Fallen Angel 34

It begins with a rumor. More than that. It's gossip. Juicy gossip. A true story of how an administrative specialist may be fired, with plenty of details that violate the university's privacy policy. Karen knows about it because the whistleblower came to her -- both before and after reporting the thing to Human Resources, which has called a disciplinary hearing. Now she's telling Miriam. It's the normal passing of confidential information in organizations.

"You can't tell anyone, Miriam. Promise me! I'd be in no end of trouble." Karen is enjoying this. Miriam is actually the third person she's told, and she's excited. Sexed up so much she wants to touch herself. More so each time she tells it.

"You know I won't. But... Georgia Witherspoon? In Kiplinger Hall? With a door open?

Georgia?

During the day? Was she crazy? I mean, they go to our church! How could she actually do that? What could have possessed her? Who was the man?"

Karen lets Miriam ask all her questions. After all, Karen Is in charge and will drop the dirtiest dirt on her own schedule.

"Well,

he

possessed her!" Karen giggles. "A new guy in Languages, in

Greek

of all things," Karen gives Miriam a look and giggles again. "I don't know him personally but I know he's tall. And dark. And handsome."

Miriam ignores the editorial part. "Are you sure?"

Now comes the good stuff.

"Donna Kraft saw it. The door was open. Just a crack, Donna said. But she could see Georgia was completely naked. Giving him oral sex." She emphasizes the words 'completely' and 'oral', savoring them, almost pleasuring them. Then,

sotto voce

: "All. The. Way." She seems to have this thing for making lists of three.

Miriam exhales. "Oh Lord."

"Donna was pretty shaken up about it."

I wish I'd been there. Oh God I want to play! How soon can I get Al alone?

"Oh Lord." There is a pause. "Donna's sure of everything?"

"Miriam!"

"I know. I know. I know. I'm sorry. It's just that, well it seems so...implausible."

Georgia?

"Donna told me HR had her write it out. And sign it. And they swore her to secrecy."

Miriam exhales again, a long, slow release of air. "Oh Lord!" If you say three 'oh Lords,' isn't one likely to appear? "At our school? Completely naked? In a department office?"

"Donna didn't say he was. Nephilim. That's his name. I don't know that he was naked. Just his you-know-what. But Georgia was, yes. Absolutely buck naked in the psych admin office. She was kneeling in front of him and really doing it. Donna said when Georgia saw her she yelled and tried to cover up."

I thought I knew her

. Miriam now knows she doesn't know anything at all. She wants to know everything.

"It gets even better. Afterward Georgia came to Donna and tried to get her to not tell anyone. If she hadn't lied, Donna says she might not have."

"How did she lie?"

"She said he made her do it, but Donna saw enough, and it wasn't like that at all."

"Poor Georgia. I mean...losing your job over...something like.... And poor Frank. And their kids! Does he know?"

"I don't see how he could keep from finding out, not if they fire her."

"Oh Lord! It's terrible."

It's fabulous, Karen thinks. "He'd be the only one not in on it. How could people keep a secret like that?"

I bet poor Frank could use some consoling.

"What will happen to Nephilim?"

"Well, he's a prof and she didn't work under him -- no pun intended." Miriam ignores the jollity again. "I imagine he'll get a letter of reprimand or something. I don't know. Maybe he won't get tenure."

* * * * *

Round and round it goes. Miriam has closed the office door for lunch, so she can have a sandwich, but she isn't hungry anymore. One bite of her sandwich is gone. The rest sits beside a cup of pens and pencils and a bottle of hand lotion, right in front of her desktop screen, none of which are in her world now. She thinks of Georgia, can't get rid of the image. Georgia sucking on a man, not even her husband, but some strange man. Georgia losing her job.

She's my friend. Not close but close enough.

She imagines the scene when Frank finds out. Will someone else tell him first, or will Georgia have to break the news? She can't just say she lost her job for no reason.

How can she tell him? "Honey, I have a little confession. I gave a blow job to a new professor and got caught."

Miriam tries to imagine the look on Frank's face.

It will kill him! It will completely destroy them!

A loving young couple with two toddlers.

Maybe not so loving.

He can't let her stay after that!

Georgia sings in the chorus and Frank teaches a Sunday School class. Miriam recalls what a beautiful singing voice she has, and has a quick image of her in a purple and gold gown, holding her hymnal, but the image becomes Georgia slipping off the gown to give suck. Some strange man with a swollen cock.

They've always seemed so happy. Will would die if I did something like that. I wouldn't be able to face him.

Miriam's mind keeps going back to the act, and her mind's eye is sharp. There's the door, cracked open, and Donna is peering in. Georgia is on the floor, naked and brazenly feeding on a dark man with dark eyes and a dark penis. Georgia's vulva, covered with rich, dark fur, peeks out from between her thighs.

Can I ask Donna? No!

Then there's the penis itself, swinging upward from the man's lower belly, dark like the rest of him and purple- headed. Where did those details come from? She steers her mind away.

It's so unfair! The man always gets away with things. The woman pays the price!

She hears the echo of Karen's words -- "All. The. Way." -- hears the smirk in the voice, and the image of what Georgia will pay the price for pops up again. All. The. Way. Karen is so snarky!

Could it be a game -- like ours?

Will and Miriam sometimes play naughty games when they can get the house alone. Her favorite is where she is Will's prisoner. He yells and cracks his belt on tables and chairs and makes her do things. He's had her kneel, naked, and hold his erect cock in her mouth while he leaned over and told her all the nasty things he intended to do to her. As if.

So, yes, Miriam knows what kneeling before him with his helmet in your mouth is like, and that even though it's probably sinful it can be hot. But this isn't a game, and it's not between spouses. And it's going to end not with heated-up intercourse but with a money shot. How does Miriam know this?

Now her mind tricks her and Miriam sees the scene from close in, from Georgia's view, not Donna's, so she's looking down the shaft at the man's fuzz. And then somehow the scene shifts yet again. Now Miriam is inside Georgia. It just happens. She slips inside. She couldn't explain the how or when of it, but she feels what Georgia feels and does what Georgia does. She feels the head of his penis, big and meaty, and tastes him, and smells him. Oh, the smell of him! And his little slit, seeping silk. She knows Georgia is excited because it becomes her own excitement, as is the breathing, the swallowing, the achy vibration around her pudendum that is so strong if she just touches herself it'll set her off.

This is too much! Stop it!

But when she tries to turn it off the camera in her head spins around and she can see it's herself with the penis plugged into her mouth, one hand curled around the base of the cock, the other caressing his scrotum, her clothes on the floor, her back chilled by the breeze sifting through the doorway.

Miriam looks to the door, her own door. She hurries over, locks it, and turns out the light. Back to her desk she unsnaps and unzips her pants and reaches inside to push two fingers down across her bud. She's so high she doesn't even try to stop herself. She's on the verge, so charged she can't stand it, then she's inside Georgia again, and she feels the man's hands on her head. She's moving her fingers as fast as she can. He's humping her mouth. The cock starts to pulsate. It shoots a jet onto her face before he pushes it into her mouth, then there's another, and another, and Miriam does come. Lord, does she.

The spurts give way to a flow, then to a seep, and all of it shatters Miriam, who is drinking it like milkshake. There's a super close-up of her mouth, lips pulling away from that beautiful penis with its lovely blue veins, her mouth overflowing with the taste, her lips still joined to the slit by a slender, glistening thread, milky fluid on her nose and chin.

Miriam snaps her head to one side, then the other. Both hands are inside her slacks, inside the waistband of her panties, her fingers diddling inside the folds of her labia, still in high orgasm. Her breathing is out of control and the room is filled with tiny, black stars that form and drift downward and disappear. She hunches at her desk, her hands between her legs, just pressing now, the partly-eaten sandwich and cup of pens and pencils and lotion all sitting unnoticed to the side. It takes a minute, two, three, before she pulls her hands out and stares at them.

What just happened? What happened? What happened? My God! My God!

Not her God. Maybe her Lord.

It is another few moments before the knock comes at the door.

* * * * *

Miriam knows who it will be. She doesn't but she does.

"Just a minute." She's shoving her blouse into her pants, pulling them all the way up, closing and fastening them, trying to act composed. She's anything but composed.

Okay, open the door.

Yes. Him. He's as she'd imagined, but taller, bigger, like a defensive end. Dark. Olive. Dark eyes. Black, wavy hair. An afternoon shadow. A seducer.

"Hello. I'm Amon Nephilim." His hand is out. Miriam has to take it, and when she does a spark tingles up her hand to her arm, up her arm to her body, through her breasts and hits right where her hands had been. He holds her hand and says, "Call me Amon." What an odd name. "I need...," and he stops. He pulls her hand close to his face and sniffs. And grins.

"Well, I know what

you've

been doing!"

Miriam yelps. She manages to bite it off, though anyone walking down the hall would have heard it and wondered what had happened. What would she tell them? She jerks her hand away. Both of them go behind her back. "I...I don't know what you mean!" She can't keep her voice steady. Her face is hot, itchy with heat, then her neck, all the way down to the tops of her breasts.

She thinks she may cry. She will, but not just yet.

That's the scene: Miriam lost, her seducer towering, looking down at her, relaxed, smooth, knowing, authoritative. There's no leer. Nothing flirty. He's simply in control. He speaks again, smoothly in a baritone.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Ms...."

"Price. Miriam Price." She latches onto the answer. Maybe it will turn the conversation away. No it won't.

"Miriam. Yes. Sister of Moses, who found water on the desert. A prophetess too. Well!" He smiles a warm smile. His eyes look into hers from far away. "You've found water in yourself, Miriam. Can you also divine the future?"

Miriam doesn't know what to answer. She stutters something. Oh, she can foretell something now. Not every detail, but yes.

"You don't have to be ashamed, Miriam. Only...," and oddly-named Amon Nephilim takes a half step in, "you shouldn't do that to yourself. It should be done

to

you."

No, no, no, no! Miriam can't breathe, not because of sexual excitement but because she's terrified. There's just a little, shallow nothing of air. She sways, or begins to, and Amon Nephilim takes another step, close enough now that he can put his hands on her waist, one to each side, perhaps to steady her. God they're big, and strong, and she realizes how easily he could pull her all the way in. Their faces are only inches apart. She is afflicted with an image of him on top of her, the feel of a phallus she can knows she can recognize pushing into her. It would feel so good.

No! She is a statue of herself.

"I'd get down there for you, Miriam."

You read my mind? No!

"I'd help you find your sweet water. But not too fast. Oh I wouldn't wander in the wilderness for forty years." Amon Nephilim laughs. It's a warm laugh that goes with his warm smile. It would melt her on a January morning. His eyes are beautiful. "But I'd begin with your breasts."

Miriam is a mouse waiting for the snake to strike.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She looks down at her breasts. That much she can do, and what she sees frightens her more. Her breasts are almost touching him, shielded only by brassier and blouse. "We both want me not just to covet my neighbor's wife, but to take her. Don't we? To take your breasts."

Miriam swallows.

And now his hands are rising, lazily, in no particular hurry, up to breast level, half cupped. He's so tall that's only to his stomach.

"They're calling me." He's been in the office all of two minutes.

His hands are at breast level, coming in now, and finally she raises hers to stop him and finds a voice:

"Don't!"

"Hush. This is what you want."

Her voice was desperate. His is as smooth and assured as though he were calming a toddler. When she heard it her hands stopped three-quarters up, almost there, and his now go right between them. They push against her front, the hollows of his palms right on her nipples, push them in so firmly she almost steps backwards, then eases the pressure.

She makes a tiny little cry down in her throat. Her eyes fill. He moves his palms in circles over her tips until they swell and begin to ache and push back against the cups of her brassiere. The sensation goes straight into her chest and downward, all the way down, while her hands float in the air.

"Please. No." Just a wheedling little voice. She doesn't want her eyes to spill but doesn't know what to do.

"Yes. We'll go further now." He is still caressing her nips. Oh they ache! They had never throbbed like that. Yes, once, when she'd first breast-fed her daughter. What a sweet pain. They must be bulbous by now because they press so hard against bra and blouse, rolling under his hands. She closes her eyes at the sensation. Don't! She opens her eyes wide, stares at him, at his hands, at the door. The door. The door is still open.

"Please. They'll catch us!"

That's not what I meant to say!

He ignores her words. "Your breasts need to be naked."

Miriam finally begins crying. She can't control herself. Something has happened. She doesn't understand but knows she can't make herself stop it, so she cries. Tears squeeze through her lids and run down her cheeks and mouth and chin. She's gulping air, sobbing, and her hands still dangle helplessly off the ends of her wrists. Shame and desire creep upon her.

You're so easy, you little slut, you willing little play toy.

Where did that thought come from?

She whimpers: "Please." A tiny sound.

He ignores her again, or perhaps he doesn't. "Your blouse and bra. Take them off." That voice.

Miriam does as she is told. She circles her hands around his, which are still caressing her, his fingers now squeezing her nipples through the cloth, wipes each eye with three fingers, moves them to her top button, and undoes it. Then the second one. She is awkward, trying to work between Amon Nephilim's hands. Concentrating on the buttons, she has almost stopped crying, so it is all gasps and snarfs, more like a child's tears than a woman's. She shifts her hands in circles to bring them up from under his and loosens the remaining buttons: three, four, five, six. When all are undone she pleads again: "But they'll catch us." Still that wheedling voice.

"You're not finished, Miriam."

She pulls the tail of the blouse out of her slacks. He is squeezing, pinching. She can't stand the ache and thinks it might help if he pinched harder.

What's happening?

She undoes the wrist buttons, the left one, then the right.

What am I doing?

She sees her tears on his hands. She stops for a moment when a paroxysm shivers her shoulders, but he withdraws his hands to give her room and she grasps the front of the blouse to pull it off. It takes her a moment. She pulls her arms out and it drops to the floor, inside out.

All that's left is her black underwire brassier, black and silver embroidered patterns on a solid black background, that Will had bought at Victoria's Secret for her birthday. She takes two huge breaths to control herself. It is time to make it end, for Will, but she can't anymore look Amon Nephilim in the eyes, to tell him.

"Now the bra. It's what you want."

Yes. No. Yes.

You can't understand, Will.

The bra fastens in front. The fastener is easy, slide the hook and let go. Will loves to do it himself. But Miriam holds the eye and the hook for a moment, willing herself to stop, then drops both ends and her breasts come tumbling.

They fall and bounce and jiggle. Her nipples are swollen. Miriam is both afraid of what Nephilim is going to require, and consumed by fear he won't like them. Nephilim, though, caresses both bosoms with the backs of his fingers, kneads, them, rolls her nipples between thumbs and forefingers, and finally cups them from underneath to lift them.

As Miriam watches and feels his hands playing with her she get goose bumps all the way up. A few tears drop from her face onto her breasts, more onto his hands. A stream runs down her front.

* * * * *

For the first time, Nephilim pays attention to Miriam's crying. He lets go of her breasts, lets them drop like a child's forgotten toy, and takes her face in his hands.

"There, there. You're just afraid of what you want. You've always wanted this. You know that, don't you? So don't cry, but sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously.'"

He holds her face still and puts his mouth to her chin. She thinks he may kiss her but that's not his purpose. He moves his mouth upwards, to the right, gathering and sucking away tears, up her cheek, taking more water, to her eye, and cleans her eye with his lips: cheekbone, eyebrow, lid. An animal cleaning its young. He lingers on her eye. Hot breaths pour over her face. She moans a moan she doesn't hear. Then -- over the bridge of her nose to her left eye. Cleaning her eye, breathing lovely breaths on her face, and then down her cheek to her chin, to her lips, where he finally feasts on her mouth and she feasts back.

When Nephilim finally releases her face. Miriam is no longer afraid of what she wants. Something flickered and something died. She's in a place far away, a place from which no one returns, holy of holies. Her Lord makes her think of scripture again: Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee.

She notices something new. How could she have missed them, how long his teeth are, and how beautiful? A line from a Fairy Tale comes, "Oh grandmama, how big your teeth are." She knows and doesn't know what will happen.

* * * * *

"Miriam has water, and she has fruit." Nephilim's words are beautiful. Everything about him is beautiful. Miriam again feels herself sucking him and wants it to happen, but he will direct her. He takes both breasts again, and squeezes them. "Overripe. Washed with rain. Full of juice, ready for me to pluck and to suck the juice."

He twists them to make them hurt. Miriam closes her eyes and brings her hands to her face. "Oh, Amon, don't hurt me. Please don't." He bends and brings the breasts to his mouth. He licks the tears from her right breast, then fastens his mouth to the nipple. Miriam puts her hands on his head to hold him tight, kisses his head, smells his hair.

But then.

Something is piercing her. What is he doing? Amon is piercing her.

"Oh!" It's a cry of pain, but Miriam doesn't pull back. She can't stand the pain but it travels the same road as everything else. "Please, Amon!" He shifts his head and the piercing is at another spot. "Oh Lord! Please!"