Jacki called me up one day.
“Hey, Rick, what’s happening, man?”
“Oh, you know, workin’ hard, playin’ hard.”
“So why don’t you wanta come out with me and Melissa?”
“What? What you talking about?” Oh God, this is all I need. “I do come out with you, Jacki.”
“Not lately, and if you do you disappear.”
“No, man, I’ve just had some business, you know.”
“You lying to me, Rick?”
Oh shit. “Look, what’s the problem, Jacki?”
“I’m thinking maybe you don’t like Melissa.”
“Oh.” My voice suddenly sounded very small to me.
“So do you?”
“Do I like Melissa?”
“Yeah, do you like her?”
“’Course I like her, Jacki.” And I hope you never know how much.
Jacki went quiet for a few seconds. “Sorry, man, just being paranoid, then.”
Now I really felt like a bastard.
“Well, it’s gonna be different, innit, Jacki. I mean it won’t be the same as before. You’ve got a girlfriend now, innit?”
“Yeah…I guess. So it’s all okay, then?”
“Yeah,” I lied. Though I really wanted it to be okay. Thought I could make it be okay.
A few days later Melissa called me. She was arranging a night out. I thought their relationship must be moving on if she was making the arrangements now.
“Somebody suggested Siam Garden, do you know it?” she asked me.
“It’s my favorite Thai restaurant.”
“Well then, you must promise me you’ll come.”
I had to be careful here; Melissa knew me well enough to know that if I promised, I would be there. “Well, I’m not sure what I’m doing.” I tried to leave myself a way out.
“Oh, rubbish. Just promise me you’ll come.” Her voice had a very persuasive edge. I’d never spoken to Melissa on the phone before. I kind of liked how she sounded.
“Well…oh, okay, yeah, I’ll be there.”
She gave me the time and the date. It seemed harmless enough. Just a night out with my friends.
*
The night of the dinner I took longer than usual getting ready. I wore my black suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. Silk socks, soft cotton black boxers, polished soft black leather shoes. I decided to turn up fashionably late—ten, fifteen minutes late. Enough time for most people to arrive. I was standing in the restaurant looking for a party of six to ten lesbians and not seeing any of them.
“Can I help you, sir?” A waiter approached me.
“Yeah I’m looking for a party, maybe under the name Murry.” I gave Jacki’s name. He looked in his book.
“No sir, no Murry here tonight.”
“Oh. Um…well, try Melissa.” I couldn’t remember her second name. That’s how it is in lesbian circles: there’s loads of women whose second names I don’t even know.
“Melissa…yes, we have that booking. This way, sir.”
I followed him to a table, out of the way, quieter. Melissa was sitting there, alone, at a table for two.
I stood there for a moment wondering what to do. Melissa looked me up and down, her gaze registering longer than was comfortable on my crotch. I was ridiculously glad I’d bothered to pack. I realized the waiter was still hovering so I sat down. As he handed me a menu I felt Melissa’s hand on my thigh.
“Don’t be alarmed,” she said. “Sure, it’s only you and me. You don’t mind, do you? I wanted to have dinner with you…just you.”
“As friends?” I asked, while a torrent of lust raged through every treacherous, wanton cell in my body.
She smiled at me. “Sure, Rick, as friends.”
“As friends who put their hand on their friend’s thigh?”
She laughed gently as she removed her hand. “I see. You want it all out in the open. Well, would you like some wine while we discuss it?”
I nodded and reached for the bottle just as Melissa did. She caught my hand before I could pull it back.
“Let me pour the wine,” she said and squeezed my hand like she was touching another part of me altogether.
“You’re staring.” She was laughing at me, biting her lip to stop herself laughing out loud. “Drink your wine, honey.” She put a glass in my hand and pushed it up toward my lips. “And then let’s go.”
My eyes widened with shock, and I gripped the glass hard to avoid dropping it. Without thinking I gulped down the wine. Without thinking I stood up. Without thinking I took Melissa’s coat from the waiter and helped her into it. She was making some excuse to the restaurant while I called a cab. I gave the waiter a twenty to cover the wine and for their trouble. I gave the cab driver the address of a hotel I know. I once had a torrid relationship with a woman who liked sex in different and unusual places. I found this hotel after a lot of research—it’s perfect for torrid lesbian sex: discreet, reasonably luxurious, nearby.
I got a call in the cab, and my stomach tightened as Jacki’s name came up on my phone.
“Mate, I’m on a training course, meant to tell you before, but anyway, listen, I’m a bit worried about Melissa.”
“Huh?” I muttered, gripping Melissa’s fingers with my other hand, freezing them on my thigh.
“I think she might be a bit lonely, she was kinda distant when I left. Will you make sure she’s all right?”
“Sure, man, I’ll take good care of her.” I swallowed.
“What name, sir?” the receptionist asked me. I wasn’t sure if they knew I was a woman or not, they were so discreet. The second I’d given my details and been handed a key, I took Melissa up the stairs. She let me lead her by the hand, her fingers curling round mine.
Inside the room I shut the door and took a step back from her. I looked her up and down, from top to toe, slowly. I lingered over her breasts, and then over her thighs; I worked slowly down her legs and even more slowly worked back up, pausing at the area where her dress stopped and her tights began. She lifted her dress ever so slightly, just enough for me to see her tights were stockings. My eyes shot to her eyes. I walked over to her, kissed her very lightly on the lips, then carried her over to the bed. She started kissing me hard as I carried her; I was getting so hot I was scared I’d drop her. Luckily the bed was near. I gently laid her on it and tried to step back. I was going to slowly undress her but she pulled me to her and I fell toward her, jacket, shoes, and all.
At first we kissed for a long time; she explored me with her tongue, I sank into her, her lips were soft and all over my mouth. I ran my tongue over her lips and gently opened her mouth wider. Playing out with my mouth what I wanted to do, what I was going to do with my fingers. And she knew it. She started climbing over me. I had my hand on her leg now, running along the silky nylon of her stockings, fingering the warm, soft flesh where the stockings ended and slipping inside the wet, wet fabric of her silk knickers. She sucked hard on my mouth, opening her legs wider, taking me deeper inside her. Her head was thrown back, and she was breathing and moaning loudly. She was beautiful. Powerful. I heard a rustle of tissue paper, and suddenly a pink package was moving in front of my face.
“Bought you a present,” Melissa purred up at me.
I tore the paper off the shiny new harness and alarmingly pink dildo. Melissa smiled encouragingly, so, eager to please her, I got my trousers off and myself all strapped in. When I was tooled up, her eyes changed, took on a serious urgency, and she lay back against the pillows.
I kissed her again and slipped inside her. She took me in completely, holding on to my back and pulling me so close with every thrust that I could feel her on my thighs. We bounced and danced and slid all over the bed. When she finally came I felt the pulsation against my pubic bone and an ache of it echoing inside myself. She climbed off me and lay beside me, smoothing down her dress demurely.
“A bit late for that,” I whispered to her, softly kissing her cheek.
> “A girl should always keep up appearances,” she answered breathlessly, her eternal cool visibly shaken.
I laughed. “Well, I’m glad I made you forget them…for a moment.”
“Oh yes.” She looked thoughtful. “For a moment.” She looked away from me and I thought it might all end here. “But a moment…can be a very long time,” she murmured into my ear. “Maybe all night long.”
In that moment I would have done anything for that woman. Her voice in my ear, her hands running up and down my body. I lay back, letting her touch me, feel me. She was covering my face with little, soft kisses, her long hair caressing me too as she moved over me. Her fingers were everywhere, undressing me. She had most of my clothes off me and still her fingers were moving, across my chest, over my arse, up and down my legs, in and out of my mouth, and all over my boxers. I was breathing heavy now, kissing her, moving up and toward her fingers—I was really trying to let her know I wanted her inside my boxers. She had me on my back, not even directly touching me, and I was nearly coming. And believe me, I don’t come easily on my back.
“Can’t you ever stop teasing me?” I asked her between breaths.
“Oh, Rick, that’s probably the wrong thing to say to me—if you want me to stop teasing you, that is.” Melissa ran her fingers along the top of my boxers, slipping just inside, and then stopped, smiling down at me. That was just it, I didn’t know if I did want her to stop teasing me. At that moment I just didn’t want her to stop. I felt Melissa’s breath in my ear sending sweet warm shivers all along my spine. I moaned, arching my back, and as I arched up felt her fingers inside me. She had me crying out and seconds later I came, holding her to me, letting every second of exquisite pleasure wash over me.
“Thank you for that,” I murmured as soon as I came to.
“So polite, you gentleman butches.” She smiled at me. I smiled back. After a pause she said, “And what’s the etiquette now, in this situation, I wonder.” She was leaning up on one elbow. I was lying on my front, my hands under my head, looking at her from the side.
“Well, we could call it a moment of passion, collect our things, and politely say good night. I could call you a cab, for instance,” I suggested. She seemed to think about this.
“Or,” she said finally, “we could call that starters and decide we want some main course. I could fuck you all night, for instance.”
There was nothing to think about. I reached in for a kiss that turned into stroking and nibbling and sucking. Crazy, hot sex all over the hotel room. Every part of each other’s bodies with tongues and fingers and several unfamiliar objects that just happened to be in the room. We consumed each other long past dawn and daylight had flooded the room. I knew this was a one-night-only experience. Don’t ask me how I knew, I just did. And so I had a night I would wake up from dreams sweating about.
Eventually the discreet receptionist called to remind us checking-out time was 10:30, but we could have breakfast if we wanted. We skipped breakfast, had sex in the shower, and walked to our two cabs. I saw her to hers, kissed her one last time, and waved good-bye.
*
I thought I might not see her again, but I thought that would be because Jacki would never forgive me. In fact, neither of us did. She chipped the next day, leaving town completely. When Jacki got back and found Melissa’s note, she called me, distraught. I said we needed to talk.
Jacki came round to my place. The only piece of honor I had left was to tell her what I’d done. After I told her I waited for her to hit me. When I saw the look on her face I wished she had. She just picked up her coat and left. There’s a time in every guy’s life when s/he needs to weigh up priorities—I swear I’d never again betray someone I loved for one crazy night, and I never want to run into Melissa…only every now and then, I wake up sweating from a dream and her name creeps to my lips, unbidden.
Team Players
Eva Vandetuin
They were in the upper bedroom when I found them, in a house where two dozen or so kinky women had gathered for joyful debauchery. Four women clustered around an open door in a hallway seized by an awful quiet. As I approached, one turned with her hand over her mouth and rushed past me down the stairs. I caught the sound of a gasp, then a low, even voice: “Breathe, honey.”
I noticed her hands first—brown and deft, with long fingers and nails trimmed close, one covered by a latex glove. Jack’s dark skin was rich against her play partner’s pale back. The woman’s long blond hair was gathered over one shoulder, and a thin rivulet of blood crept down from where a slim needle had been pushed through a fold of her skin. Jack stroked the bottom’s head soothingly, murmuring words of encouragement as she unwrapped a sterile needle and slipped it through on the opposite side of the woman’s spine. This time, the gasp deepened into a low moan. Between her bottom’s legs, Jack pulled out a colorful dildo, flashing it at the onlookers before she slid it home again into the trembling blonde. The woman’s hands clutched spasmodically at the cushioned footstool over which she knelt, and Jack turned to grace us with a quick smile. She didn’t need to speak; her raised eyebrow was both a welcome and a challenge. Isn’t this gorgeous? it seemed to say, and Wouldn’t you love to be in her place? She looked me over, taking in the flogger on my left hip that said I was topping tonight. Her face was framed by a shock of tight black braids that curled over her cheekbones like the delicate legs of a spider, and her smirk widened as she looked at me: Or maybe it’s my place you wish you had.
Jack’s reputation had preceded her when she moved to town. You know how it is: it’s a small queer kinky world. Women talk. They also post on mailing lists and keep blogs, and hoard gossip about their ex’s ex’s ex. When there’s a young and daring top two cities over who’s been leaving a trail of blissed-out bottoms with bruised asses in her fiery wake, word gets around. And so did the rumors: they said she practiced Santería, that she could chop a live chicken’s head off as casually as she might slice a cucumber, that her apartment contained so many canes, floggers, whips, and other implements of pain that her friends had taken to calling it “The Arsenal.” They said, too, that she loved to top, but only a special few had ever gotten inside her well-worn leather pants. I’d been looking out for her at the local play parties, and when I finally met her... Well. Maybe it was too late for me, even before I first saw her. I was already lost.
Entranced, I watched the entire session, needles and moans and just a bit of blood, slow moving like drops of rain collecting on a windowpane. Jack wiped them away carefully with alcohol swabs, still murmuring to the increasingly limp and endorphin-high bottom. When a dozen needles were in, Jack threaded a red ribbon around them, creating a laced pattern down the woman’s back. And oh, her face when Jack let her look in the mirror—pride, and also teary joy. One of the other watching women started to applaud, quietly, and the rest of us joined in, momentarily awestruck at the endurance, power, and beauty that Jack’s capable cruelty had brought out in this slight and trembling woman.
I didn’t stay to watch Jack remove the needles and sterilize the small wounds. Instead I escaped into the otherwise empty quiet room to stretch out among piles of coats and bags. My head whirled. All I could see were dark hands moving over pale skin, sharp metal penetrating in pain, soft silicone penetrating in pleasure. I’d been proud of bruises I’d caned into moaning, screaming bottoms, and proud too of the welts I’d taken myself, the bright blows catapulting me out of my body and giving me wings. But what I’d just seen... There was no one here in our little community like Jack. We were of about the same age, I thought, in our mid-twenties, but she was more intense and more knowledgeable than the tops I’d played with, and far more skilled than the top I myself had been. I lay on the floor amongst the scattered mundane possessions of my fellow players and felt my head and cunt glow with heat.
I was lucky. I worked the kind of office job where being distracted by endless mental movies of flying whips and hot fucking didn’t interfere with my mindless typing, filing
, and answering of phones. My play date with June the following weekend, however... Well. If she didn’t notice the not-quite-all-there look in my eyes when she walked in, she knew something was up when I accidentally flicked her tender earlobe with the flogger for the second time. She yelped and rolled over onto her back as I cringed in chagrin.
“June, I’m sorry. I’m distracted and that’s totally not fair to you.”
“You’re damn right, sport.” June reached up and grabbed the front of my bustier, pulling me down toward her laughing green eyes. “That beating was definitely subpar. No pun intended.” She chuckled and dumped me onto the bed beside her. “I think you’d better make it up to me. Spill your guts.”
I was glad it was June. She was more a friend than a lover—my Saturday beating buddy for the past six months, and a good confidante. So I spilled, told her about the party, and the piercings, and this sudden overwhelming lust I was feeling for a girl so completely out of my league.
“I mean, really. What do I have to offer her?” I’d gotten up to pace as I talked, and I looked in the full-length mirror at my pale body. “I have big tits and big hips, and I’m too pretty to make a good butch. I’m too chunky and not pretty enough to make a good femme! I’m a passable top and a passable bottom, but not talented enough at either to make women beat down my door. Not like her.”
June was trying to look sympathetic, but her mouth quirked; I realized I was still holding the flogger and smacking my own bare back with it for emphasis. “Oh.” I sat down on the bed, dropped the flogger, and put my forehead on June’s knee. “I’m not used to spending so much time thinking about something I can’t have. It’s got me all turned around.”
June tousled my hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her pinch and twist one of her nipple rings thoughtfully, a habit she had while working something out in her head. “Are you so sure you can’t have her?”
Extreme Passions Page 9