, especially my paternal grandmother, Sophie Mae Moss.  She and my maternal grandmother, Pearlie Mae Young, made my family’s trips to the South delightful every summer we visited from Waterbury, CT.  My mother passed away when I was in the ninth grade, and my grandmothers stepped in to take my siblings and me by the hand and guide us into young adulthood.  Both women were amazing, enterprising, Southern matriarchs, loved and respected by many in the small towns of Tuskegee, Roba and Little Texas, Alabama.
  1. Which writer has had the greatest influence in your life?
Toni Morrison has awed me from the first time I cradled The Bluest Eye and marveled at the language, the working of the mind, the depths of emotion, the snapshot of a child’s mind, one in which the gift of blue eyes would mean transformation on many levels.  Friends and colleagues confided their mixed admiration towards Morrison’s work over the years, telling me she exacted too much from them.  They didn’t want to stretch, to give a fictional work that much mental energy, since escape was usually their desire, not mental rigor.  But me…I love Toni for all of the reasons they complained of and countless more.

Toni teaches me to love language, to fall in love with words and meaning again and again, with each novel she publishes.  She’s a workshop, a beloved college course.  I love Paradise, though I haven’t treated myself to her novel Love as yet, what with me being immersed now in my own writing, publishing and promoting myself.  I love the way Toni captures the voice of women from different social strata, with different experiences with society and men; I admire how she places them in memorable houses and history and breathes the breath of life into them, making them as unforgettable as African-American heroines from the annals of history.
I even discussed her work on Facebook, her latest novel a mercy.  Wow!  I can yet feel the euphoria from the experience.

And I have always loved the work of Fiona Zedde, from that first evening I sat, spellbound, in a Charis open mic, under the music of silence and your fluted, Jamaican reading voice.  Like the audience, I was whisked to another world as you read the beginning of what was to be Bliss, your first novel.  Your writing holds the capacity to leave the reader breathless, much like being serenaded by a charismatic woman who leaves me sweating and struggling to utter something intelligible.  The imagery in your stories is a study in itself, not to mention the palpable sensuality, the romance wed with eroticism, the dropping one off in a setting and atmosphere and mood that defies fiction. One thinks… ‘I know this is real, because I am there.  I know these people.  I want to “know” this woman.’  At various points, with each of your novels, from Bliss to A Taste of Sin to Hungry For It, I have read your words to enraptured listeners, who have begged me to share more and more, and preferably in the sweetness of the night.
That said, I will admit I’m looking forward to reading your latest work, DANGEROUS PLEASURES.
           
  1. Where can interested readers get your book and find out more about you and your writing?
Right now I am in collaboration with Charis Bookstore and Amazon to have the novel available on their websites before its release date of February 11, 2011.  Interested readers can contact me at missclaudiamoss@gmail to order the novel.  My Author Website will go live this month, and on that site, www.claudiamoss.com, readers will be able to order the novel and learn more about me.

Love, Lovers, Beloveds




Well, the book is finally out! It's been so long that I'd almost forgotten the mania and excitement and anxiety that come with a new release. "Will the readers like it?" "What parts should I choose to read at the signing?" "What are the reviewers going to say?" But I have definitely been reminded.

Dangerous Pleasures' arrival was a great birthday present - it came out the day after my birthday - and the book release party in Tampa was a fabulous continuation of the birthday celebrations. The party itself was a wonderful success. I can't thank enough the people who came out to share this tremendous occasion with me. Five print books in and I still feel giddy....


To fĂȘte Dangerous Pleasures, spread the word in your communities about the book, write an online review, put a fresh copy in a friend's hands. And, as always, thank you for reading my books and supporting bookstores.
Until next time, celebrate love. Celebrate Black history. Celebrate Life.


- Fiona

To read more from the February newsletter, click here.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

January 26th Interview with Sippin' on Ink



Check out my Blog Talk Radio interview with Kat at Sippin' on Ink chatting about my new book, Dangerous Pleasures, writing, and more.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Sweet December



Author's Note

December is here once again. And it seemed only a few months ago that we were all happily sliding into summer and beautiful days of wine and laughter at the beach. Now it's time for jackets and heaters and settling indoors with hot apple cider and loved ones. 
 
2010 has been an eventful year - but aren't they all? - with beginnings, relocations, new stories, and new ideas percolating and making the year that much more interesting. After a wonderful Thanksgiving spent in the chilly but welcoming north, I'm preparing to leave behind 2010 with no regrets, only new things: a re-vamped website, the anticipation of Dangerous Pleasures, and a chance to see more of the world.
 
Have a wonderful holiday season. Love, love, love!
 
- Fiona
****************************************************************

Dangerous Pleasures - Arriving Next month!


Closer and closer. January 25th is on the horizon and approaching with each new day. I've looked forward to this new book for so long that it feels like it's been a forever (insert exaggerated sigh here).
 
To read an excerpt from the new book, check out the Dangerous Pleasures link on my website. This novel holds a few surprises for my readers, as well as some new characters, and a whole new setting: San Diego, California.
 
You can pre-order now through Amazon.com or your local independent bookseller and have the book in hand by February 1st. If you want a signed copy and the possibility of getting the book sooner, send me an email at f.zedde@gmail.com






****************************************************************

February Blog Tour


To get the word out about my new book, I'll be embarking on a blog tour in February 2011. For the tour, I'll visit the blogs of some wonderful authors and editors, answering questions about the new book and anything else that comes up.
 
If you have any questions that you want these fantastic bloggers to ask me, send an email with it/them to: f.zedde@gmail.com.

****************************************************************

Rumi Verse of the Month



I am in Love with Love
and Love is in love with me.

My body is in Love with the soul
and the soul is in Love with my body.

I opened my arms to Love
and Love embraced me like a lover.
 
~Rumi

****************************************************************

Hot Shorts
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Temptation
 
“Why can’t men be more like lesbians?”
 
Kendra looked at Sara as if the slender lawyer held the answer to that question and more. Sara shook her head, smiling gently.
 
“You’re asking the wrong one. Maybe your god would know the answer to that, darling, not me.”
 
Sara leaned back in her chair, letting the gentle spring breeze ruffle the skirt around her calves. The honeyed scent of blossoms from the trees surrounding the coffee shop’s terrace blended with the creamed coffee smell of their drinks. Kendra sighed and propped her chin in her palm. Her straightened hair swung heavily forward, curving around one rounded cheek.
 
Sara’s affair with Kendra had been a brief indulgence from the previous year, a blatant rebound after she’d walked in on Rille with a student from the university. The second forgiveness, but not the second infidelity, not by any means.  Sara glanced down at the clear glass cup of mochaccino steaming near her hand.
 
“Vic is acting like a total shit,” Kendra said. “I tell him about one damn girl on girl relationship and he gets hysterical, getting jealous of every girlfriend I see. Boys don’t even worry him anymore.  And in bed it’s worse, fucking insecure but acting as if it’s my fault.  It’s too bad; he used to be a great lay.”
 
“Before you told him about us?”
 
“Right.”  She sucked her teeth and smiled over at Sara.  “You look good though.”
 
Sara laughed. “I know.  Martyrdom must really suit me.”          
 
“What?”
 
“Nothing.” 
 
She hadn’t come here to cry on Kendra’s shoulder about the madness with Rille. It wasn’t a coincidence that she’d finally agreed to meet up with her ex-lover after weeks of avoiding Kendra’s company. Sara needed the distraction.
 
Last night her lover had come to bed with kisses and revelations. After the tremors of satisfaction eased, leaving Sara’s body liquid and soft, Rille leaned over her with a different kind of attentiveness. There was a boy she’d recently met. She wanted Sara to meet him. He was beautiful. Special. Sara jumped out of the bed in shock, the air cool on her naked skin, denial of Rille’s desire for someone else rising up in her throat like bile.
 
No, baby. No. Don’t be like that. This is not like last time, Rille said.
No. This wasn’t like the last time. Then she hadn’t told Sara about wanting someone else. When Sara found them together in Rille’s office, the girl’s face awash in worship as she knelt before a cool-faced Rille whose legs were spread as wide as the chair would allow.  That was different. This was honesty.
 
Sara grasped her cup and sipped the hot drink, absently licking her lips to rid them of the foam she knew had gathered there. Across from her, Kendra followed the motion with a hungry look then blushed when she noticed Sara’s eyes on her.
 
There were good reasons Sara had chosen her after the short-lived breakup with Rille last year: Kendra’s commonplace good looks that were nearly opposite to Rille’s peacock-on-a-chicken-farm flamboyance. And her ability to be completely and absolutely immersed in whatever thing she was doing at the time.
 
Sara lightly tapped the table top with a long finger. “Honesty is overrated anyway. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him. I’ve heard that men can only handle bi-sexual girlfriends in theory.” 
 
“You should have told me that before.” Her red mouth glistened in the sun as she pouted. ”I figure since he asked me to marry him that he deserved to know.”
 
“I don’t know why you think that. Have you ever thought that he hasn’t told you about everyone that he slept with?”
 
Kendra sighed again, this time wrinkling her nose. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” The hot coffee she’d ordered sat on the table untouched. She leaned back in her chair, flickering her eyelashes up to look at Sara. “Distract me.”
 
It would be easy.  She could just reach across the table and touch her hand, slide her fingers between Kendra’s and suggest a quieter place, something wetter, saltier on her palate.  But she didn’t.  She never did.  Still, her thoughts continued on the same route.  Teasing.  Familiar. 
 
Life was simpler with Kendra: days of laughter and food and sex, the nights with more of the same.  But even with the sweat drying on her skin and Kendra tugging on her body for another round, her mind was with Rille, steeped in its misery, remembering her smell and their own after-sex rituals.  No, she hadn’t been happy with Kendra, she had been waiting.  Sara released thoughts of Kendra’s hand and smiled.
 
“Come on, let’s go to the park. We can sit in the swings and eat ice cream.”
 
Sara thought she saw a droop of disappointment to Kendra’s mouth, but was too busy gathering up her things to pay attention.
 
From Language of the Broken, a new novel.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Beautiful October



Author's Note

Except for that crucial touch of coolness in the early mornings and at night, early fall in southern Florida is about the same as late summer. It's still sun-dresses, picnics, warm rain, and afternoons at the beach. 

With this fabulous weather it's easy for me to think that summer is still here, but the holiday season is close. Halloween, Samhain, Thanksgiving, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Christmas, the New Year. They’re all just around the bend. 

Keeping an eye on the lightning passing of days, I’ve had to push back a few things that I’d planned for fall—like my writing and publishing workshops—while making sure that I stick to other deadlines that have less flexibility. Happily, it all goes on.

I've started something new with the "Hot Shorts" segment of the newsletter. Instead of my fiction, I'll sometimes have guest authors share some of their hot short stories. If you, or anyone you know, have a hot short you want to share, please send me an email.
Have a beautiful October! Talk with you again soon.



***

Hot Shorts



The Real Thing
by Beth Wylde

I shoved my way inside the crowded coffee shop, ignoring the complaints of the customers waiting impatiently for their caffeine fix. There was only one thing in the store I wanted, and it didn't come in a tiny, styrofoam cup.

My gaze roamed the store, a sudden shiver passing through me as my eyes landed on the curvy figure sitting at the back table all alone. My heart thudded in my chest and my panties grew wet. After six months of online foreplay my body was ready for the real thing. Judging by the look on my internet lover's face, she was entertaining the same thought.

Mandy jumped up and strode toward me, her lone coffee forgotten on the table. She leaned sideways as we embraced, her lips grazing the shell of one ear. "Remember the first fantasy you told me about? The wild one?" I could only nod my head when she grabbed my hand. "I got us a room." 

I'd known where we were headed the moment I agreed to meet her in person. Half a year of celibacy was about to end. My pussy was totally on board with the plan.
I let her tug me out of the shop, our steps fast and furious as we hurried to the motel down the street. It was naughty and insane and so illicit I was about to leave a wet spot in my jeans. "Oh God. We have to hurry." My knees felt weak.

Mandy put her arm around me and pulled a worn-looking keycard out of her purse.  "I know. Me too."
We both started running down the hall. I nearly crashed into her when she stopped in front of door number fifteen. "This is it."
I grunted in reply as Mandy fought to get the bent-up passkey to work. If the real sex was half as good as the online version I'd be a well satisfied woman. I'd done and talked about things online with Mandy that I'd never spoken to another soul about. She knew all my deepest, darkest secrets.  We were about to make fantasy number one come true now—hot sex in a seedy motel.
There were plenty more kinky adventures on my to do list but I couldn't think that far ahead. My brain had turned off the minute I'd laid eyes on her. My clit was doing the thinking for me and I was fine with that.

The light on the scanner had barely turned green when she pulled me inside. Mandy kicked the door shut with one foot and pushed me up against the wall. I felt the vibration of my back hitting the wood all the way down to my toes. Her urgency set my nerves to humming, ratcheting up the tension until I was ready to beg for her to touch me.

"Mandy, please!"
"Please what?" One hand strayed from its perch on my hip to the top of my jeans. She jerked the button open with a twist of her wrist. I couldn’t help groaning.
The sound of my zipper parting seemed loud in the hushed confines of the room, overshadowed only by my harsh and heavy breathing.
"Are you wet for me?"

Wet? I was fucking soaked. "Yes. I'm so turned on I can't stand it anymore. I need you." I'd never been able to orgasm without some type of physical stimulation but at the moment I thought it might actually be possible.
"How bad do you need me?"
I sucked in a deep breath and fought to calm my racing pulse. My heart was beating so hard in my chest I was worried she could hear it. "Bad, Mandy. Real bad. I need you to fuck me. I want to come screaming your name. " My clit pulsed in time with my request.

Her hand pushed inside my jeans and the muscles in my stomach contracted. Her free hand started pulling my pants down as her fingers inched their way inside my panties. I moved my hips and spread my feet in encouragement. Her finger had barely touched my slit when she found the proof of my statement. "Good lord, you're drenched." Her fingertip tapped against my clit and I bucked, my ass banging hard against the door.
"Yes, I am, and we're both wearing too many clothes."
 After that it was a race to see who could get undressed and get to the bed first. I beat her, but not by much.
"I rented the room for three hours," Mandy informed me while I was on my hands and knees, grappling to throw the wrinkled comforter off the bed. She grabbed me by the thighs and jerked me backwards. I squealed, the unexpected move catching me off guard.  

I felt the hard edge of something cold nudge against my opening. Before I could question what it was, Mandy pushed forward with one deep stroke and buried a ribbed vibrator deep inside my pussy. At the same time her mouth attached itself to my clit. I looked down between my legs, gasping as the combination of sight and feeling pushed me over the edge. I screamed, the orgasm catching me unaware. I clawed at the bedcovers and shook my way to ecstasy. My head fell down against the bed, my hands and knees shaking while I worked to slow my breathing.
Mandy pulled the toy out of my still spasming cunt, taking a moment to suck the juices off it before sliding her way up next to me on the bed. "Did you enjoy that?"

My reply came out breathy and hoarse. "God yes!" She kissed me and I tasted myself on her lips, but there was something else I wanted to taste more. "Now it's my turn."
I wrapped my arms around her waist, grinding my pelvis against hers in blatant mimicry of sex. Her eyes widened when I palmed first her left and then her right breast. I was busy working my tongue around one hard nipple when she threaded her hands into my hair and began to urge me lower. I paused my oral explorations and grinned up at her. "Is there something I can do for you?"
 Her sigh was full of frustration and pent up need as she tried to push my head past her navel. "Yes. You know there is."

 I took a minute to dip my tongue into her delightfully deep bellybutton. "What do you want? I'm a bit busy." I chuckled against her skin and she broke out in goosebumps.
 "Don't tease, Janie. I'm dying up here."

 I took her plea to heart and positioned myself between her legs, staring at the feast before my eyes. I licked my lips and went straight for her core. The cry she let loose was music to my ears. I was definitely going to add a few more hours onto the bill. I'd known all along the real thing was going to be good but nothing could have prepared me for the workout I got that afternoon.




Beth loves to get feedback. You can reach her at b.wylde@yahoo.com or find her online at www.bethwylde.com & http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bethwylde/ 


***


Rumi Verse of the Month



Your task is not
to seek for love,
but merely to seek 
and find all the barriers
within yourself that you
have built 
against it.
~Rumi 

Monday, August 30, 2010

September, Awake and Ready!



It's the rainy season. For days at a time, the earth outside my windows gets rejuvenated by torrents of delicious rain. From safe under my roof, the sound is music; a frantic/tranquil chorus that can lull you into a deep sleep or wake you from one. Sounds of a beautiful Summer winding down into Fall.

My summer's end means the coming to a close of one of my current projects--the young adult novel due on the shelves April 30, 2011. Closing that project folder leaves me space to start at least one thing and I'm torn between putting time into the sequel to Every Dark Desire or the more literary novel in progress, Language of the Broken. Choices, choices. Both are a pleasure to dive into so maybe I'll end up working on both simultaneously.

Happy Autumn beginnings to you and everyone you love. Enjoy the thunder and the storms. Stay dry, if you wish. Be saturated, if you desire. Be contented.

**

Coming To Your Town?

The release of the new book is only five (5!) short months away. To gear up for Dangerous Pleasures hitting the shelves, I'm in the process of planning signings and readings around the U.S., Canada, and possible the U.K.

So far, I've signed up to be in Atlanta, GA - Austin, TX - Chicago, IL - Tampa, FL with more cities to be announced.

If you want me to make a stop in your city, drop me an email to let me know and I'll do my best to get there.

**

Upcoming Workshops

Write Your Novel Workshop

If you've always wanted to write that novel or you have one "in progress," this workshop is for you. In this series of writing sessions, we will push forward with our novel writing projects, explore methods to get beyond writers' block, make our stories come alive, and take the book to the next level. 

Location/Date/Time - To be announced. 

To sign up for the workshop taking place in the late fall, or to find out more, contact me at f.zedde@gmail.com.


Publish Your Novel Workshop

You've written that novel, now what? Sign up for this workshop to find out the next steps to take. In these sessions, we'll talk about what publishers are looking for, how to get your book publisher/agent-ready, and how you can make the process work for you. 

Location/Date/Time - To be announced. 

To sign up for the workshop taking place in the winter, or to find out more, contact me at f.zedde@gmail.com.

**
Drawing for a Signed Copy of Dangerous Pleasures

Enter a raffle to win an autographed copy of the latest Fiona Zedde novel, Dangerous Pleasures, shipped directly to your door.

The cost of a raffle ticket is $1. To put your name in the hat, email me at f.zedde@gmail.com. The winner of the raffle gets a bonus prize if they answer the question:

In Hungry For It, what is the perfume that Claudia wears?

Good Luck!

**

Rumi Verse of the Month

I have lived on the lip
of insanity

Wanting to know reasons
Knocking on a door.

It opens

I have been knocking
from the inside.

~ Rumi

**

Hot Shorts

"Study Session" Part IV

Mercedes immediately shrugged out of her shirt, throwing it in the general direction of the door.  Tessa moaned low in her throat.  She knew it.  Mercedes was stacked.

The hours she had spent burning out her imagination time and time again with visions of Mercedes’ breasts, nothing could compare to the reality of wide, strawberry-textured nipples, dark, like the perfectly ripe fruit, bleeding between her teeth. 

“Sit on the bed.”

When the woman did as she was told, Tessa immediately dropped to her knees and took a nipple in her mouth.  She wasn’t gentle.  Tessa pushed her nose into the sweat-scented skin, clawing at Mercedes’ back to get even closer.  She wanted to suffocate in the other woman’s flesh.

Tessa bit, sucked, licked until Mercedes was moaning, rubbing herself against the seam of her jeans, and when that wasn’t enough, she slid the zipper down, finger fucking herself until Tessa pushed her hand away.

“Not with me, you won’t.”

She drew the other woman’s cum-stained fingers into her mouth, licking them one by one.  Mercedes watched her with lazy lidded eyes, her lips parted on a silent moan as she allowed Tessa to push her onto her back.  Then with a sigh, one of regret, Tessa took both of Mercedes’ hands and pushed them to the strawberry nipples.

“Play with these, I’ll be busy for a little while.”

Tessa paused to make sure that her instructions were being followed, but with Mercedes she never had to repeat herself.  She was a very good student.  Tessa watched as Mercedes arched her back, bringing her hands up to cup her heavy breasts and stroke saliva wet nipples.  Tessa’s breath caught.  So fucking beautiful…

The other woman’s impatient moans brought her back to the matter at hand.  She bent her head, licking her way the other woman’s quivering her belly until she came to the barrier of cloth.

“You could take a lesson, you know.”  She murmured as she dragged Mercedes’s sticky-wet panties off along with her jeans.

Mercedes laughed deep in her throat, still squeezing her own nipples, the heavy flesh of her breasts overflowing her hands.

“Why are you always laughing?”

“Because life is beautiful, it makes me happy.”  Mercedes gasped at the first brush of Tessa’s breath on her engorged clit.  “Right now, you make me happy.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Tessa breathed.  Her nose lingered over the sea-foam scent of her, drinking it in deep, before allowing her mouth to become involved in the feast.  She directed a cool stream of air at Mercedes’ soaked slit, then hot.  The thighs on either side of her head threatened to close.  Mercedes moaned.

“I am so ready for this.”  She whispered before moving her tongue, once across the plump little button. Sweet.  Mercedes tasted so damn sweet.

The hot flesh swam under her tongue, firm and wet like late summer muscadines swollen in the heat of the sun.  Juice dripped down Tessa’s chin a she groaned into the oozing wet pussy.  Mercedes undulated under her, Tessa’s earlier instructions forgotten.

Her fingers were clenched in the sheets as she watched Tessa’s every movement, her lips parted in a breathless O, her lean body striated with muscle and awash in sweat.  This was every one of Tessa’s fantasies come true.

Her senses felt close to overload with the smell, taste, and sound of Mercedes, goddess-created and more responsive than Tessa had even dreamed as she groaned and writhed on the bed.

Tessa’s fingers slipped against the heated and damp skin as she tried to latch onto the wild thing under her.  That was all right.  She had better things to do with her hands anyway.  Tessa slid two fingers inside Mercedes and felt her own pussy clench.  She was so wet, so hot.  She felt so damn good.  Her fingers reached deeper, her tongue worked faster.

“Fuck!” Mercedes’ hips bucked against her mouth and fingers, thrashing fiercely as she came, alternately whispering and screaming Tessa’s name.  Her gasps were loud in the sunlit room.

She slowly caught her breath.

“That was really fun.”  Tessa stood balanced over Mercedes, a grin dancing on her wet mouth.

“No shit?”

The words came out breathless and low.  She reached up to trail long, pussy-slick fingers down Tessa’s cheeks.  She smiled into Tessa’s eyes before kissing her lightly on the mouth, a butterfly touch that sent tiny aftershocks ricocheting through Tessa’s body.

Then Mercedes extended her tongue with its silver adornment and licked at Tessa’s face, lapping her own cunt juice from her lover’s chin, cheeks, and mouth.  She sucked on a full lower lip and took it between her teeth before kissing the corners of Tessa’s mouth, first one then the other.

“Does that mean that this is the end of our session for today?”

Mercedes shook her head and tongued the parted lips above hers.

“Honey, we’re just getting started.”

Tessa shifted above her and pinched Mercedes’ nipple, then stroked it in response to the music of the other woman’s quiet groan.

Desire rolled inside her like a tsunami, flooding her thighs again, making her tongue wet with the urge to taste Mercedes again and again.  She wet her lips.  “Maybe we can get an extension on that presentation?”

Mercedes couldn’t seem to find the words to say no.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

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