Just Call Me...Lover. - Sex Stories

Just Call Me...Lover.

“Fuck me and hurt me,” she said, “but never pity me... If you want to protect me, as a lot of the men I meet seem to want to do, then protect me from banality, boredom, mediocrity and disappointment.”

She was beautiful and delicate, like an orchid newly bloomed. But I quickly learned that her heart was dark; forged in the fires of lust and tempered in the icy waters of her shadowed past. Was I a fool to want her, was I a slave to desire or was I simply her unwitting marionette?

“Bind me and whip me and, in return... We'll fuck like you've never fucked before.”

She whispered those words to me on the sultry night we first met after we had walked and kissed for what seemed like hours along a nameless beach in the Cyclades.

~~~~~~

Later that night, well after midnight, I took her to the Villa Deianiera, the beautiful 16th-century Venetian house, in the town of Kionia, that I had rented since arriving on the Greek island of Tinos the year before. We sat on a bench in the walled garden watching the moon through the boughs of the pomegranate tree. I turned to her and was about to speak when she put her fingers firmly on my lips.

“No! Don't ask me my name. Just call me...lover,if lovers we are destined to be, and I'll grant you the same title.”

This was surely one of the strangest statements I had ever heard from the mouth of a woman I had just met, or indeed, from anyone's mouth. Already, she fascinated me but, as I was soon to discover, she would also irk, ...

... inflame and confound me to no end.

She saw my frown upon hearing her demand and her proposal but there was to be no argument. For as we sat under the bountiful branches of the pomegranate tree, she silenced me; kissing me passionately onto submission.

In the days that followed; we dined together every night in a lovely little taverna on the foreshore at Kionia, amidst the bustling life of a Greek island at the height of summer. She spoke little, preferring to let her eyes and body speak for her; and her eyes were either alight with fire and full of seductive secrets or as cold, mysterious and remote as the planets of distant stars. She moved with a dancer's grace, swam strongly and elegantly in the sapphire waters of the Aegean and always dressed in black. She was an enigma and her mystery would only deepen the more I got to know her.

~~~~~~

One night towards the beginning of June, dressed only in black fishnets, she brazenly climbed the white-washed steps to where the trellised grapevine grew upon the roof of the old house. I had asked her to move in with me that very morning and was quite surprised when she had readily agreed.

Perhaps the pale ghost of some long-dead Venetian saw her there and she was certainly spied by a brace of amorous, tiny bats that squeaked their approval as they winged by above her. But she cared not, for beyond the balustrade and not far above the sea, a far more imperious and forbidding face beheld her; the lordly visage of the full ...