Ghost Eyes
Vyxen © 2006

Today is one of those beautiful sunny winter mornings, where the sky is clear and so blue it doesn’t even look real. It’s the kind of day that looks like it ought to be 80 degrees, yet the wind comes around the corner and cuts through your wool pants like they’re made of paper. I’m wearing my ‘Matrix’ outfit: all black from leather jeans and trench coat, to my silk blouse, high-heeled boots and designer sunglasses. I make an imposing figure and the 3- inch heels added to my 6 foot 2 frame punctuate that fact with an exclamation point. I ignore the admiring glances from men and women alike as I turn, latte in one hand, portfolio in the other, and descend the stairs toward the subway terminal. I’ve grown quite tired of hearing “You should be a model.” It’s something I’ve heard most of my life. I’ve always been tall and lean, with coal black silky hair that falls past my shoulder blades. My skin is smooth and dark, incredibly so. Some dumbass in junior high had once cracked, “You so black, it look like it’ll rub off on somebody”. I took care of him. And my eyes, they stand out most of all…my eyes are grey.

“You’ve got those ghost eyes, like your great grandmother”, my mother said when I was a little girl. “Used to seem like she was looking right through you.” She’d added with a shudder.

I wonder if great grandma’s eyes could do what mine can.

Behind the cover of my sunglasses, I scan the crowd. Hmmmmm which one shall it be? A pretty Latina catches my eye. Even beneath her winter coat, I’m able to admire her low-slung round ass as she walks past me. This one has some potential. I continue to watch her as she stands impatiently on the platform, checking her watch every few moments. I move to position myself closer. I’m almost close enough to touch her and ask her if she has the time, when a tall black male approaches her from the other direction. I can tell from the snippets of conversation I hear, that she’d been waiting for him. Dammit! 

The train arrives and I walk to the last car and step inside. There are many seats available, but I don’t sit. Instead, I survey the passengers. No one of interest here, time to move on. I move through the cars scanning faces, bodies. There are a few others with potential, but like the Latina, they are not alone. I’ve made my way to the front of the train, before I spot her. Her tangerine sweater stands out in the sea of black, brown and navy overcoats. She’s sitting alone, listening to an iPod and reading. She’s about 30, with smooth chocolate skin and close-cropped hair. Her breasts look like perfectly round grapefruit, beneath her sweater. She is wearing a short black skirt with tights and sensible shoes. A black corduroy blazer completes her outfit. I would have liked to sit directly across from her, but that seat is taken and I don’t want to expend the necessary energy moving its inhabitant. Instead, I position myself, diagonally across from her, casually leaning against one of the poles. I sip my latte, and then remove my sunglasses. I gaze at her, close my eyes briefly for a moment to center myself and send the command. Look at me. She jumps, as my command reaches her, invades her mind and her eyes fly to my face. I see the familiar mix of shock and fear in her eyes as we silently regard each other. A smile plays at the corner of my lips as I hold her gaze a few seconds longer. She tries to turn away. She wants to move. But she cannot. She can only look at me. The train’s wheels screech as we pull into the next station, my stop. Follow. I turn and walk off the train without a backward glance, sliding my sunglasses back onto my face. I know what she’s doing. Just like the rest, she’s trying to resist, but her body stands jerkily then follows as commanded. I walk slowly, leisurely and I know she’s there. I see her reflected in shop windows as I pass, her eyes wild with panic. She follows as though tethered to me, always keeping the exact same distance between us. I toss my now empty latte cup into a trashcan and pick up the pace, taking long strides. She almost has to jog to keep up and receives a few curious stares from passersby.

Ahead, I see our destination—The University. On campus I lead her into the graduate library. I step into the elevator, and calmly hold the button to keep the door open as I watch her breathless approach. Her dazed expression as she joins me is almost comical. The doors slide silently to a close and we’re alone. I remove my sunglasses again and turn to face her. Her dark eyes are round as she looks me up and down. I reach out and caress her short tresses. She shivers beneath my touch. They always do. My hand roams to the nape of her neck and I delicately trace a pattern with my fingertips. She gasps and her nipples are showing beneath her sweater. I smile. The doors open and we are on the top floor of the library. I step out and make my way toward one of the many study rooms that are on this floor. She is right behind me as I step into an empty one. I close the door. Come to me. The backpack she’s been carrying immediately falls to the floor with a soft thud.

The fear in her eyes is delicious. I’m leaning against the study carrel as she comes to me. My coat and portfolio are resting within reach on a chair. I unbutton my blouse and push aside my bra freeing my ample breasts. Lick. She eagerly begins licking my nipple as I palm the back of her head. Her tongue feels so damn good! I work my free hand underneath her sweater to find her firm ripe breast. Her nipple feels like it could cut diamonds as I pinch it sharply, tugging on it as she licks. She moans in the back of her throat. Suck it! She sucks my nipple like a starving newborn, making loud sucking noises. My clit jumps as her tongue works back and forth across my nipple. God I love this shit! I let go of her head and begin to open my pants. Show me your breasts! She steps back and pulls her sweater over her head and off, her face a mask of confusion and desire, awe and dread. Her body is betraying her, but it feels SO good. She’s wearing one of those bras that opens in the front and her breasts bounce and sway as she undoes the clasp. Her nipples and even her areolas are hard. I lightly run my thumbs over them, cupping her breasts in my hands. Her legs tremble. I wonder how wet her panties are right now. Pull up your skirt. I put my hand inside her tights and panties. My fingertips bump her clit as I make my way down. Very nice! Her clit is like a tiny dick and it’s standing at attention amid her soft damp curls. I roll it between my thumb and forefinger and she moans. Her juices pool in the palm of my hand as I slide my fingers up and down the miniature shaft. Her hips rock back and forth. Suck my nipple again. Play with the other one. Her hips are making crazy circles as she complies. I stroke her clit harder, faster, and she moans against my breast. You’d better NOT cum! I know she’s right on the edge, and I will keep her there for a while. Her clit feels like its almost doubled in size and I tease it with my fingertips, making her moan and whine. Kneel. She drops to her knees, her breasts heaving with each breath. Her hands are at her sides as she looks up at me, her eyes pleading. I reach into my portfolio and retrieve my digital camera. I want to capture her just like this. I’ll add her images to my collection at home. Setting the camera aside, I push my pants down and sit on the edge of the study carrel, spreading my knees. My smooth shaven pussy is inches away from her nose. She knows what command is coming, and I can tell by her expression that she’s never tasted pussy before. Hell, she probably thought she never would. I hold her there, staring at my sex for a few moments. Lick my pussy. With a muffled cry, she begins licking my pussy with abandon. She laps up my juices, licking thoroughly from bottom to top and before long I’m close to cumming. Now my clit. Lick it! Suck it! She closes her full lips around my clit and flicks the tip of her tongue across its tip. Awwww Goddamn! Waves of pleasure radiate from my clit. I arch my back and grab the back of her head, shoving her face into my pussy as I cum grinding against her mouth. She keeps right on licking and sucking, never slowing down for a second, and I’m cumming again. I am glad I’ve taken the necessary steps to be certain this room was unoccupied and no one would come up here at this particular hour of the day. Stop.

She draws away from me but remains on her knees between my thighs. Stand up. I find her clit again. It is just as hard as it had been before and I stroke it until her knees buckle. She moans incoherently. Still I will not allow her to cum, just yet. I take my time, keeping her tottering just on the edge of orgasm. I slow the circles my fingertips make on her clit, moving them in slow motion. Cum NOW! She cries out as wave after wave slam into her body. I put my arm around her waist to steady her as she collapses against me and still she keeps cumming again and again. Stop. The last orgasm tapers then subsides and she leans against me, her breath in ragged gasps, trembling. I allow her a few moments. She will never cum like this again. Stand up. Get dressed. I rearrange my clothing, put on my coat and return the camera to my portfolio. Ten minutes after I leave, go home. Her face is full of questions. I will not tell her how? or why? And the shame and the wondering will be the sweetest torture of all. How can she report this….rape? Who would even believe her if she did? What would she say, that her body went on auto-pilot and her mind was a prisoner? And more haunting still, how would she ever reconcile the fact that she thoroughly enjoyed every second or explain to her husband why his caresses never quite satisfy anymore?

I walk out of the study room, close the door and make my way to the elevator. As the doors slide shut behind me, I release her. My smile as I step out of the library garners a few quizzical glances. I adjust my sunglasses and stride out onto the quad. A crisp breeze ruffles my hair. Next time I’ll ride the bus.