My nipples, firm ripe berries, strained to be touched. Involuntarily, I pressed my upper body forward and whispered, “Please…”
The next move wasn’t his. Delicate female hands crept beneath my arms to caress my breasts from behind. Caring fingers pressed into my pliant, round flesh. I had had many a massage from a female body worker, but I had never felt a woman’s touch in this intimate, sensual way. It was fascinating. I thought of how David would often marvel at the softness of my skin, as I savored the sensation of her soft flesh upon mine. Its texture was so inviting, her lithe movements as deliberate as any man’s, but gentle.
She moved closer, her erect nipples pressing into my back as she worked her hands over and around my sensitive, highly charged breasts. The man wrapped his arms around my back and pressed my body to his. His throbbing cock pressed into my thigh. I gasped. The woman’s fingers pinched my nipple into a tiny pebble as her tongue tickled the back of my neck. Hot, moist breath bathed the folds of my ear. My head fell backward and I moaned.
My mouth open, I felt another hand—a third person’s, a man’s—run a fat, cold grape along my lips. With my tongue, I popped it into my mouth, taking his finger in as well. I sucked him, then pulled away to bite into the chubby ripe fruit.
A fourth person—a woman? by now my senses were too overloaded for me to think clearly—was removing my pants and running her soft cheek—yes it was a woman—down my legs. She used her lips and teeth to kiss and nip my flesh as she traveled. I was so hot, so wet, I didn’t know where to turn or who to touch—which perhaps was the point.
Four sets of hands, four pairs of lips, four centers of gravity were too much for me. My legs turned to jelly and I fell to the floor. My—what were they? who were they?—my companions cradled me and put me down on some sort of cushiony chaise lounge. I was gasping, panting, reaching my arms out to one, to all, wanting more, much more, desiring sensation, needing to know where it would go, how far I could take it, how much I could feel. Any sense of guilt was absent. If I had any regret, it was that David wasn’t there to share it with me, to see me like this, to enjoy for himself this sort of unworldly attention.
My arms wrapped around yet another body, this one familiar as her cologne, the aptly named Chaos. It was Judith whose tender naked flesh touched mine, whose lips pressed against my mouth, whose hungry tongue traveled over my lips and past my teeth, who gave me my first sweet hot woman kiss, my first kiss in ages from anyone other than David. My toe was being sucked, my other foot kneaded, a soft mouth was locked on my left breast, and inquisitive fingers were playing in and around my pubic hair. It was thrilling, immeasurably erotic. And yet my energy went into this kiss, this wild, soft, sucking fuck of an embrace.
“I’m so happy,” she whispered. “Accept the pleasure and know that I love you, my friend, and always will.”
No one else kissed my lips that night. No cock entered me. I was massaged, tickled, fingered, squeezed, and bathed in champagne that was licked from every inch of my body; I came more times than I can possibly recall. I remember the electric sparks ignited when one of the women rubbed her nipples against mine. I can still feel the explosive orgasm brought about when the first man double-fingered me, one digit dipped within my steamy lower lips, another just penetrating my ass. I will never forget the sensation of those juicy grapes being slowly, teasingly inserted in my dripping cunt, then fished out by an insistent, insatiable female tongue. I remember every quiver, every touch, every moan and shake. And I remember Judith’s kiss.
Later, Judith drove me home. Dawn was breaking. In my driveway, she removed the blindfold.
“Are you okay with this?” she asked with concern. “Don’t he.”
I couldn’t speak. I looked into her eyes and nodded. A look of relief crossed her face.
“Get some sleep. You’re getting married in about thirty-six hours. ‘Here comes the bride’ and all that.”
We both caught the inadvertent pun and smiled. “Thank you,” I said and got out of the car. She blew me a kiss and drove off.
I entered the house. David was asleep. I crept into bed and inched as far to the edge as possible. He awoke, turned over, and cradled me in his arms.
“How was your night?” he asked groggily.
I wanted to tell him but didn’t have the words. As I hemmed and hawed, he broke in.
“Judith told me her idea last week.”
“You knew? And didn’t say anything?”
“Why? To give you ‘permission’? This wasn’t my decision to make; it was yours. I don’t want to be with anyone else after tomorrow, and I hope you feel the same way.” I nodded. “I love that you had an adventure. Someday I hope you’ll tell me everything.”
I relaxed into his arms. “Tell me about the bachelor party.”
“I will. Some other time.”
We embraced, yawned, and fell asleep as the sun rose on our last unmarried sabbath.
Shabbos Mitzvah for a Jewish Princess
Sarah Leder
It was Friday. Tonight would be Shabbos and Princess would rest. That is, her heart would rest, not her body.
They would be together. It always brought a smile to her face when she thought about how the ancient rabbis said it’s a mitzvah to make love on Shabbos. They should only know. What would they have thought? They probably would have been horrified and turned on at the same time. The quintessential exhibitionist, she would have enjoyed having them watch. Maybe her sex life would have merited a tractate of Talmud. The ancient rabbis could have discussed it, objectifying her, making her a sex object. Which she, of course, would have loved.
There actually is a precedent for such voyeurism in the Talmud. As it is written, one student hid under his rabbi’s bed while the rabbi made love to his wife. The rabbi caught his student and asked him what he thought he was doing there. The student seriously answered: It is a matter of Torah and I need to learn.” From this we learn that there are holy ways to make love, that it is important to learn these ways, and that one of the ways to learn is through voyeurism.
Shabbos was coming and Princess had much to do to prepare herself for the Sabbath and for her lover, whom she called Daddy. She’d never quite recovered from having been raised a Jewish American Princess. The “Feminist Thought Police” admonished her not to refer to herself as a JAP and a spoiled brat, but being the spoiled brat that she was, she told them that she would “fuckin’ call herself whatever she fuckin’ wanted to.” They abandoned her as a lost cause, and good riddance to them. She figured that when those feminists died, they would find themselves in heaven with all the Christian fundamentalists. Then she would finally be left alone in peace, somewhere else, where all the fun people got to go. She was convinced that the rabbis were indeed fun people and that for sure they would be there, wherever that was.
She was definitely a brat, badly in need of being put in her place. Judaism focuses on particularity and distinctiveness and on the notion that everything and everyone has its proper time and place. How true that was for her! She knew where her place was; on her knees. She was disappointed that Jews didn’t kneel the way Catholics, Muslims, and Buddhists did. She knew in her heart that those ancient rabbis would have understood; much more so in fact, than the so-called modern feminists.
When she first started using the term sadomasochism, she was engaged in a very boring conversation with another woman, who expressed the opinion that it was a very misleading term. Our politically incorrect spoiled brat had a difficult time discussing this dryly and intellectually because she was getting wet and just wanted to do it. Her strengths had always been her honesty and her willingness to be true to herself, even if the truth were unpopular. She took pride in that. Some time later, she was quite surprised to find out that the term sadomasochism was not inappropriate and misleading after all—when she realized how much she liked being hurt and that there were wonderful people out there who liked hurting people who wanted it. They were called sadists and she was called a masoc
hist. As her ex-girlfriend used to say after hanging out with a bunch of leather dykes: “Nice girls!”
When Princess was coming out into the scene, exploring the lesbian S/M community, she joined a women’s S/M support group. At one of her first meetings, she sat next to a very hot woman wearing a low-cut leotard, skin-tight blue jeans, and the highest heels she had ever seen in her whole life, with a big knife stuck in one of her boots. Princess could hardly look at this woman, who took her breath away. Who was she? At the meeting break, she asked someone, “Who is that woman?”
“She’s a professional.” Princess was duly impressed—such a sexy woman, and educated, too.
“Is she a doctor or a lawyer?” Princess asked.
The woman looked strangely at Princess and repeated, “No, she’s a professional.”
Princess knew there was something she wasn’t getting. She felt stupid but asked, “What kind of professional?”
The woman replied incredulously, “She’s a domina-trix.” Princess still didn’t get it. She dumbly persisted because she wanted to understand and feebly inquired, “What’s a dominatrix?” The woman sighed and said with amazement, “She’s a professional dominant.”
“Oh,” Princess said, the lightbulb finally going off in her head, “that kind of professional.” It was at moments like this that she realized the whole world wasn’t Jewish.
It’s really a wonderful thing when you find your place—when you find out who you truly are and where you belong. And of course, it is even more wonderful when you find a companion, a soul mate: someone with whom you can travel to that place. Princess wryly recalled her mother’s wisdom, often uninvitedly passed along to her in her childhood: “Princess, honey, I’m telling you, there’s someone for everyone.”
Everyone has their bashert, that is, their one and only, the one meant for them. In her search for her bashert. Princess held on to that wisdom with pious and passionate faith and hope. She had always been religious, even as a little girl. Now that she was a grown woman, she often liked to feel as though she were still a little girl: daddy’s little girl. Like how it really used to be. She liked to pretend that she was a princess, a princess who made love to her prince. Now, I ask you, do you know of a better time to do so than Shabbos? Of course not!
Her mother had also told her, “God helps those who help themselves.” That was how Princess had met Daddy several years earlier. Princess had decided that she’d better take matters into her own hands if her Prince was ever going to come. So she placed a personal ad in the local dyke newspaper and, lo and behold, Daddy responded to it. Princess had been afraid that no one would respond and was sure that everyone would think she was out of her mind. But she had taken a chance and, boy, was she glad. The ad read:
One-of-a-kind cute religious Jewish lesbian, into the scene. I’m femme bottom, you’re butch top. We’re both professionals (like a doctor or a lawyer) and love to learn Torah. On Shabbos, we bentsch licht before going to the play party. If you wear leather but never on Yom Kippur and the dominance and submission of Halacha turns you on, then maybe I could be your Princess and you might let me call you Daddy
Princess smiled, remembering that ad and how they’d met, but then her mind returned to the present. She stopped thinking about her happy memories and thought about this Shabbos, the one that was coming soon. Preparation and anticipation were crucial to both a good scene and a good Shabbos. For Shabbos, the house must be cleaned, and a white tablecloth, with shiny candlesticks and fresh flowers, placed on the table. The food must be precooked and the chal-lah and Sabbath wine also on the table. Our heroine, our pious slutty little girl, prepared herself. She showered and readied herself mentally, mostly by clearing her mind of everyday worries and routine. Fresh sheets on the bed, fresh flowers.
She dressed herself for her Daddy. Daddy liked it when she made herself pretty. Tonight our little girl chose a very low-cut leather bra that barely covered her; with the flick of a finger, she could be exposed. It suited our little girl’s modest nature. Jewish women are supposed to dress modestly, but not when they are alone with their husbands. But our Princess was sometimes shy, even with her Daddy. Once her desire overcame her shyness, she would be able to let go.
It was also her desire to please her master, to show that she could submit and give over her will, lose her self-consciousness. Daddy respected her submission and Daddy had earned her trust. Our little girl continued to dress. The important principle here was accessibility and vulnerability. She put on a garter belt and stockings and no underwear. Then she put on a skirt, one with buttons down the front, one that could open easily. She chose a simple button-down blouse, put on some makeup and her “fuck-me pumps.” She was now ready and waiting for Daddy.
When the bell rang and Princess opened the door, Daddy was standing there—but she wasn’t alone. There was another woman with her, someone Princess had never met.
“I have invited an old friend to join us for Shabbos,” Daddy said, not asking if it was all right with our little girl; Daddy and our little girl both knew that Daddy could do whatever she wanted. That was the way our little girl wanted it and that was the way Daddy wanted it too. The more our little girl was surprised and the more she was able to go along with whatever Daddy wanted and did, the greater was her opportunity to show how submissive and pleasing she could be. This made our little girl very happy. She didn’t always need to understand her Daddy; she just worried that she might not be able to obey. But Daddy was always kind and understanding, never expecting perfection or total obedience. She just expected that Princess would do her best, and she was forever turned on by Princess’s desire to submit and to please her. This made Daddy happy. Happy and wet. That was the covenantal relationship between them. One was top and one was bottom, but they were equal partners in a negotiated relationship. Princess took to heart what the Jewish people said to God at Sinai when they promised to observe and submit to all the commandments: “We will do, then we will understand.” That was the guiding religious principle of our little girl’s sex life.
Princess was now introduced to this old friend, a handsome, strong woman about their age, probably in her early forties. Princess took the woman’s coat, a new, soft, expensive-looking red leather jacket. She inhaled the smell and touch of the leather. It comforted and soothed her, giving her something to do while she tried to remember to breathe. Princess looked up at her, and the handsome woman stared back, looking her directly in the eye. The woman wasn’t unkind, but she did not smile, and her look was powerful and self-possessed. That hard, strong look went right to Princess’s cunt. Princess blushed, looking away. She was scared, but excited, flushed, and expectant.
I’m in for it, Princess thought. They are both going to take me. And then the Shabbos hostess in her said, “Good thing I cooked some extra food.”
Daddy told Princess to make some drinks and bring them into the living room. Princess did so and then didn’t know what to do with herself. Being ignored made her anxious, but she didn’t feel abandoned. She knew that soon enough, maybe even before she was ready, she would become the center of attention.
After some time, Daddy looked at Princess, gesturing with her eyes and hand for Princess to come over. Daddy told Princess to kneel before her, took out the collar, and placed it around her neck. With the click of the lock, they locked eyes. Daddy kissed Princess forcefully on the lips, and Princess moaned. Such was their ritual, which made very explicit that which was already understood. Princess belonged to Daddy. She was Daddy’s slave and Daddy would have her way with her. Princess’s job was to anticipate Daddy’s needs and wants and to open herself up and to bend her will to Daddy’s. It’s kind of like how the Christians say in their prayer, “Our father…not my will but thy will be done.” Princess was perpetually perplexed as to why others didn’t see all the sexiness in the dominance and submission of organized religion.
Daddy continued her conversation with her friend. While Daddy talked and Princess was kneeli
ng in front of her, Daddy slipped her hand onto Princess’s nipple. Princess looked down and closed her eyes, focusing on Daddy’s fingers. Daddy squeezed harder and harder. Princess knew that the only thing that would stop her from pressing harder was a scream. But she didn’t want to scream. She wanted Daddy to hurt her as much as possible. She not only liked the pain, she required it. It was the grease that made her wheels go round. She held on for what seemed like a long time, and all that effort kept her from screaming until maybe only two seconds later than if she hadn’t tried not to scream at all. But Daddy knew she tried to hold on, and that’s what mattered. Daddy patted her tenderly on the head, the same way a loving owner pats a dog’s head. Princess kissed Daddy’s hand. She rubbed her cheek against Daddy’s hand and moaned with pleasure. It never ceased to amaze Princess how the pain turned into intense pleasure.
Daddy told Princess to look up at the handsome woman, and she obeyed, while Daddy caressed her nipples. Princess felt vulnerable and exposed, two feelings that drove her wild. She was being forced to show this stranger her passion, while the stranger stared at and enjoyed her embarrassment. They began to discuss her.
“She is very well behaved, well trained, a good girl, very versatile and can take a lot of pain,” Daddy bragged. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Let’s send her out of the room so that she doesn’t hear our discussion,” replied the stranger. “Didn’t you tell me that you like to surprise her? Do you mind? After all, she belongs to you.”
Daddy laughed. “Ah, but you are my guest and an old friend. I want to be hospitable. I seem to be in a mean mood tonight. It’s probably my good spirits as a result of unexpectedly meeting you again after all this time. It’s been a while since I brought someone home with me. And you and I have never co-topped. I think you are right. We need to talk alone. Besides, I’m getting hungry. We should eat before we play.”
The Oy of Sex Page 8