A little backstory is required here. I found an image of Mihaly Zichy's 'Romantic Encounter' and sent it to a few friends with whom I have a book club (we read the strangest romance/erotica we can find) and after some gentle prodding, they convinced me to write something that might use this artwork as its cover.
Let it be known that this entire thing, bonkers genital euphemisms especially, was written purely to make some friends giggle.
The Visit
Bibby Blibbensworth woke with a snort, because of her mild deviated septum, and a scream, because of the stranger she suddenly realized was standing in her room. Her scream emerged as one of those involuntary squawks, the sort that was really more of a burble, because she saw the stranger before she drew in enough breath to really reach a good high note.
“Please don’t be afraid,” the stranger said.
Bibby slapped at the lamp beside her bed a few times before remembering she’d run out of candles. She tore at the drapes instead and soft moonlight fell into her room, settling upon her bed and her dresser and her comfy slippers and the very handsome gentleman in the corner.
Bibby gasped. She had gathered handfuls of her sheets to her bosom in an effort to preserve her modesty, yet upon seeing the man’s dark brow, brooding eyes, and a chin she could cut a melon on, she lowered the sheets and let her bosom enjoy the situation.
The man took a hesitant step forward. More pale light fell upon his form, and Bibby blinked as two large wings, as white as a pelican’s, shuffled behind him in the same way a bird’s would do to shake off dust.
Oh no, Bibby thought. Was her room…dusty?
“I have come to you with grave tidings,” the man said. “There is—”
“What’s your name?” Bibby said. She batted her eyelashes a few times until she realized the moon was silhouetting her and the man couldn’t see, so she ran a hand through her long hair instead, hoping it would catch some of the light.
He appeared startled at her question. Those dark brows drew together, and plush lips, as curvy as Cupid’s bow, parted as if around a thin straw.
“Calamity,” he said. “But you must listen, for—”
“Ooh,” Bibby said, unable to restrain her coo. She always did love a scoundrel. “That’s quite a name. Who gave it to you?”
He visibly stumbled over his words. “The— The creator.” He shook his head, and his wings gave another soft rustle. “I’ve come to give you tidings of the future—”
Bibby interrupted him with a flap of her hand. “Oh, I don’t much care about the future.” She shuffled to the edge of the bed on her knees and looked up at him from under her fluttering eyelashes.
Calamity’s demeanor didn’t change.
Oh, right, that damn backlighting.
She beckoned him to her, curling her fingers gently as if calling forward a timid creature.
“I don’t care about the future,” she said again, “especially if the present is so much more interesting.”
The angel shifted in the moonlight. He had to be an angel, Bibby thought. The wings? The ‘creator?’ It was either that or a deformed bird with delusions of grandeur. He still looked confused by all of this, yet even so, he approached her.
Bibby was a little confused as well, but she had also just been woken from a decently sexy dream, so she had her priorities. How often was she presented with the opportunity to make love to a handsome be-winged fellow? Not often enough, that was certain.
As Calamity reached the edge of the bed, Bibby got a better look at him. Beneath his robes, the rest of the angel looked just as chiseled as his jaw. Bibby’s fingers itched to shuck that robe and explore the body beneath; but she was a lady, and ladies didn’t grope others without at least some verbal acquiescence.
A new expression took hold of his fine face: no longer confused, his gaze was ravenously tripping over Bibby from her rumpled hair to the hem of her rumpled nightgown, as if she fascinated him, as if he too wondered what lay underneath.
He was close enough to touch.
So Bibby did.
Very innocently at first—a fingertip running along his robes, the back of one nail drifting against his bare collarbone—and when he groaned in pleasure, reaching for her and tightening his hands on her waist, she became a bit more bold, throwing her arms around his neck and suckering her mouth to his.
The angel made a ‘Mmp!’ of surprise, and Bibby worried briefly that she had suckered too much, yet as she pulled back, he captured the back of her head with his hand and held her still against some rather powerful suckering of his own.
Her titties were plumped and ready for his touch, and when he squeezed one, Bibby moaned loudly into his mouth. A very nice hardness prodded her stomach. Reaching down, she rubbed and fondled, bringing forth moisture to the tip of his angelic love wand. The angel’s eyes rolled back into his head, and his wings spread wide. She fondled more, fondled harder, each rub an encouragement, each squeeze a promise.
“I had not come here to take you,” the angel said around gasps.
“Oh, but…” Bibby said. “But since you are here, it must not be too much of a bother to do that as well.”
Calamity closed his hand around Bibby’s on his stiffened, velvety length. “I suppose not.” While he directed her stroking along his long, hard hardness, he traced her thigh beneath her nightgown, then higher, and higher, and fluttered a fingertip against her dewy sex slit.
“Yes!” Bibby cried. “Despoil me!”
And he did.
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