(MF rom, slow) - Part 3 - The Legacy

PART 3 - The Legacy:

Mockery hurts. It is belittling and diminishing, and it is 
especially hard to bear when it comes from the only woman 
you will ever truly love. But it delighted her. She 
prospered on it.  

Jane stood before me with her skirt raised, exposing her 
smooth and hairless sex. She smiled contentedly, certain in 
her knowledge that she was irresistible. She barely had to 
work at it.

"I know what I'd like," she said. "But I'm not the client 
so it's not my place to ask." When I didn't respond she 
continued. "I'd like you to come to me and lick me till I 
can't stand." I sat on my chair, not moving. "But then 
again," she said sardonically, "you wouldn't be any good at 
it anyway. Poor Blue. It's just not your sort of game, is 
it."

She could always hurt me without trying. She didn't need to 
try this hard.

"I should have taken you in hand back then," she said. 
"Back in those good old days. You could have had me on my 
back 15 times a week if you'd only shown a spark of 
invention. I should have taken you in hand. I should have 
taught you to lick me like the faithful basset hound you 
are." She laughed ironically. "Well, at least you could 
come and give me a kiss. You can do that much, can't you?"

I approached her with foreboding and put out my hands to 
take her by the shoulders.

"Not on the mouth," she said, shrugging away. "I'm a long 
way past sentimental." She bent her head. "Down there, 
Blue. That's where I want you."

Slowly I sank to my knees, leaned forward and pressed my 
lips to her smooth and cool skin.

"That's very good," she said. "Keep going. Smother me with 
kisses."

She smelled of powder and perfume. Fragrant bath oils, 
perhaps. And so smooth, like she'd never had hair there at 
all.

She let the skirt drop over my head and placed her hands in 
my hair, urging me forward. "That's very good," she said. 
"You see how easy it is? I'm just so easy to please."

I pulled away from her, away from the dress, and looked up 
at her looking down at me. "Yes," I said. "Sluts are like 
that."

I thought she'd be angry. Furious. I thought she'd leave. 
But she smiled down at me almost benevolently. "That's 
right," she said. "It's taken you a long time to find that 
out."

She took me to bed, again. She led and I followed. I did my 
best to please her because that was all I was ever fated to 
do. She held my head and guided me with a demanding hand as 
I licked and lashed her to an orgasm that squeezed out of 
her with an intensity I found disconcerting. I knew she was 
using me and I knew there was a reason for it but I didn't 
know what it was. Still don't. But there was something 
behind it that was dark, spiteful and not nice to look at. 
Once more she put me on my back in the bed and took me 
inside her, black eyes staring down at my face and mouth 
set thin and cold. She didn't pump but wriggled and 
writhed, bending forward till she was poised above me, face 
to face, her body held up by straight arms. Her eyes dulled 
and she flinched. She squeezed, twisted and squirmed to her 
second orgasm and I watched her like a detached observer.

She rolled away and lay beside me on her back. "You bring 
out the worst in me," she said, her voice laboured.

I tried to know. "Why?"

"You just do," she said. And there was a definite full 
point to the comment.

I drifted away to sleep and she did too. Later in the 
night, in darkness, I woke because she was crying. She made 
no sound but I knew it just the same. 

"Why are you crying?" I asked softly.

"I was thinking about Dominic," she said. "I never do that. 
It must be because you're here."

I turned towards her and she came into my arms, small, 
slight and fragile. "Now you know why I can't come back," 
she said.

She rose at first light and dressed quickly, back to her 
brisk and brittle self. I sat up in bed and watched as she 
searched in my coat for my wallet, and as she counted out 
hundred dollar bills. "No need to tip me," she said with 
heavily laid irony.

She stood beside the bed, black-haired and black-eyed. 
"Well, Blue," she said. "I think this is goodbye." Without 
waiting for a response, and I didn't have one anyway, she 
turned sharply and left. I heard the door shut.

I flew home that same day. I shut down her pursuers, let 
her be, and got on with my life. I never stopped thinking 
about her but I let her be. I met a girl who said she liked 
me, and she was not nearly as clever as I was, so I knew it 
had to be true. In bed I led and she followed. It was 
ordinary but satisfactory. But it always felt like 
something was missing. Some factor, some component that was 
lacking. In about a year we became engaged. Families drew 
together and a wedding of substance was planned.

Then a senior police officer came to my office. He was so 
senior he was wearing a dress uniform, and I knew it was 
going to be about Jane. She was dead, of course. Stabbed in 
the neck. The knife had been embedded to the hilt, employed 
with malevolent force. The circumstances were not known, 
other than the fact she had been killed in a hotel room in 
Las Vegas. Investigations were proceeding but the police 
officer said without saying an outcome was unlikely.

He was most discreet and so was I. When it was established 
I knew about her lifestyle he let the matter drop straight 
away. He left and I put the matter into the eminently safe 
hands of the family solicitors.

She left me everything she had. Nobody else was mentioned. 
I turned 30 a wealthy man and I married Jane. The plain 
one. I hope I always treat her well. But sometimes, in the 
dark of the night when memories are blackest, I find I 
don't want to.