She bit into the mango, savoring it as though it were the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden. The pit was resting on the plate before her and the other half of the soft bounty was in my hand, dripping its succulent juice along my fingers. I had to admit, this was certainly not what I had expected.

Emma had called me the night before, an air of seduction on her voice, pulling me into her like a dark temptress. She had that effect on people; the kind of effect that made your knees wobble and your desires throb incessantly.

"Come over," she'd said to me. She spoke only quick, monotonous words, but the way she said them was utterly revealing of her true intent. "We'll have mangos."

You see, on our first date in steamy July, we went to a restaurant near the shore. We didn't eat much, awaiting only our dessert. She'd asked me what I wanted and I'd looked at the menu. The first thing that caught my eye was the word `mango,' which is my favorite fruit and as I would later learn, hers as well. Mangos became a tradition between us, a passionate link that triggered our already mounting desires for one and other. Somehow, we always ended up eating them, wherever we were. And since Emma's favorite place to be was an expensive restaurant, we had them often. Usually they came with vanilla ice cream, cut into pieces in a fancy bowl that stood like a wineglass on the table.

But now, we were eating them on the verandah at her home, looking out into the summer night where the fireflies danced to our union. Emma's long black curls fell around her shoulders as she taunted me, biting softly into the fruit, nibbling at it and licking it now and then. She laughed as my need for her became evident. And she smiled when I stood from my chair, walked to the other side of the table and leaned down to kiss her. My lips met with hers in a frenzy of pent-up passion and I thrusted my tongue into the recesses of her warm mouth, questing within her for more and more.

I pulled her into me, wrapping my legs around her and sitting on her lap. Her hands explored my body smoothly, touching me and squeezing my ass as she kissed me savagely. I pulled away Emma's shirt and tossed it to the floor as she did the same to mine. Our breasts touched and I leaned down to kiss the hard peaks on her chest. I took each nipple into my mouth, one after the other and nibbled gently, swirling my tongue around until she moaned for more. She stopped me a moment later and looked longingly into my eyes.

"Want to go inside?" she asked. I shook my head.

"No," I said, "no, we can't. I want you to take me right here."

"All right, baby. Pull that skirt up," she cooed, giggling softly. She was still wearing her tight jeans and I had a short denim mini skirt on. Beneath my skirt, I wore a black thong, the one that Emma always requested that I wear on our dates. While Emma kissed my neck and made her way along my breasts, she was reaching across to the table nearby.

Quickly enough, she had retrieved a long, rubber dildo.

It's length and width was considerable and I was almost afraid to allow it inside me but of course, I couldn't resist. I leaned forward and spread my legs, locking my knees at her sides. Preoccupying myself with kissing the soft skin around her chin, I waited for the intrusion of Emma's dildo. Once the fabric of my thong was moved aside, I soon felt the cool rubber phallus against my clitoris as she rubbed it gently along my flesh.

I moaned and begged for her to continue as I clawed her back with my fingers. I felt the need for it burning through my insides, pushing me to the animal instincts that rest within my core.

"Okay, here it comes," she warned, a slight hint of amusement in her voice.

That was who Emma was--controlling, manipulative and certainly a Goddess of sex. I enjoyed these traits most of the time, for it was usual that they emerged during sex. I didn't have a love relationship with her and I didn't want one. I was with her for the sex simply because I was so used to being rejected when it came to love. I knew that Emma wouldn't get bored with me because I was so easy to control when it came to intimacy. I enjoyed that. And now I waited, as usual, for Emma to finish teasing me. As it always did, the dildo eventually edged its way to my vagina and began to push into me, gently at first and then harder and rougher. Emma liked it rough and I liked it when she gave it to me hard and fast. It made me feel dominated, which was exactly how I wanted to feel.

"Harder," I urged her, as she forced the dildo deeper within me. She moved it faster now, developing a constant rhythm that pumped in and out of my pussy. My breasts bounced against her chest and I could feel her sweating. I breathed harder and gasped as the pleasure intensified.

Emma slipped her hand underneath me and pressed her fingers against my clitoris, rubbing gently as she fucked me with the long phallus. I gasped and moaned even more now, reaching so closely to screaming. Faster, I slammed myself onto the dildo, moving up and down against it until I felt the bolt of the orgasm course through me. She moved the tool slower now, torturing me with the elongated desire that remained after my coming.

After a few moments, she pulled the dildo away from me and I collapsed into her arms, the night breeze fondling our bodies like so many angels dancing around us.

"We can go inside now," I said, shivering in the air's chilly caress.

"Can we?" Emma replied defiantly, running her fingers through my hair.

I don't want to love her, I thought to myself, repeating it in my mind and transforming it into a desperate mantra. I didn't say another word and neither did she. After recuperating in her grasp, I moved up and looked at her chiseled features as they stared back at me. Leaning into her, I kissed her lips and pushed my tongue into her mouth. Emma still tasted like mangos. The sweet remembrance would last forever on my lips.