u/PRJOANES

The night sky over Lisboa lay still as the woman slipped through the open window into the bedroom. It was a warm night in June – oppressive, sweaty, musky, as it had been for days. The stillness of the sky could not disguise the fact that a thunderstorm was coming, however.

Tonight? Tomorrow? Who could know?

The woman did not know – but she felt the storm’s approach as surely as she felt the hunger between her legs and the anticipation of what was to come. She was a shadow in the darkness. Her long, dark hair fell in wavy strands over her shoulders, and she wore tight black leather pants and a top that accentuated her curves.

She was no ordinary burglar. She sought neither money nor jewels, but something much more personal.

The man who slept peacefully in his bed was her target – an attractive man in his mid-thirties living alone. He was a foreigner, apparently new to the country, who had visited the café where she worked once. She had observed him, and tonight she would make him her toy.

Quietly, she crept to the bed, her movements subtle and catlike. Fado music drifted up from one of the clubs that were common in this part of the city. He slept without a blanket in the summer heat, and she took a long moment to look at him. He was handsome to her – his skin so much paler than her own. He was slender and well-muscled.

When she had seen him at her café, he had seemed focused, very much at home in himself. It had drawn her attention at once, and she had followed him from the café to find out where he lived. Weeks of careful observation had followed – weeks in which her desire had steadily grown. This was the way it always went.

There was a thin white scar on the right side of his ribcage, nearly as long as her hand. She traced it lovingly with her eyes. Somehow she had always liked scars. What had happened to him? An accident when he had been a small boy? Or a surgery?

With practiced hands, she pulled black silk scarves from her bag and bound his wrists to the bedposts before he properly awoke. He blinked awake in confusion, his heart racing as he felt the restraints.

“What… who are you?” he stammered.

The woman only smiled, her full lips parting into a devilish grin.

“Shh, meu amor,” she whispered.

“Tonight you belong to me.”

She spoke English, so he would understand, but with a heavy Portuguese accent. She held up one finger.

“Now, no screaming, or it will become unpleasant. But if you are good, it will be… unforgettable.”

He stared at her, breathless. Even through his fear, the dark beauty of the stranger began to mesmerize him. A wonderful aroma filled his nostrils and made his heart beat faster. Honey… salt… and something else…

“Who are you?” he asked again, more carefully.

The answer came in a sultry, hissing tone, with a note beneath the surface that sent shivers down his spine.

“I am Fan-tas-ma… and you arr Aaalexss.”

For some reason, the way she said his name – drawing out the A and hissing the x – made him think of a snake. For a moment, he imagined fangs protruding from her lips, her eyes turning the glowing green of jade.

He blinked.

No fangs, no green eyes. Only perfect white teeth between full red lips, and eyes as dark as a starless night.

Alex found it hard to concentrate. “How do you know my name? What do you want?“

She smiled.

“How do I know? I have watched you for weeks, my sweet Alex.“

Alex swallowed uncomfortably.

“Do not be afraid, querido. I just want to play with you a bit. I bet you will like it.“

Alex could do nothing but hold his breath and nod. Fear rose – but beneath it, something else stirred, unwelcome and undeniable: curiosity. A strange, electric awareness of being chosen rather than attacked. I could shout, he thought. The window was open. The city was awake, even at night.

But he didn’t.

He told himself it was prudence, calculation – better to see what she wanted before provoking her. That was true enough to satisfy reason. Yet another truth pressed close behind it, one he did not yet dare name.

He wanted to know what would happen. What games did this beautiful and mysterious stranger want to play with him?

The thought disturbed him. He was not a man who enjoyed losing control. He trained, disciplined his body, his breath, his reactions. And yet here he was, lying still.

Who are you? Why me? The questions beat softly in his mind, unanswered. He swallowed, steadying himself, and chose – consciously –  not to struggle. At least not yet.

At his reaction she laid her head to the side as if she was seeing him truly for the first time and a strange expression crossed her face.

He didn’t struggle. Fantasma noticed it immediately – the absence of panic, the lack of thrashing breath or frantic movement.

That was wrong.

She had watched him for weeks. He was alert, disciplined. A man who noticed things. Men like that usually fought hardest. Why didn’t he?

The question surfaced unbidden, intimate as a touch. Do not hesitate, she told herself. Hesitation was how control slipped.

A sudden gust of wind blew the gauzy curtains inward – an early sign of the coming storm.

The mysterious woman – Fantasma – had seemed lost in thought for a few moments. Now she shook herself, pulled some candles from her bag and lit them, casting the bedroom in warm, flickering light. Then she disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, her footsteps silent on the tile. Alex wondered whether she was robbing his apartment after all.

When she returned, she had changed.

The sight of her made him draw in a sharp breath through his teeth. She was no longer wearing the black pants but a short black skirt – slightly sheer – flowing softly like a veil over her hips. The fabric was light and translucent, allowing faint outlines to show through in the dim light.

She was no longer wearing her top either.

A small silver locket on a fine chain hung between her bare breasts. It twinkled greenish, but in the dim light he could not make out what was engraved on the strange talisman.

She just stood in the bedroom door for a moment, watching his eyes widen and travel over her curves. In the distance, the first thunder rumbled like the growl of a hunting cat.

She climbed onto the bed slowly and teasingly, her bronzed skin glistening in the faint light. She swung one leg over his body and positioned herself kneeling above him, looking down with smoldering eyes. She held up her finger again, like a parent scolding a misbehaving child.

“Be good now, querido. Stay still and do what I say.”

Her wonderful exotic aroma was much closer now – stronger, thicker. She waited until he nodded, then lowered herself high on his chest, her thighs enclosing his cheeks like a warm, firm frame. As she settled, the short black skirt draped softly over his eyes, falling like a veil and cloaking his vision in a dark haze. He could see little – only the curve of her body and the place where her legs met, and the fabric of her panties, close to his face.

Shielded from his direct gaze by the skirt, Fantasma slowly slid her hands over her own body. A guttural moan escaped her lips, and she leaned her head back in pleasure. This moment was hers alone – a pleasure of her own body. The amulet felt warm between her breasts. Her fingers slid beneath her panties.

Alex did not see or hear much of this. He could only see faint outlines through the sheer fabric of the skirt, the shadow of her movements in the flickering light of the candles. Everything else was obscured. Her moans and the rustle of her hand under her panties, so close to his face, were muffled by her thighs pressing down over his ears. He could only smell her intoxicating aroma intensify as she opened herself with her fingers.

After a few long moments, Fantasma suddenly remembered the man between her thighs. With a twinkle in her eye, she slid forward, pushed her panties to the side and touched her naked vulva directly to his mouth.

“Me lamba, querido,” she commanded seductively, her voice a throaty whisper. “Enjoy me.”

Her taste exploded on Alex‘s tongue. “Oh God, you taste so good,” he murmured against her, his voice muffled, thick with desire.

While he pleasured her, Fantasma stretched one hand behind her, dragging her long nails down his thighs and waist. Alex gasped. His whole body tingled.

Suddenly the sensation stopped.

“Don’t stop licking me, mais doce,” she purred, chiding. “Or I will not touch you again.”

Alex obeyed immediately, and her hand returned to his waist.

After a few pleasurable passes with her nails, her hand slid lower and finally found his penis. She started teasing him with her hand – no quick movements, only slow, tormenting caresses. Her fingers enclosed him gently, like silk over sensitive skin.

“Mmm, you are so hard for me,” she whispered lovingly, circling her hips lightly. “But wait a second, querido,” she said. “I cannot reach you well enough.”

She let go of his penis and lifted herself from his mouth, but only to turn around. She settled again with her vulva on his lips, but this time facing the other way.

“Lentamente agora, meu amor,” she breathed as he writhed. “I want to torment you until you beg.”

At the same time, she resumed her manipulation of his manhood, this time with both hands. Slowly – so slowly – her palm circled on the tip, while her other hand gripped his penis tightly and held it upright, making it swell with blood.

He tried to concentrate on pleasuring her with everything he had. He wanted to make sure this woman never stopped what she was doing – not ever – and wouldn’t lose interest in him any time soon.

Minutes stretched into eternity as they both neared climax. Lightning forked outside the window. Thunder roared, much closer now. Rain began pelting the roof in thick, cold droplets. The music from the street had stopped, the unfolding storm blotting out every other sound.

Fantasma came first, her moans bursting into a guttural scream masked by thunder. While she shuddered through it, she stopped caressing his penis and simply held it. Then, as the last waves subsided, she began again.

For Alex, it was now building into the orgasm of his life, fueled by the intoxicating scent of her vagina and the sharp edge of pleasure her hands had carved into him. It felt like a sun about to explode in his skull. But then, as he teetered on the brink, as he could feel his body rise toward eruption, Fantasma abruptly stopped. Her hands withdrew completely, denying him release. Instead, she rose, lifting the skirt from his eyes. She turned to face him again and leaned in, smiling wickedly as she gazed into his shocked eyes.

Alex lost himself in that gaze, as if a black veil fell over his mind this time, not only his eyes – mesmerized by the depth and intensity, by the wickedness writhing inside her. This time, he could have sworn he saw green fire deep down in her eyes.

She brought her lips close to his ear and whispered:

“Não fique triste, meu belo. Da próxima vez… talvez.”

She climbed off him, wiped herself with a towel, and got dressed unhurriedly – no longer looking at him at all, but giving him a long last view of her body, of what he was losing. All Alex could do was stare, shivering as mixed shocks of pleasure and loss coursed through him. Like a cat, she vanished through the window into the stormy night, leaving him bound and frustrated. The lingering scent of cocoa and salt and honey was all that remained of her. Rain hammered down in a torrent, the sound on the roof drowning out even the thunder.

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This was an excerpt from my erotic novella The Serpent's Gaze, first installment of my Serpent of Lisboa Series.

If you want to read on, it's availble on kindle for purchase and unlimited. Purchase for free from Sunday 10th to Monday 11th May! https://www.amazon.com/-/en/dp/B0GWVZZ5FD