by Bebe Wilde
“Don’t you?” he whispered closer to my ear.
I could deny it. I could run. I could run so far away I would never see his face again. His handsome, bordering on beautiful face. His French mannerisms. His dark hair and his dark eyes. I could run but no matter how far away I got, he would forever be imbedded in my consciousness, like a memory of something you lost once and never found again. I’d had that happen before. It was a silver bracelet my father had bought me when he’d been away on the road. The first time I wore it to school, it fell off my wrist and I never found it again. Anytime I thought about that bracelet—and how special it was to me, mainly because my father was the one who had given it to me—I got a terrible ache in my stomach. What had happened to it? I’d never know and that drove me crazy. I just didn’t know if I could deal with having François in my memory like that.
I stared at his face and still couldn’t get over how good looking he was. It was almost as if he wasn’t real. We’d been at this a while now, at least a few weeks, and each time was more intense than the last. And he kept looking better.
“Yes, you do,” he said, assuring himself, and me, of his assertion. “You like that.”
He stepped back and nodded at me and then I knew he had me completely figured out. He knew why I had come here even though last time I vowed would be my last. And the time before that and the time before that… But I’d been coming to him for a few weeks now. Every single time we met, we fucked like crazy and when we finished, I would get up and race out of his home like some crazy person. Why I was playing this foolish game was beyond me. But played it I did. I would show up, we would exchange a few words, pleasantries mostly like, “Nice weather we’re having,” or “Here, try some of this wine. It is delicious.” And then we would start having sex. It would begin with his giving my cheek a slight graze with the back of his hand or me stepping in towards him. Then he would grab me, I would grab back and we would fuck ourselves silly.
The only annoying part was my issue with staying after we were done having sex. It probably annoyed him, too, but he never called me out on it. He said once, “I believe one day we will have dinner together, Nina.”
We still hadn’t gotten to it. I didn’t know if we ever would. He kept promising to cook for me, and I for him, but it never came to that. I’d leave quickly, I’d get home and ever so often, I’d find another gift from him. Sometimes gorgeous flowers, sometimes expensive luxury items like the quilted Chanel bag I’d gotten three days ago and sometimes jewelry, like the Cartier watch. All gifts to show me… What exactly? What was the message? I didn’t know but I would wear the jewelry, smell the flowers and carry the bags. And I wore the watch every day. He would notice, give me a slight smile and then smooth the hair back from my face to stare at a pair of earrings. “Yes,” he would say. “They do suit you very well.”
I tried not to put too much into it.
Today, I was wearing a necklace. The chain was diamonds and the pendant was sapphire. He had pulled down my sweater to stare at the necklace, then ran his finger up my chest, then back down. He nodded with approval and turned away from me. That’s when I knew something else was going on and that today would be different. I didn’t know what it was but something had changed, shifted in the room, in the atmosphere. It was all different now. He was different. I was different. There was no denying it.
He went behind me and grabbed hold of my shoulders with his hands. I shivered with anticipation. What was he going to do?
“You said you would never come back,” he told me without moving. “Why did you return?”
This was our game. We didn’t play it every day, but we played it enough. He knew why I had returned. The question was too obvious to answer.
I swallowed hard as a lump came up in my throat. I hated myself for an instant before I started to hate him and that made me want to cry. He had me in a twist, that’s all I could say. I suppose I hated the fact that I was so obvious, that he had me figured out and made me go through this slight interrogation before he’d give me what I’d come for—sex. He knew I wanted him and he knew I would return. Each time, I wanted him worse than the time before that. But I couldn’t let him know that. That would be showing weakness and to show weakness now… Well, that would be the deal-breaker. We had to go through the game to get to the sex.
“Tell me,” he said and squeezed my shoulders.
“Please,” I muttered. “Don’t.”
“But you want it,” he said and added, “Again.”
I hung my head in shame.
“You want it and you want me to give it to you,” he said, coming around to face me. “If I did not give it to you, would you find another man who would?”
I shook my head.
“No?”
“No,” I muttered.
He bent a little at the waist and pointed at me with his finger. “I think you are lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You are.”
I shook my head in protest but his hand came up to silence me, silence my actions.
“I’ll give you what you think you want and stop doing this. I’ll leave you alone. I will not do this again.”
“But, but—”
The hand came up again. I bit my tongue and waited.
“No,” he said. “I won’t.”
“Why not?” I cried.
“You enjoy it too much,” he said.
Wasn’t that the point of it? I remained silent, nevertheless. I remained silent because I knew he was going to give it to me. Eventually. He was just teasing me, making me beg. I could beg for it. Men begged for sex all the time, didn’t they? What was so wrong with a woman doing it every once in a while? Why not?
I looked around the room. We were in his bedroom. I took in the big upholstered Louis XV French Provincial bed, the oversized armoire, the well-worn Persian rug on the floor. The room was dark. He’d closed the heavy silk curtains when we entered. The walls were painted a soft, light green. It was color you didn’t see much anymore but was so lovely it made me want to fall asleep in here, under the linen duvet and on the goose down pillows. But this wasn’t about sleeping, not at all.
He got down on his knees in front of me. I breathed in his smell. He smelled divine and it wasn’t cologne or soap or any of that. It was him; his smell that drove me crazy. It was a nice smell that was undetectable if you weren’t close to him. But I was so close I could smell it. It made me want him even more.
“You do enjoy it, don’t you?” he whispered softly.
“Yes.”
He began to lean in towards me and I leaned in towards him. He pressed his face into my belly and then he looked up into my eyes. What was he thinking?
“Would you beg for it?” he whispered as I knew he eventually would.
“Of course,” I whispered back.
He smiled and ducked his head. He liked this, this game, the first real one we’d ever played. It had been played before, but now it had been accelerated. Now, it had changed. I could feel it in the air. The last time had changed everything. The last time he told me he was getting bored and that soon I, too, would become bored with just the sex. It was time to do something different. It was time to up the ante. We were about to do just that. I couldn’t wait, either.
“You’re very bad,” he told me. “You are so bad.”
“I’m bad.”
“Tell me how bad.”
I sucked my lips into my mouth for an instant before responding, “So bad I would beg for it.”
“For what?”
That was a good question. What was I begging for? I was begging for the excitement and the anticipation and the massive orgasm he’d helped me achieve. I was begging for him to give it to me, just like he did before.
“For you,” I said.
He stood up and walked away from me. “Then you crawl.”
“Excuse me?” I asked and almost laughed.
“Crawl,�
� he said and waved his hand towards the floor. “Crawl over here towards me. Like a beast.”
And here it was. Here it was in my lap. I could take it to the next level or I could be humiliated by it. By him. By his request. What was so hard about it? Did it put me on a lower level? Did it make me into something detestable? Something undesirable? No. That wasn’t our game. Our game was to push each other, for him to push me and for me to be pushed. He wasn’t trying to humiliate me and I understood that. He was trying to push me. Push all those preconceived notions out of my mind and make me understand something. What that something was, I didn’t know. But it was something worth exploring.
I didn’t even hesitate. I could do it, I could take it. I asked for it. This was what I really wanted. I wanted him to dominate me. I wanted him to tell me what to do, to command me to do things I would never do for another man. So, I slid down off the chair and got on all fours. I took my time positioning myself on the floor before I began to crawl towards him. I had to hide my smile in case he thought I wasn’t taking this as seriously as he was. I took it slow, took my time as I made my way over to him, swaying my hips as I went.
“Stop.”
I stopped.
He came over to me, bent down and kissed me. I responded by opening my mouth and a moan came out of me, from deep down inside. He licked at my lips before he slid his tongue in and then I sucked on it and he moaned with pleasure.
He stopped abruptly and stood up. I knew that was too easy.
“Now take off your shirt.”
I sat up and began to unbutton it. It was a long sleeved white shirt. I’d gotten it on sale. It was a nice shirt but a bitch to iron. I wondered if he noticed how crisp it looked. Then I glanced down at my bare legs. My jeans were already off. I was just in my shirt and panties, another pair I’d purchased from the little boutique, this one in black lace. My credit card was going to be fat with lingerie, but I didn’t care. I wanted to look good for him. I wanted him to think about how sexy my lingerie was. And when he thought about it, he’d think about me and that would make him want me even more, to know I’d taken the time to buy such things to please him.
“Wait.”
I stopped just as I was sliding the shirt off my back. He came over to me again, bent down and cupped one of my breasts in his hand. He stared at my breast as he did so, then he moved away again and stared into my eyes.
“Tell me about the first man who fucked you.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I had heard him. I didn’t know if I could talk about the first guy I had sex with as I didn’t even like thinking about it. It was an embarrassing memory.
“Tell me about him,” he said.
“He was young.”
“Younger than you?”
“No,” I said and shook my head. “Just young. Twenty. I was twenty, too. We were both virgins.”
“So, you started late, with sex, I mean.”
“I suppose I did.”
“Did you orgasm?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He came too quickly,” I said.
“Did he get you off afterwards?”
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t ask him to.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t feel…” I hesitated and stared at him. He nodded for me to continue so I said, “I didn’t really know enough to ask.”
“But he came?”
“Yes.”
“So your pleasure was not worth…?” He snapped his fingers as if searching for the right word. “Not worth the trouble?”
“No, it wasn’t that.”
He got down in my face and said, “What was it?”
“I felt…embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“Because it didn’t feel right.”
“Does this feel right?” he asked and traced a line on my arm.
I shivered and nodded.
“What is so different from this?” he asked and his hand moved to my breast. He squeezed it and I moaned. “Hmmm?”
“I don’t know,” I said and looked away from him and towards window. The curtains were still closed. I couldn’t see if the sky was darkening or not. I didn’t know what time it was or when I’d have to go home.
“You know,” he said and pressed his face in my hair. “It is different because you want me and maybe you didn’t want him. What was his name? This fellow who fucked you?”
“Charlie.”
“You didn’t want Charlie,” he said. “But you want me. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me you want me.”
“I want you.”
“Tell me why.”
I swallowed hard and noticed how excited I was. How wet. How much I desired him. I wanted to grab his hand and put it inside my panties. I wanted him to lick and kiss me down there, on my wet and swollen pussy. I wanted him so much I could have eaten him alive.
“I want you,” I said and turned my head so our noses were touching. “Because you know what to do. You know what I want.”
He smiled. He liked that.
“How do you want it?” he asked and pushed me gently down on the floor until I was on my back. “How would you like me to fuck you this time?”
“I don’t care,” I said and began to squirm. “Just do it.”
“Now, now,” he said and shook his head like a school marm. “I think you should wait longer.”
“No,” I moaned and grabbed his hand.
He pulled it back and shook his head. He was punishing me. Punishing me because I hadn’t believed he had it in him. I hadn’t believed he had the ability to do to me what I needed. He was reveling in his role as the dominate by making me wait. I almost hated him for it. But then I didn’t.
He climbed on top of me and whispered, “I know what you like.”
I breathed, “Yes?”
“You like this,” he said and grabbed my crotch. “You like me to take you.”
I gasped. “Yes.”
“You like for me to be in control of you, of your body so that you have no say in what I do and you have to give yourself away.”
“Yes,” I moaned. “Do it.”
He released me then he ripped the panties off my body and threw them to the side. Then his hand was playing with me, teasing me so much my hips rose up off the floor and I began to grind against his hand, which was doing the things to me that I loved and needed it to do.
“Ahh,” I moaned and felt the orgasm.
“Not so fast,” he said.
“Ahh,” I moaned and grabbed his head, bringing his lips to mine. He tried to move away but I wasn’t letting him budge. I wanted him right there, right then. I wanted him to take control and fuck me. It didn’t take long before he obliged. Then he couldn’t control himself. He was coming out of his pants and his hard cock was pressing against my leg. I grabbed onto it and stroked it. He pulled back and watched me. I stared into his eyes and then moved and took it in my mouth, giving it a good, hard suck as I did so. A deep moan came out of his mouth and he stroked my hair as I sucked his cock. I pulled back and kissed it with my lips and then licked it with my tongue. Then I put it back in my mouth and began to suck again, gently at first, then harder as I began to really get into it. I gripped his balls, giving them a slight squeeze, and once I did that, he almost came. This time it wasn’t me about to lose control then, it was him.
He drew in his breath and pushed me back against the floor then fell on top of me, pushing my legs open with his. Then he entered me, going all the way in, hitting bottom as he did so. A small scream came out of my throat as he took me. Then he started fucking me, fucking me hard. My legs wrapped around his waist so he could get in even deeper, so I could have more of him.
His nose pushed my bra to the side and then his mouth found my nipple and he sucked it in while his othe
r hand squeezed my breast hard. It was almost too much. I had to come and I had to come now, though the thought of not prolonging this fucking, this good fucking, was almost too much to bear. But he was fucking the orgasm out of my body and then it gripped me and made me shake and shimmy and shiver. Just as he was shaking and shivering. It was almost as if we were on fire. Once it was over, we lay there as the world came to an end and then started back up again.
It took a few seconds for me to get my breath back. When I got it, I couldn’t help but smile at him. Now, that’s what I was talking about.
“We will do this again,” he said and kissed my cheek.
“You’ll have to hurry,” I said. “I have to be home in an hour to meet James.”
He nodded.
“It’s his birthday,” I said and touched the side of his face. “I’m taking him out to dinner.”
“Okay,” he said.
I pulled back and stared at him.
“What is it?”
“I just realized that I know nothing about you. Not really.”
He shrugged.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I said.
“Why?”
“I want to know everything about you, that’s why.”
He stared at me and said, “There’s nothing to know. You know everything you need to know.”
That’s what he was like. And that’s exactly why I liked him.
Let the Games Begin
Just like that it turned from an affair into a game, into a part of my life. I began to desire him and wonder what he’d do next. I began to feel my sexual power, my sexual energy exploding inside me. I began to feel like a woman. Before, I never had time for anything like this. Now I did.
It was the tension—the anticipation—that made me hot. What would he do next? That was the most tantalizing part.
Now, he was taking a different route. We were in his bedroom again. I was in the same chair, waiting on him to begin. This time, he went to the armoire, opened it and pulled out a riding crop. What could that be for?
“Undress,” he said.
I was about to, but then my curiosity got the best of me. “What’s that for?”