“Ah! Heinrich, this is heaven!”
The intensity of her sensuous exclamations increases as I play with her moist vulva, running my fingers through her pubic hair, and down into the deep hole between her thighs. I press a finger against her female bud, “yes, press harder there!”
The sonorous sounds of our voices rise together, the pulse of our hearts, the panting, gasping for air builds, until I’m clearly fucking her ass as determinedly as I would her cunt. She flinches several times, spasming.
“Ah, Heinrich, no, yes, please, please, ooo, my…” more thrusts and she has more to tell me. My movements increase and her senselessness continues. Still, impaled within her, we change positions—Delia on her belly, coming to her knees, my knees between her thighs. Her head and shoulders fall to the sheets, her ass end high in my squeezing hands. It clenches and flexes, and I see her reach to finger her clit. Harder, deeper inside her, she screams, but not from pain but the building fire.
Reaching my own plateau, my climax hits me like a shock wave. I feel myself explode and then Delia’s ass explodes all around my cock as she starts to cum. We jerk together for some minutes until we’re both finished.
This is an ungraceful pose we’re in with Delia’s backside splayed and her ass rent while I’m about to collapse. I hold her with what strength I have left and we finally tumble to our sides. She’s in my arms, like a child, almost in fetal position, head tucked to my chest.
I raise her chin so I can see her face.
“So, my love, you survived your first ass fuck,” I say pressing my lips to her forehead.
“I did, didn’t I?”
“And you came?”
“Yes, I came.”
She’s exhausted. Withered like a flower that’s been trampled underfoot. And still she smiles warmly.
“I’ll take you there as much as I take your cunt or mouth. You’ll become so used to it you won’t balk. I’ll slide right in without so much as a whimper from your lips. You’ll welcome it, Delia, because it’s what pleases me.”
“And it pleases me too.”
I’m glad to hear that, and we lie together until it’s time to sleep.
For the night, I tether her collar to the headboard of the bed. I bind her wrists together as well as her feet. She’ll sleep like this for some weeks if she wants to sleep with me. On the nights I don’t fuck her ass, she’ll wear a dildo in her behind of ever increasing size. She needs to be prepared for other cocks larger than my own, so when it’s time to give her away, she’ll be ready. She may still balk at these measures, something in her still reluctant, but the worst is over, and I hear no overt protests or sense any squeamishness. With this orifice christened, she’s on her way to a better heaven with me than she’d enjoy without this kind of sex.
My life with Delia seems blissful in these early weeks. She’s given up her apartment because she’s never there. The situation is strangely like getting married and putting two lives together. The remembrances and flashbacks are sometimes haunting.
Though she seems an ideal submissive—far more compliant than Anna was at her best, I find her attentiveness to me profound—so profound that I need to create some space between us. At times, she’s like a clinging vine that takes great nurturing—and a little pruning. This sometimes puts a strain on me. Since I enjoy my time alone, I put up walls she’ll only breach when I am ready. She’ll have to get used to this too, but I’ll see that she does. I wonder sometimes if this distance isn’t as painful for her as accepting my cock in her ass.
Delia loves the romance of our relationship. Reminding me of my past with Anna, I sometimes wonder how long that will haunt me.
We have candlelit dinners that turn into bondage scenes that may last all evening, her appetite is insatiable. When I particularly need a rest from her, I invent scenes to keep her bound and gagged and out of sight. Though she relishes this treatment, it makes me restless. The energy she exudes is so potent, it seems to reach out to me, luring me to her, the memory of where she is, the straps that bind her, the gag that silences her; the dildos that I’ve thrust inside her darkness call to me from her captivity. What respite I have from her constant vigilance turns into another kind of vigilance as though she’s peering curiously into my brain.
We take quick lunch breaks in odd places near the office where I fuck her ass while holding her hair; or, pushing her to her knees, make her swallow my erection until I spew all over her face. We communicate with eyes alone when we’re with other people. Those around us know we’re involved, but they think our relationship a bit bizarre, our world a very private one. I wonder sometimes if she’s sucked me in to her world more than I’ve brought her into mine. I know that I adore her and believe this is love. But it’s hard to know what love is when my heart remains guarded. I don’t want to give her illusions about where this relationship will be in ten years, or even five—or even in six months. Though she asks for nothing but what satisfies me, I wonder what kind of traps she’s laid.
Bernard tells me we need to stretch out again beyond ourselves and I’m sure he’s right. I’ll have her at his house for a soiree he’s planning with his friends. We’ll see how far she’s come since Tethers.
Chapter Seven
As though I have an in-born clock, my body sends me to Bernard in a two-week cycle. I don’t initiate these meetings; he seems to know as the energy in me builds what I require. He has me come to his house again, two weeks after the first session. This time the punishment is straightforward and simple. No bonds, no ropes, no cuffs, no clamps. I bare my ass and take a spanking from his hand, feel the evil of an inflexible paddle, and then find myself ripped apart by the strokes of his cane. The next time Bernard accosts me at the bookstore, sending Catherine away, closing the blinds, locking the door and hanging me up in front of a bookcase blindfolded. (I remember Ian’s vision as though he were forecasting the future.) My black dom works me with a cane baton. I seethe, suck in the pain, and find it never reaches that pinnacle I adore so much. But I’m like a rag doll when it’s over, collapsing into the warmth of his arms wishing we could stay like this forever. He kisses my forehead and I fall in love with him one more time.
It’s time for me to move again. After I returned from this latest session, I told Ian very little except that I’d been with Bernard again. He took one look at my ass and turned away. When he felt the wounds as we were making love that night, he turned away a second time, and we stopped before we had a chance to get too far. I knew the relationship died that day, and it’s just as well. I won’t live without what makes me feel alive. I drifted into this atypical pairing, and so I’ll drift out. Taking an apartment near my bookstore, life becomes less complicated.
When I tell Bernard that Ian is old news, he asks me to lunch.
We’re sitting in a French café, eating oysters, clams and Caesar salad—all Bernard’s choices. He orders chocolate cream cake for dessert and expresso. The energy that passes between us is definitely sexual, the mood affectionate, the conversation sparse but intimate.
“How is Makaila?” I ask as the last bite of chocolate melts away in my mouth, into just the trace of something pleasingly sweet on my tongue.
“She’s very well, asked me to say hi.”
I run my finger on the rim of my demitasse cup and look at him from the corner of my eye—a flirtatious gesture. “I suppose winning you away from her would be a real problem?” I speculate.
“Impossible,” he replies.
“Hummm, that’s what I thought.”
“We’re not suited for each other,” he states flatly, staring at me over the top of his glasses.
“And why do you think that?”
“I need someone less restive.”
“If you took the chance you could see just how peaceful I can be. Nasty sex sucks all the impatience from me.”
“I’m sure it does, but then it just returns again, Anna. You’re not my type as beautiful, charming and unique as you are.”
&
nbsp; “That’s quite a string of compliments.”
“All true.”
Oh, my! How he smolders, the attitude of him almost pristine, but not priggish. He’s starched shirts all the way, elegant collar and cuffs. I think of Heinrich when I see him, because he’s the same in many ways, though the difference is obvious. It’s not the color of his skin as much as it is the vibration of his presence. Perhaps I used to feel this from my husband, but it was so long ago, I’m not sure I’m remembering anything right about those other times.
“So what is charming about me?” I ask.
“Your laughter, your wit, when you quit frowning and fuming about your miserable life.”
“I don’t complain about a miserable life,” I object.
“Now that’s a lie,” he assures me, “you do it all the time.”
He doesn’t say it as an accusation, and coming from him so affectionately, I’m not put off as much as I should be.
“So what is unique about me?” I move on.
“Your sexuality, your bookstore and your hair,” he rattles these off like he has them written down on a legal pad and checks them off as he goes.
“My hair?”
“Yes, I like it, but have you ever thought of letting it grow?”
“It won’t grow long like Makaila’s if that’s what you want.”
“But it might change the way you feel about yourself—and your life—if you change your hair.”
“I never considered it. No one’s ever made that suggestion.”
“You’re a womanly woman, though sometimes you do things to push away your femininity.”
I never considered that either. I think for a minute before I speak again. He’s said a lot in a few words, and suddenly I’m thinking of a complete overhaul, time to reinvent myself. I did so with Heinrich. Perhaps now, post Heinrich, I need another incarnation in order to get away from the past; so much still lingers in spite of my attempts to call my life new.
“Is this why you’re buying lunch, to tell me this?”
“I’m telling you because you’re a friend. I’ve been damned hard on you. A lot has changed, and perhaps it’s time you thought about other men. You can only have me in short bursts because that’s all I can handle of you, Anna.”
I want to blush but instead I laugh at myself a little.
“I want you at my house Friday night.”
“Another session?” I ask. It will have been two weeks.
“Perhaps. We’ll see what happens.”
He’s being purposely obscure. “You know I hate being teased.”
“Really, and why’s that?”
“I want to know what’s happening.”
“So this will eat you alive because you’re not in control?” he cajoles happily.
“I’m never in control.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
“Woah. You never say that.”
“Only when it applies. You thrive on being in control even when you’re trying to submit.”
“That’s not true.”
“Are you trying to make me angry?”
“No.”
“Well, then, just be at the house Friday night. Seven sharp.”
“Any particular kind of attire?”
“I think nude and leather will do. I’m sure I can find something suitable hanging around the house. You can change when you get there.”
I smile. “See, you’ve already told me a bundle.”
“Then too, I might just want to hang you on the wall as trinket for the party I’m having.”
“You’re having a party?”
“You’ll find out when you get there. Oh, and come in through the back entrance. You get to the alley from 28th Street.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because groveling slaves don’t deserve the front door.”
He gently covers my hand while he speaks, one black, one white, lying on the table next to our dirty dessert plates. This eye contact mesmerizes me. I don’t want our lunch to end and I have the feeling he feels the same.
As we leave the restaurant, I’m surprised to find Bernard taking my hand as we jostle our way through the crowded street. We walk two blocks farther then I’d need to go, but then it becomes clear he’s on a mission of some importance. When we dart into the entrance of a well-worn hotel, my heart begins to dream fire, my loins burn.
We check into a small room on the third floor, walking silently up the three flights, out of breath at the top. He begins kissing me as we reach the landing. I’m kissing back. He’s taking off my clothes while I explore the buttons of his shirt, frantically trying to get inside. We’re half undressed by the time we get to room #311, and stand with the door ajar as he finishes removing my sweater and undoing my bra. His eyes take in my breasts as though he’s never seen them before, and I worry that he’ll judge them too pale, too small, too tenuous. I watch his hands on me, the firmness with which he moves that gentle darkness on the white of my skin.
When he pushes me inside the room, the rest of our clothes fall away as though they disappear with no effort.
Moving on the pink chenille bedspread, the clench is anxious, the force torrential like a downpour in spring that soaks us to the skin. My hands can’t get enough of his cinnamon flesh. The scent of his sweat and perfume make me hunger for him the way I’d hunger for elegant food, mouth watering once I catch its aroma. I go down on his meat, taking it all in my mouth and drawing it back out see his erection grow. The head looks dark and brutal. He slaps my ass much more playfully than he ever has before. It burns, but in a way I love, I want it more. As his mouth moves on my cunt, his tongue pokes into the center and his lips suck the clit till it swells anxiously. Then he pulls my labia with his teeth.
“Oh, more, more, more, more, yesssss.” I breathe in.
Bernard groans when I twist away and his erection breaches me. I’m sitting on his dick dancing, swaying, wishing I had long hair like Makaila to drift like an ocean wave over his skin. Is that why he loves her so?
I squeeze down with my cunt as I buck on his crotch. His hands reach for my breasts and he squashes them with his fingers so I think he’ll tear them off.
When I drop to his chest, the velocity increases. Our lips meet again, tongues diving inside so deeply we seem to be exchanging places. We are fused together, no space between us, no room for compromise, no getting around the truth of this lust. It’s wholly an animal thing, and love and light and darkness blending into one being.
As his climax nears, mine starts to burst in me around his cock. It brings him off, and the pulse and beat of him jar me deep in my belly. We’re inseparable thereafter. And I can’t move. I lay with him, wondering if these minutes will turn into hours, into days, into forever. But it all suddenly ends when Bernard pries himself loose from my arms.
I lay beside him on my back, out of breath.
“I’ve never fucked that hard.”
“See why we’d never make a good match?” he replies.
“That’s no proof at all,” I retort. “Why not this? What’s wrong with what we have?”
“It wouldn’t work for me, Anna” he says kindly. “I love Makaila with all my heart. I could only give you half of what you want.” That’s all he has to say and the truth makes me sad.
“So, what will Makaila say when you tell her about this afternoon?”
“She’ll ask me if I had a good time. I’ll tell her every detail and she’ll get so hot, she’ll beg me to fuck her.”
“And will you?”
“Most likely. She’s difficult to turn down when she’s so aroused.”
“No jealousy?”
“None that I’ve ever experienced. We met long after my sexual inclinations were entrenched. She has no reason to think I’ll change and has showed no aspirations in that regard.”
The silence that descends is peaceful. I pray it won’t end. Though when it does, I watch him dress, memorizing the images I see, of Bernard naked, then half-clothed,
then fully dressed. He smiles at me as he finishes dressing, then his lips descend to kiss my mouth one last time. I know it won’t happen again.
“Thank you, Bernard.”
“You’re welcome, though I think I got as much as you.”
“I hope so.”
When he walks out the door, a steady stream of tears falls from my eyes, until the pink chenille beneath me is soaked where my cheek rests on the pillow.
Chapter Eight
I arrive at Bernard’s back door. It’s Friday, two minutes past seven—I had a hard time finding the alley, so I’m late. The wind whips about my legs, yellow leaves pouring from trees like rain. One catches my lip and I brush it aside with the back of my hand.
Makaila greets me in the entry as though she’s been waiting for me. She pulls away my coat, smiling as she does. Her hands are warm while I’m still trying to warm myself inside this house.
Moving through the dark backsides of Bernard’s home I catch the scent of incense like the season, like musk and secrets and the wind sweeping this autumn night. The floating vapors draw me into a room where Makaila and I are the only ones not wearing masks to disguise identities. She takes me into the center of the room where a dozen pairs of eyes behind those masks peer at me from behind murky shadows. The incense is stronger still and I begin to tremble as Makaila removes my clothes with her genteel fingers. I remain alert and watchful, trying to understand the scene, but these forms of men and women move around me like shadows and nothing is recognizable. She takes away my sweater, lets my skirt drop to the floor, but leaves my black bra and the matching, lacy garter belt. She cuts away my panties with a knife as though they’re offensive to this sexual crowd. Then I stand alone on a carpet of deep burgundy staring at my shoes—four and a half-inch spikes that will hurt like hell if I spend my night on my feet. I sense something lowered from overhead and look up to see a tangle of leather and chains descend. Makaila clamps a metal collar around my neck—one with a velvet interior to ease its fierce pressure. Metal cuffs encircle my wrists before they’re raised high above my head. It’s no surprise when Bernard’s little Venus kneels at my feet with a rigid bar to spread them apart, and clamps my ankles tightly so they won’t budge. I am immobilized.
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