Felicia craved direction. Whether this was her nature or simply the result of her circumstances was difficult to say, but Fernando suspected the latter. This made her uninteresting to him fairly quickly. There was always excitement with a new woman, the novelty of seeing them exposed for the first time. To Fernando this wasn’t necessarily synonymous with seeing them naked. In Felicia’s case, he’d seen the breadth of her in their first rendezvous.

Most men would have been thrilled to have such a beautiful woman so eager to please them. But Fernando wasn’t like most men. Felicia bored him terribly. She wasn’t stupid, but there wasn’t any depth to her, either. She was the sort of woman he’d have washed his hands of already if he didn’t have to meet her each time he came to pay Mondragón.

Fernando opted for engaging with her sexually only to spare himself the tedium of her company. Conversing with her was an exercise in patience as he weathered the storm of her seemingly unending litany of complaints about Mondragón, her personal regrets about her life, and her otherwise petty, everyday frustrations. Fernando’s sympathy for Felicia only extended so far. The very cure for her malady lay just beyond those garish double doors.

He’d have told her as much except that he knew she’d have taken his words to mean that he wanted her to be with him—which he most certainly did not.

He kept her at arm’s length, for her sake as much as his. She begged him to fuck her, which of course he had no intention of doing. He endured her quibbles with stoicism. He eluded her advances with a dexterity which even he thought commendable. It was a delicate balancing act, stringing her along while not giving her anything.

Because he had instigated this, Fernando accepted his lot with her. He knew he needed to dial back with her, gradually. She was the sort of woman prone to hysterics. She was the epitome of a woman, really. A living personification of all that was so desirable and despicable about them—the voluptuousness, the childishness, the wanton irrationality and deceptive charm.

Felicia was everything that he loved, everything that he hated. She was faceless to him, a nothing-woman. If Fernando pitied her for anything, it was this.

When he began to dial back with her, he met a predictable resistance that happened to arouse him all over again. He’d expected distemper from her. But in the face of his coolness, she became so pathetically precocious that he played right into the trap that she’d laid for him. He doubled-down on her not so much out of lust, but out of resentment for the tactic.

Nevertheless, the end result was the same.

In a last ditch effort to detain him, Felicia had stripped off her clothes. With her naked body, she’d barred the door against him. Her arms and legs lay outstretched against the gaudy paneling like a virgin sacrifice.

“I’m offering you everything, Fernando. Can’t you see?”

Fernando’s temper flared. His gaze scored over her. Spitefully, his eyes riveted on the concealing fringe between her legs.

“No,” he said to her curtly. “Not everything.”

A man’s desire couldn’t be hidden. It was always on shameful, throbbing display. But even a whore could hide her whorishness beneath a bit of dark curling fleece. That shadowy thatch between her legs which shielded how she was shaped, which wicked up all damning evidence of her arousal. The wilderness of a woman, the dark mystery which had confounded him since youth.

On a towel on the bathroom floor Fernando watched Felicia take a razor to her own neat thicket. He watched her strip herself of her last feminine defenses. His eyes were her mirror to the task. The blade scraped her bare as a child, but she was no child.

Her pussy lips were puffed and rosy, weeping freely at the gross spectacle of her womanhood being brought to light. With her own hand she laid glaringly bare her vulnerable center . Skeins of lather clung like cum to her shorn mound and swollen folds. Her cunt drooled under his searing eye. Her wetness stringed palely opaque to the towel. Her fleshy, naked pussy gasped like the whole of her was dying of thirst, until Fernando took up the bowl of rinse water beside her and poured it over her, and her burning eyes rolled back into her head in an ecstasy of relief.

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La Gorgona © CS Dark Fantasy