There was a picture above Scarlett's bed. It was thickly framed in wood as black as pitch; the glass had a small skim of dust across it that could only be seen when the sunlight was directly on it. This usually only happened at sunrise. The picture inside the frame was small, almost too small for such a heavy and expensive looking frame.
But it wasn't the pictures size that mattered to Scarlett, it was the subject. Or rather, the lack of subject.
It was perfectly black, just like the frame. Only the matting, with its perfectly square corners and double cut layering, was white. Scarlett lay on the bed above the covers. Her hands were set loosely across her stomach, her fingers gently entwined with each other, rising and falling as her lungs worked. Her breath was shallow; so shallow it hardly moved the veil of blond hair that fell down either side of her face and fanned out across the pearl-white pillow tops. She hated fancy bedding. Everything she slept in had to be white.
Her toes began to tingle: it was a very familiar feeling. She felt warmth in her palms, perhaps it was coming from her stomach, perhaps from someplace else. But she couldn't ignore it and it was quickly becoming less like warmth and more like a convection oven on high. For an instant her eyelids fluttered; dark, sultry lashes tickled the smoothness of her cheeks. That instant was all it took.
Slippery, bending waves of energy thrummed through her like a stretched out elastic band being plucked. Every snap carried just a little bit less of the hum and in a moment the thrilling and unexpected energy was gone.
She let out a long breath; heat was in it.
She felt stickiness between her thighs, soaking into the pure white fabric beneath her. Her nipples throbbed with aftershocks, but it wasn't enough. She looked up, tilting her soft chin up until she could see the picture again.
Now she felt imaginary waves washing across her ankles, like a slow tide coming in. She stared harder at the opaque picture until the waves had washed further up her smooth shins, past her knees and began to eddy between her thighs.
It was almost time.
This time her eyes shut for a long time. At least three breaths passed. And then she felt them. Hands on her feet: the thumbs pressing softly against the pads, finding the grove between her bones. They squeezed just hard enough for her to feel them. Scarlett opened her eyes and saw the woman crouching like a jungle cat at the foot of the bed. Her face bore the most perfectly powerful look of seduction Scarlett had ever known.
It was why this woman, this goddess among women, was her favourite.
"You brought me back," Angelina Jolie smiled.
Her pouty, puffy lips moved slowly, every word was a savoury treat. Scarlett loved her lips...lips that could tease a cock into ram-rod readiness in seconds.
She kissed Scarlett's arch.
Scarlett shuttered.
When Angelina came up, her powerful face was drenching with water as if she had just dipped her head in a tropical bath. Her perfectly dark hair thickened and clung to itself, dripping wet drops across the white sheets. As the drops landing however they vanished as if they had never fallen to begin with...it was very odd.
It had taken Scarlett a long time to get used to the invisible, yet completely real water. It never seemed to affect her other than at the very beginning with feeling the waves. With the girls though, she saw its effects. It made their skin and hair wet and pooled and dripped and ran down their necks and breasts.
Sometimes, Scarlett would spend too much effort trying to see it or make it fully appear. Once she had just the right angle to see the arms and legs of a crouching woman bend in two places, like a shadow falling across a curb.
But tonight her fascination with the invisible water would be ignored...nothing mattered while Angelina was here.
She was still kissing Scarlett's feet. Angelina nibbled on the tip of Scarlett's big toe, flashing teeth as white as the pearl in her eyes. Her lips were a dark shade of red, dark like roses just before they go to rot. It was Scarlett's favourite color. She wore it herself, but she thought it looked infinitely better on the coy, expressive lips of her favourite lover.
"I'm glad you came," Scarlett breathed. She lifted her neck to look over her breasts as Angelina dipped her head to stroke her tongue across her heel. Scarlett's lips split in a grin as thousands of Angelina's taste buds raked across her sensitive nerves.
"Don't!" she cried, "That tickles!"
Angelina's eyes lit up with playful seduction. She repeated the stroke and created an even more powerful mixture of torture and pleasure. When Scarlett began to squirm, Angelina came up, lips and nose dripping water. She let out a breath and sucked in a deep one, filling her chest and expanding her ribs. Scarlet watched in pure thrill as Angelina's dark, wet skin moved to show rib and muscle.
