by Sacchi Green
“Boy, do you like pleasing me?”
“Very much, miss.” I couldn’t and wouldn’t deny that.
“And if I were to teach you other ways to please me, would you learn?”
I wasn’t entirely sure what she could mean, but I nodded slowly, giving the question due thought. “I would try my best, miss.”
She touched my face then, for the first time that day, for the first time in nine months, and I closed my eyes at how it felt to be so gently caressed by someone who saw me and didn’t shame me for it. Whatever else she might be, she was someone who cared for me in her own strange way and thought my strangeness and skills were worthwhile, were interesting. They were even enough to make her bide her time and clear what easily could have been suitor-full schedules to dally in the back garden with me—for no reason I could surmise past her love of nature’s beauty and something she liked about my company.
Softly, her body so close to me that I was sure the sun shone from her skin for all the heat she drew along mine, she leaned in and said, “Do you dream of me when I’m away?”
My chest was a fist clenching tight around nothing but air, empty enough to ache as I closed my eyes and willed myself not to fear that she would run if I were honest. “Every day.” The words came out rough, leaving my throat the same.
“Then we’ll make this a dream to remember.”
When she kissed me, her lips were soft and warm and sure, even if my own were chapped and unstudied. It meant I didn’t have to look at her with wet eyes, though, or answer with the words that were trapped in my stomach. I love you, I thought as I let her kiss me and I kissed her back, cautious and uncertain, working not to let the full swell of my desire press against her, overwhelming her like the men on the street whose rowdy flirtations had always made me want to sink into my shoes. She deserved better. I just wasn’t sure how to offer it to her.
I parted my lips for her and let her show me what it was to kiss with tongues shared between mouths, teeth dragged over lips and a gentle suck that left my lips thick and tingly hot when she finally pulled away. I was glad to be able to look at her with dry eyes then, my shoulders relaxed, less tense with worry, and the smile she shared, only a few centimeters down from my own, made me feel like I had swallowed flower bulbs at breakfast. With her sun and water and care, there was a garden blooming in me, just for her.
“There’s more if you’re willing.”
“For you, I’m always willing.”
She actually blushed and I couldn’t help the spread of a roguish grin across my lips. She just raised an eyebrow, laughter on her tongue, and grabbed my hand, dragging me back to our bench. There she pushed me down to sit and stood before me. “Ladies first, of course.”
There’d be no debate about that from me. I might have been a female, but I was surely not a lady. “Of course…miss?”
I made the title a question as I wasn’t sure if we had graduated to something else or if this new style of interaction was in our usual mode. I rather liked our usual mode, but the novelty and heat of this new adventure was enough to ease my way past our routine. She just smirked, though, and lifted her chin in the manner of an olden-day aristocrat.
“Yes, boy. Now help me with this skirt.”
I drew in breath and let it out, nodding for two beats too many as I reacquired my shocked-away mind, my words shaky. “As you like, miss.”
She took both of my hands in hers and set them at the base of her skirt, just below her knees, dragging them both up the outside of her thighs until her skirts bunched at her waist, her own hands balling up the fabric at each hip as I let my hands fall away. I didn’t mean to stare at her simple pale-green underwear, but the sight of them and the bare curves of her body made the wire connecting my brain and my bits flame to life like the filament of a lightbulb.
I glanced up at her and then back down at the soft-looking green set against soft-looking skin and wondered what it would be like to lean in and nuzzle her there, to feel the soft of each against my cheeks. Whatever she saw when I looked up again made her nod, her small smile with parted lips a gilded invitation.
“Go on then. Get close.”
Even brushing my lips against her thighs, extra warm from the brisk way she’d walked us back to the bench, I still couldn’t have imagined the scent of her, a mix of sharp like vinegar and musky-sweet like smoke and maple sap. It made my mouth water, but it was my nose brushing against that heat, breathing her in, that sent a shudder through me. Rubbing my lips over the cotton, my face tucked tight between her legs, I wasn’t sure I even had to open my mouth to drown in her. I wanted to, though, and when she bunched the held-up parts of her skirt in one hand and ran free fingers through my hair, I waited for her cue, just mouthing her and listening to the soft pump of her breath and the sway of many well-tended leaves.
“Use your mouth.”
Even still sure and strong, her voice had grown into something full of heavy breaths and barely held-back moans. I could hear the thump-thump-thump of my own heartbeat along the side of my neck and in a winding line up to my temple, but her breath was the rhythm to which I set my exploration. Open-mouthed, I started at the top of the crease I had molded into her folds with just the pressure of my eager lips, the tip of my tongue pausing as I found a supple rigid nub, massaging it until her hips began to shift, left and then right and then she was pressing me in, her hand at the back of my head as she groaned over me.
When her fingers tightened in my hair, though, clenching but not yet tugging, I wasn’t sure if I should keep going or stop and my ministrations stuttered. “Did I tell you to stop?” She shook my head slightly in reprimand, the ache and total rule in it making my own moan slip over my lips.
I didn’t have to hear any more, however, as she said, so breathy it was a wonder she could still stand up, “Be a good boy for me.”
I made my “Yes, miss,” a trick with my tongue, a flick that had her crying out and dumping her skirt over my head as she gripped my shoulder with her newly empty hand. Even her curses were beautiful and as I sucked and licked her there, tasting as much wet cloth as her, I resented the barrier, but I was grateful even for this chance to please her so intimately, to make more of my body useful and worth something to her.
I knew what was coming as her sounds, mixed with encouragements and sharp staccato swears, became a string of “Yes yes yes yes.” I couldn’t get enough of it in my ears, wanted to hear that litany every morning, evening and every afternoon, and in my dreams I wanted to be deeper even than I was right then, somehow so profoundly in the middle of it, wrapped up and surrounded by it. My body cried “Yes” as hers did, desperate to taste the culmination of her use of me, desperate to watch her race up the mountain, jump off it and fly. And when she finally came it was with a shout that scared nearby birds into a flutter of worried wings.
Crushed close there for more breaths than I had air for, I felt so thoroughly kept, trapped and held by her thighs, her hands, her skirt and her ever-wetter heat, and though I whimpered at the force of her body’s reaction, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted her to let me go. Dizzy and so hot between my own legs by the time she started to relax around me again, I was painfully grateful for the bench under me. When she spoke, though, exhaling slowly and gently combing down my hair with her fingers, pulling us apart, I knew I would have to do more and I wasn’t at all sure how I would manage. By her will, apparently, and my will to please her.
“I want more from you, boy. Will you give me more?”
“Yes, miss,” I panted, hauling in air as quietly as I could to replenish my supply.
Her skirt was back in place now, flowing subtly with the breeze in front of me, but I knew exactly what it hid, the sea-foam green of her knickers dark underneath, edging toward a stormier color, like leaves shifting from the new buds of spring to the hunter of late summer. Looking up into her eyes, at the smile on her face, I felt dizzy all over again and tried not to imagine how such an immense and vibrant presence would
fit in my room, or even really in my house. The open spaces of the garden suited her so much better than any place I could construct in my dazed mind.
“If you kneel on the walkway, I’ll take the bench and show you what I mean.”
“Of course, miss.” It was a simple answer, yes, but my heart and breath were running toward some finish line I couldn’t see. I stood and stepped aside for the second time that afternoon, but both that and finding my knees felt different now, a cool breeze down my back reminding me that we were doing these things out in the open. I didn’t want to stop, though. This was where she should be pleased, pleasured, worshipped. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around what more I could offer her, what more I could do.
She sat with legs spread but coyly, her skirt falling over her knees and showing me no more than she wanted me to see right then. “Had you been playing in the garden before you began your work for me today?”
“No, miss.” My eyebrows dipped inward as I looked up at her, wondering where this was going or what that meant to her.
“Good. Then come here and help me out of these undies.” She smirked. “You got them all wet.”
One corner of my mouth quirked up and I politely refrained from mentioning that she hade done a fair amount of the work herself. This time I only nudged her skirt up enough to get my hands comfortably beneath it, following the tops of her thighs until I could grip the waistband of the offending material and tug. Hooking my fingers in and dragging the cloth down, I watched and felt her lift her hips, my bottom lip snagging on my teeth again as I thought about what it might look like to watch her touch herself, the smoothness of her tan calves only making the image more vivid.
“Want to feel what a mess you made?” With the damp fabric bunched beside her on the bench, she took my hand and guided it under her skirt and up to touch the heat still gathered there, the backs of my knuckles sliding through slick warmth that seemed well worth exploring.
“We’re going to get your skirt wet instead.” I hadn’t realized how husky my voice had gone until the words were already slipping past the opening of my mouth, but I saw and felt the way she pressed up against my fingers in answer.
“I don’t mind.” Her breath steeped her words with want and I wondered if she’d let me under her skirt again to swallow more of her lush heat. “Do you ever put your fingers inside?”
For a moment, I hesitated, unsure which answer to give. “Not usually, no.” Was that strange? I wasn’t sure, but I just…preferred outside stimulation more than anything else. Her smile and one-shoulder shrug put me at ease, though.
“But if I let you put your fingers in me, that would be okay?” The way her smile had shifted to a coy smirk told me she knew the answer already, but wanted me to say it anyway.
I fluttered my fingers against her folds, making her breath catch as we held each other’s eyes. “Very much so…if you’ll direct me.”
“Always.”
The word sunk into my chest and stayed, not like a sword but like a jewel too heavy and too precious to lift. Licking my lips, I waited for her word.
“Just one to start.” She rocked gently against my fingers. “But make sure it’s wet.”
I wasn’t sure how it could be anything but with the subtle flow of her juices tripping over my skin, but I slid my first two fingers down between her folds and then up again. Teasing her nub before slipping through that silken track to zero in on the source of her heat, one finger circling and then slowly pressing into her. I found my other hand on her knee as her legs fell wider apart, her hips angling her body up to take my seeking finger, thrusting up around it in shallow shifts of up and down.
“Did I give you permission to put your hand there?” She panted the question, but still managed to make me feel terribly forward, the heat in my cheeks from a mixture of things this woman lit up inside me.
“No, miss.” I began to pull my hand away, fingertips lingering despite my desire to be good.
“Put it behind your back.” I slid it behind with a square bend at the elbow like I’d seen soldiers do on the telly. “Yes, like that. And give me another.”
The subtle pull in my shoulder only made me feel more hers, more fully physically under her control, and I slid a second finger in with my mouth open and my breath harsh in my ears despite the way the breeze carried some of it away.
“Pump them into me and stroke…stroke me on the inside.” She rose to meet every thrust as I worked my fingers in and out of her, curling them up to run the pads of my fingers against her throbbing inner walls.
“More. Move more.” Even as gasps, I could do nothing but follow her instructions, my fingers, my arm, my body just an extension of her will, her want. I twisted and curved my fingers, filling her up as best I could and massaging every place in her I could find, until my knuckles brushed something inside that made her shout. “God yes! That!”
I moaned then, meeting the enthusiasm of her hips with fingers that truly fucked her the way that she wanted, knuckles rubbing that remarkable place that forced hot muscles to clench and shudder around me. At first, I didn’t even understand her next words, half-buried among the linked-together groans.
“More… More fingers. Yes, three, four, god whatever. Just…oh god!” The hitched cry she gave when I worked in a third and plunged as deep as I could again and again made the ache between my own legs spread hot vibrations into my abdomen. “Don’t stop!”
On my knees, looking up at her with head thrown back and strong legs spread, my fingers moving hard and fast inside her until words blurred into notes nature herself would envy, I thought: If god made such a creature as this, who could shatter the mind with beauty like this, how could this be a path to hell and not to heaven? I swore the sun haloed her head with light as she arched up from the bench, her body gripping my fingers so hard they cramped and shook, but I had never cared less about my own pain.
Words skated out with my breath before I even knew what they would be. “Thank you, miss. Thank you.” I found that those were all the words I knew right then and the only way I knew to respond to the amazing gift she’d shared with me, the phrase’s repetition returning again and again, if softer, as she settled back onto the bench and finally relaxed.
“Put your head on my knee,” she sighed, her exhale heavy with exhaustion even as her mouth formed a small smile.
When I pressed my forehead just there against her knee, it felt like prayer at the holiest altar I’d ever knelt before, and even though my hand was still slick and aching, resting between her thighs, when she ran her fingers through my hair, I felt blessed. “Thank you,” I said, more steadily this time.
“You’re welcome. And you can move your arms now.”
I laughed against the taut skin of her shin and gently kissed her there as I brought my wayward arms back to settle in my lap.
“Are you mine now?” I had never heard her sound so tentative, but there was a waver in her voice that made me want to see her face. She held my head against her leg, though, and wouldn’t let me up.
I answered from my heart because I knew no other way to reply. “I always was, miss. I just…thought you might outgrow me.”
“Goodness no.” She laughed and relaxed her hold, my eyes meeting hers in afternoon light that seemed almost too bright to be real. “In fact, I think I’ve grown into you.”
“Oh?” I blinked, not sure how that could be possible since I was fairly certain I wasn’t the sort of accessory to be a size too big for someone as well put together as her.
She just smiled and traced the curve of my cheek with her fingers before pressing the tips of two over my lips. Her eyes sparkled with secrets I hoped that she’d share. “Tomorrow. I’ll teach you more tomorrow.”
I thought that I’d already grown up in that garden and maybe I had, but that summer I knew I’d flourish, mature and truly find my place, in her words, her hands and her will.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
JOVE BELLE (jovebelle.com) lives in the P
acific Northwest with her wife and children. She is the author of seven novels (The Job, Uncommon Romance, Love and Devotion, Indelible, Chaps, Split the Aces and Edge of Darkness), all available from Bold Strokes Books.
J. CALADINE lives, writes and has interesting adventures in California’s Bay Area. She hopes her story turns you on, and that you do something about it.
JEN CROSS’s (writingourselveswhole.org) writing appears in a plethora of publications, including Women in Lust, Nobody Passes, Gotta Have It and many more. She’s toured nationally with the Body Heat Femme Porn Tour, and facilitates erotic and trauma survivors writing workshops in Oakland and around the country.
TAMSIN FLOWERS writes lighthearted erotica, often with a twist in the tail and a sense of fun. Her stories have appeared in numerous anthologies and usually, she’s working on at least ten stories at once. While she figures out whose leg belongs in which story, you can find out more at Tamsin’s Superotica.
GIGI FROST (facebook.com/gigifrost), Boston-based artist and activist, serves up smut with a side of politics. She appears nationally with the Body Heat Femme Porn Tour and the Femme Show, produces queer shows, teaches, and spends her nights on any stage that will have her. Publications include stories in Second Person Queer, Say Please and Girl Crazy.
DENA HANKINS (denahankins.net) writes aboard her boat, wherever she has sailed it. After eight years as a sex educator, she started telling tales with far-flung settings—India, North Carolina and deep space—and continued with a queer/trans romance novel, Blue Water Dreams, about magnetism and self-sufficiency.