Gigi and Dali were lovers: coated

9 min read

"Okay. I need you to lie on your back, spread yourself like an eagle, and stay very still."

I do as Gigi instructs and watch her double check her inventory of implements. Like a good surgeon who ensures that all of the appropriate instruments are ready and in place, Gigi does her due diligence.

"How are you doing?" she asks. "Do you need to use the bathroom or get something to drink before we start? Remember, once we start we are totally committed. Last call."

"I'd better pee. Do I have time for a cig?"

"Sure, but make it quick. I'm ready to get the show on the road. Hurry up now, scoot, scoot, scoot!" She is so anxious and excited, her fantasy is about to come true.

I get up gingerly and avoid disturbing the tableau that Gigi has prepared. In the bathroom I do my thing, use the bidet and wash my hands. I want to be as clean as a whistle for my Gigi.

In the living room I sit on the stool by the window. It's very hard and coarse on my skin. I'm uncomfortable, so I stand in front of the open window and blow my cigarette smoke out. The warm night air is somewhat of a cooling relief, it's been so inordinately hot for this time of year and we're stifling.

Gigi joins me and lights up a smoke, leaning out the window trying to catch a breeze that never comes.

"You know," she says, "if we put red lights around the frame we can pretend we're in Amsterdam."

I look at her and think, for being ditzy most of the time she does have clever moments. "I'm down with that," I tell her, "that's a really cute idea. We have red Christmas lights stashed in the closet, I'll pull them out tomorrow." Our tits are lovely and should be shown off, plus I love to be scandalous. The zombie asshats in this neighborhood constantly need us to shake them awake.

We stub out our ciggies and get back to fulfilling Gigi's desire. "Okay. Lie down, spread ‘em and stay still."

I position myself on the plastic sheet she put down to catch the mess and am adjusted slightly.

In pencil she traces the outline of my body, just like protocol demands at murder scenes. This is very disconcerting, will I writhe? I quickly go to my happy place.

With a purple felt-tip pen, a map of dashes and dots tattoos my flesh. These helter skelter sketchings will help her stay on course, rambling past them would fuck up the undertaking she's so carefully planned.

"Positive you're okay?" Gigi asks one last time. "You can back out now, no worries, I can find someone else." Bullshit, like I want to be replaced with a naked and prone hard-body.

"Go for it," I tell her and hurry back to my happy place. Without hesitation she begins.

She begins on the soles of my feet. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, why? That's the worst place to start. My feet are so tender they should be saved for last. Feet = bad sensitive. Nipples = good sensitive. Is she doing this on purpose? I steel myself.

She laughs as I beg her to stop and lands extra unnecessary swipes. Sweet little bitch.

Finally she concentrates on my ankles, shins and knees, changing the tools of her trade as she goes. I open my eyes slightly and see through my lashes the burgundy and scar pink slashes on my legs, and I inhale sharply. I can do this. I'm proud of myself, I've got balls.

As she continues up my thighs I feel a phantom caress on my cunt. It's the I'm not touching you! syndrome. I lick my lips and drift a bit in my prison.

"Naughty, naughty!" she admonishes me. "I'll tell you when you can move, understand?"

Gigi notices the pussy juice she is creating. "Dali, I'm going to tease the ever-loving shit out of you," she snarks. I'm not allowed to nod my head for fear it will upset her. Please do, please do.

My nipples tingle. Since meeting Gigi, I tingle all the time and the desert is nothing but a distant memory. For all that's holy, keep going.

My juice has dribbled down to my asshole. Gigi bows her head, leaning over in an arch so as not to soil her clothes, and laps it up, running her sweet tongue from stem to stern.

"Ummmm, yummy," she tells me from the confines of my provoked pussy lips. The muffled vibrations of her words make my puckered hole pucker even more. A few licks deep inside my cunny are delivered before she withdraws and returns to the work at hand. My clit is left peeking out of its hood.

Completely avoiding my pussy, she chooses a different implement for this undertaking and travels north over my hips, happy with the plum red stippling she's left behind. Hips aren't very interesting to her, they are strictly utilitarian, good only for using as handles when she pummels me with her tightly cinched toys of joy.

Working my sides and tummy, she realizes that she's neglected my baby soft mound and tends to it quickly and oh, so conservatively, never straying below its invisible equatorial line of demarcation. Oh fuck, that feels so good. I should be hating this, I should be screaming at her to stop, but I don't. I'm such a whore, I love it.

Damn, I'm really wet now and there is nothing I can do about it. This is killing me, my resolve is fading.

Gigi notices. With two fingers she gathers the cream slowly, deliberately probing, and sticks them in my mouth. I suck in earnest. I love the way I taste, but she tastes so much sweeter. I want her to ride my face, dare I ask?

"Gigi. Gigi? I need to ask you a favor," I whisper. Without missing a stroke, she distractedly asks me what I want. "I need to feed." That gets her attention.

"How hungry are you?"

"I'm ready to gorge myself."

"What will you eat first?"

"Your ripe berry."

I hear her breathing quicken as I softly and silently ripple.

"What would you enjoy next?"

"Your butterfly wings."

She quickly stands up and strips herself free of every garment that restricts her skin from living.

She grabs her devices and moves them out of the way, yet still within reach. She straddles my head, her knees planted as firmly as the base of a pyramid, and hovers her cunt over my waiting tongue.

"Work for it," she commands.

"I can't," I reply.

"Why not? Don't give me that, you have free will, remember?" She sounds a bit angry.

"No, you took my will away when you told me not to move. Remember?" I'm getting a bit angry myself.

"I'm sorry honey I forgot, I'm just eager." Gigi lowers herself onto my face.

As promised, I start on the swollen flesh around her button that literally transforms into the size, shape and color of a raspberry plucked at the peak of goodness.

I love to roll my tongue around and around as her lovely clit reveals itself. Arousal is one of the sweetest gifts that nature gives to us, more beautiful than the stars, more precious than diamonds and gold, pleasure is always at our fingertips. Pleasure is the height of divinity.

As I indulge, she continues her work where she had left off. Fresh red and pink lines are laid down across my ribs, which feels unexpectedly horrible. These marks are not straight and true like the others, they look sloppy. I'm getting to her. My tongue is long and stiff, and can travel anywhere a curious finger can. It's a blessing and a curse. Don't ask.

With increasing difficulty Gigi continues to work me over and begins to glide harder, forward and back, on my face as if she's punting on the Thames. It's becoming increasingly difficult for me to breathe and I begin to panic.

I'd beg her to stop, but my mouth is full of muff. I'm still afraid to stray beyond the lines, so my only recourse is to bang my forehead on her ass, which ends up being only a mild push.

She groans gutturally and loudly. Fucking fantastic, she thinks I've invented a new move. She's starting to grind and I seriously can't breathe. It is my destiny to die in this manner. When the first responders break down the door they will automatically assume it's a crime scene, I'm so covered in slashes and splatters. Some rookie will say, "At least she died with a smile on her face, and isn't it great that her body was already outlined?"

If I wasn't dead I'd slap him upside his head and tell him "A: That's not a smile, it's asphyxia and B: Please retrace my outline, the first one makes me look fat."

As I'm walking towards the light a voice, from where I do not know, whispers gently to me, "pick up your fucking hands you moron, grab her by the ass and fling her like a log in the Highland Games!"

Why didn't I think of that? I bring up my arms, grab her cheeks and lift. She is thrown off her game, losses her balance and falls face first into my hot crotch. Fortuitous, yes?

I wrap my legs around her neck like a wrestler. If she thinks I'm going to let go my grip she's wrong. My twat is ready to spontaneously combust, it is my time to shine.

She's screaming, "Goddamn it, you're ruining everything!"

I'm screaming, "So what, you begged me! This was your idea!"

We thrash and roll about savagely when Angry Sex kicks in. We're both naked, the 69'ing happened organically, and we are both slick as tree frogs.

There is no need for words, I spread her butterfly wings and find her berry. It is enormous and her clit is twice as big as before, it can no longer hide. I dive right back into her cunt and lick furiously. I fuck her with three fingers and then four, shoving in and out faster then I ever thought possible. Roughly and relentlessly she mirrors my actions, we are twins. In the past, I have referred to many things as being heaven, but this is a truly spiritual moment.

There is a point when a woman rises above the dull day-to-day and finds herself in a place where there is no sound, no need for vision and scent is irrelevant.

Like a wound ball of string, we become a ball of billions of fully formed neurons freckled with individual nuclei, axons and dendrites, protoplasm and fibers that serve only one purpose, to bring joy in a sometimes joyless world.

When a woman reaches this high, she has no need for structured words nor original thought, she bobs in the vast primordial soup that is sex.

Gigi and I are merged together in motion, sharing a singular emotion that can make a woman cry. We are swept up a spiraling slope and at its pinnacle we are reborn as bright light. We are nova.

But novas fade slowly before they disappear. We descend, dimming as we go to gently settle back into our flesh and bones. Sounds, scents, and sights are restored. Nirvana is on the radio, and I can smell the long lingering bacon from breakfast.

"Oh no," Gigi groans.

"What is it, sweetie?"


With trepidation I open my eyes and am horrified at what I see. The plastic sheet was useless, the mess has seeped into and stained the rug, and the baseboards are smeared. Opened cans of paint have been knocked over and the contents are everywhere. Why didn't she leave the lids on until she needed them?

I'm ready to severely scold, but when I turn to her all I see is a beautiful full spectrum rainbow, a rainbow with a ponytail and a detail brush stuck to its neck. "Look at yourself. You're amazing."

She looks down the length of her body muttering, "Oh, wow. You may want to take a look at yourself." I do. I'm a rainbow too, but my colors are muddy.

She gets to her feet, rights the small work table that we toppled, picks up her art supplies and places them on its surface. I begin tossing all other vestiges of the chaos into the middle of the ruined rug. Salvation Army, no great loss. The art supplies are a different matter, that's gonna cost us plenty to replace what's lost.

"Don't worry," she reassures me, "I'll salvage everything I can. That will save us money." I laugh, there she goes reading my mind again.

"Don't worry about it sweetie," I tell her, "shit happens, it's not the end of the world. Let's just clean up the best we can while we're coated, and deal with the rest later."

After we've done all we can, it's time to hit the shower.

"Wait, wait, wait," she says, stopping me at the door. "I don’t want to track footprints across the hall." She lays some flattened paper bags down for us to tiptoe across onto the bathroom linoleum, which will be easy to clean.

When the water is warm we get into the tub and turn on the spray. The washcloths are cheap and rough which is helpful to scrub the paint off each other. Gigi puts extra effort on the soles of my feet and between my toes. But, even though it's water based, the paint in our hair is stubborn, so for now we'll just have to live with it.

Before we exit the tub, Gigi leans out and wipes up our footprint collage as far as she can reach. She steps out onto a clean spot and gets towels from the linen closet.

We dry off and pull on fresh clothes.

"Gigi, what, no panties?"

"No," she announces, "I'm going commando. The day is young, and I'm far from being done with you." Yes mama, I can't wait.

I’m hungry and my blood sugar is low. I need to eat and suggest kebab, pilaf and a Greek salad, which my sweetie immediately agrees to.

It's so bloody hot we leave with damp hair, and speed across intersections before our flip-flops have a chance to melt into the soft asphalt.

Running up the sidewalk we pass by the pet store and Gigi stops. "Oh look! Puppies!"

I yank her arm. "Don't even think about it sweetheart."

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