I wanted to call Justin.
No. First things first. I put my phone down.
I spent two hours waxing, tweezing, washing and brushing myself into a close approximation of a human female. My new panties and dress reminded me of a femininity I’d forgotten.
I sat down next to a window in a cushioned chair and watched the sun set at seven, contemplating my choices. Divorce. Crappy sex. Great father, but barely noticed me. When had we last laughed together? He’d never cheat on me. Round and round the thoughts went.
At eight, I made the call. Shocked that I wanted him to meet me in a hotel room, Justin left work without protesting and without requesting another hour or three “just to finish this one thing.”
When I heard the knock on the door, I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to ask for.
“Cara, I don’t understand…” he began before he stopped and stared.
He took two steps forward. His hand traced the neckline of the sundress. “What’s this? I’ve never seen this before…”
I stepped back, and the hunger I’d seen building in his eyes fell away as they became dull and distant again. “Justin, we need to talk.”
His suit instantly became protective armor. His jaw tightened, but his face relaxed into a neutral expression. If anything, his tie looked tighter. I could have been talking to our accountant. But we’d been together far too long for me to think that what I was seeing was reality. He was anything but detached behind the mask.
I shared my frustration, my isolation and my anger. I got an eyebrow raise in response. When I pointed out how long it had been since he’d given me an orgasm, I thought I saw a small flinch.
“I need more,” I blurted out.
“Are you leaving me?” he asked, his voice carefully distant.
“That depends on you.”
A short nod, indicating I should continue.
“I used to feel lust when I saw you. I’d look at your hands and fantasize about them sliding under my skirt at that movie we saw on our third date. I’d see your dimples and remember all the stuff you talked me into…remember Cabo? Now it’s like you’re a stranger. But I’m a stranger, too. I didn’t recognize myself in a mirror today. We’re two strangers.”
I desperately needed him to understand what I wanted.
As I’d talked, Super Corporate Guy had fallen away. Justin had leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, lips quirking in small smiles at the memories. “Strangers?” He rolled the word around in his mouth, testing its flavor.
“Strangers.”
“If you were my wife, I’d tell you that I’d work harder on us. That I love you. But you’re a stranger.” As he circled me, inhaling my perfume, his voice got deeper.
“That’s right. I’m a stranger. And you’re here for one reason.”
“You’re the kind of woman who’d bring a stranger to a hotel room for that?” he asked, his hand sliding over my breast, pinching my nipple for emphasis.
That touch sent a long-missing ripple through my body. I hesitated, hoping he’d remember what I love. The pinch grew harder until I gasped, then changed to a rhythmic back and forth against the erect nub hungry for that exact touch. My eyes closed with pleasure. He leaned forward and began to nibble on my neck, his finger still at work on my breast, his other hand sliding down to cup my ass.
“Yes…” I hissed with pleasure.
Suddenly he was kissing me, and he wasn’t a stranger anymore. He was the man I’d loved for more than ten years, and he was playing stranger in the hotel room with me. We were playing. We were connecting. And that sexual heat, which had been banked for who knew how long, came roaring back to life.
I wrapped my hand in his tie, creating a leash, and pulled him to his knees.
“I’m also the kind of woman who wants an orgasm—now.” I growled the last word.
He lowered my panties. Justin nudged my legs apart, as I pulled him close. His fingers parted my lips, and his tongue teased my slit, coming close to, but not touching, my clit. I wrapped the tie around my hand again, pulling him tighter and closer. He chuckled, which teased my aching clit even more. Finally he gave it a gentle caress that caused my knees to buckle.
Justin caught me and lowered me to the floor. Pushing the skirt of the sundress to my waist, he returned to my pussy. Teasing, tormenting kisses pushed me to the edge. I could feel the world shrinking to just my cunt and his tongue. I pleaded for release, trying to pull his head closer, to keep him on task, to finish the job.
“You’re being naughty,” he said. He sat up, and I watched as his hand went to his tie. He slowly and deliberately untied it. “If you can’t let me take care of you like a good little slut, I’m going to have to restrain you.”
I shivered with delight. “Do what you think you have to.”
The dimple I hadn’t seen in months appeared as he gave me a smile I’d last seen when we conceived Adam. His hands closed over my wrists, and the soft silk whispered promises as he tied a knot Houdini would’ve been hard-pressed to escape from. I felt my hands rise over my head with another whisper of silk as I strained to see him tying the other end to the leg of the desk.
He returned his attention to my wet pussy. Lying between my thighs, he took a moment to look at me.
“It’s been so long since you let me,” he began, almost wistfully, slipping out of character.
“I’ve never let you do this,” I reminded him even as I wondered at his word choice. When was the last time he’d been interested? That he’d asked to go down on me? That he hadn’t bothered asking for permission and just woke me up with it?
He nodded and smiled. “Right. But you’re going to let me tonight, aren’t you?”
“It seems I lack the choice,” I teased back, indicating my bonds.
The fabric of the skirt flowed upward and I lay open before him. His tongue began the same pattern of teasing and momentary reward that had buckled my legs when standing. My hips began to undulate. My pelvis moved with his lips and tongue in a dance so well-remembered that even as the steps changed, the partnership was seamless and beautiful.
I closed my eyes and let the pleasure wash through me, building from small lapping waves to roaring tsunamis, threatening to break down any and every barrier I’d erected or let become erected. When I came, the game was over, because it was Justin’s name that burst forth.
He gave me a few moments to lie there, senseless, feeling aftershocks ripple through my body. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know he was smiling.
“This is new?” he asked, running his fingers contemplatively over the buttons that flowed from neckline to hem of the halter-top sundress.
“Yes,” I breathed, barely able to open my eyes.
“I hope you didn’t pay much for it,” he said. As he did so, he gathered a handful of fabric in each hand and tried to rip it. When the fabric didn’t give, he tried again.
“What’s this made of? Titanium?” he asked, exasperated.
The failure, rather than darkening the moment, inspired gales of laughter. Laughter had always been one of the ways we connected. More layers of distance peeled away. I began to see not just my lover but my best friend reappearing before my eyes.
“Defeated by a dress,” he said finally, still gasping with laughter. He lowered himself to lie next to me.
His hand caressed the length of my still-bound arms. He didn’t offer to untie me and I didn’t ask him to.
“You might try unbuttoning it,” I suggested saucily.
“Indeed,” he murmured, clever fingers already at work. “And what have we here? No bra? How scandalous.” The last was said with a teasing grin…that had always been his mother’s word of choice to describe my braless state.
“You know, you could actually be doing something productive with that smart mouth of yours.”
“Like apologizing?” His hand slipped in and fondled my breast, playing his thumb over my nipples. He remembered how sensitive they were postorgasm.
/> “I have a feeling that might be a mutual activity. I haven’t really been there for you all that much lately, either.”
He kissed me gently at first, his lips barely brushing mine. Changing the angle, he deepened the kiss, tongue flicking out to caress my lips, persuading them to give him entry. His hand caressed my cheek and slid into my hair as he kissed me with every ounce of passion I’d thought he’d lost for me. I returned it with the same urgency and ardent desire.
“There you are,” I whispered.
“Here I am,” he agreed. “I love you, Cara.”
“I love you, too, Justin,” I said. “Make love with me.”
He smiled and whispered in my ear, “I hope you brought a condom. I love those two, but I’m not up for number three. Since I apparently have super sperm or you have slutty eggs, I’m scared of going commando.”
“Look in the drawer.”
The extra-large box made him laugh again. “I hope you weren’t planning to use all of these tonight. You’d wring me dry, woman.”
“They’re a promise.” I met his eyes.
“To…”
“To make an effort not to lose this again,” I responded.
“I like that promise,” he replied, returning to the floor with the box nearby. “Now prepare to be ravished,” he said in a fake pirate accent.
He began by nuzzling my neck as his hands made short work of the last few buttons on my dress. He took his time, exploring every inch of skin, making me sigh and moan. My frustration mounted. With the exception of his tie, he was still fully dressed.
The starched cotton of his shirt was at odds with the softness of his hands. He used the contrast to his advantage, intent on the task at hand. I could feel his cock straining toward freedom but could do nothing besides beg for him to do me, and arch my hips. I was told that I’d done without pleasure for too long and he’d do me only after I’d come several more times.
His fingers slipped between my thighs, dipping into my hot core, testing and teasing until he found my G-spot. Massaging it, he reminded me of sexy times from our past. “Do you remember when we played miniature golf for your panties? The hand job you gave me as you were driving that rented sports car down Highway 1? The Petite Theatre in Paris? The time you flashed the window girl in Amsterdam?”
The waves of sexy memories danced in time with his fingers. The familiar pressure built again. When it broke, I heard an audible crash and saw I’d moved the heavy wood desk just enough for the phone to have fallen off.
I couldn’t help it. The laughter bubbled up in me, and when our eyes met, I couldn’t keep it stifled any longer. He buried his face in my shoulder and laughed with me. We each would calm down a little, but the second our eyes met, we’d start laughing again.
Shaking his head, Justin got up to hang up the receiver and place the phone back on the desk. It rang. He frowned and picked it up.
“Hello? No, everything’s fine.” The wicked smile returned. “Just making love to my gorgeous wife. Good night.”
If it hadn’t already felt like I was floating a few inches above my body, I would have sworn I’d just had an out-of-body experience. My proper workaholic husband had just bragged to a stranger that he was doing me?
“You’ve been just as lost as I’ve been,” I said, the light dawning.
He untied my hands and picked me up to move me gently to the bed.
“Yes. I saw how hard it was with the baby. Then just as stuff looked like it was settling down with Liz, you got pregnant again. I figured the best thing I could do was be a good dad and help out. Not be another strain on you. I know you don’t get enough sleep. I figured sex was the last thing you’d want to use energy on, all things considered. It’s not like there’s a shortage of work for me to do. It was easier to focus on work,” he said.
“I thought you just didn’t want me anymore because I looked like a mess and…” My voice trailed off.
“Baby, there isn’t a day when I don’t want you. I think you should eat something—you’re too skinny,” and here he nipped my hip bone. “These are sharp, but I want you as much as I ever have—more.”
“I want you, too,” I said, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, kissing each inch of skin as it became exposed.
“Cara,” he whispered, and then moaned, “Cara,” as my tongue flicked across a dark nipple.
I opened the buttons at his wrists and pushed the shirt from his shoulders. Encouraging him to lie down, I straddled his hips, feeling his cock hard beneath his dress slacks. I played with his chest hair, stroking it, tugging it, kissing down the love trail it made from his chest to his waistband. I licked his earlobes, his neck, and his nipples.
I took one of his hands and, meeting his eyes, began to suck his middle finger, taking its full length into my mouth. Beneath me, his cock jumped in echoing need. I rolled my hips to tease him as I sucked the finger.
“Cara,” he moaned, dragging out the second syllable like a prayer.
I moved to kneel beside him and unbuckled his belt. His hands fisted in the duvet as I took my time with the waistband and inched down his zipper. His cock strained to break free of his boxers. He arched his hips.
I smiled as I stroked him through his boxers.
“Cara, I’m not Superman,” he moaned.
As I slid down his pants and boxers, his cock sprung free to demand its fair share of attention. Taking his cock in hand, I bent to lick the head, swirling my tongue around it. Justin swore with pleasure as he fought the urge to come. I fondled his balls as I licked my way down and then back up his shaft. A finger slipped back to tease and press on his taint, as I took the head of his cock and then the shaft into my mouth. I could feel my pussy throbbing in need, demanding the same thing Justin was.
An expert multitasker, I opened the box of condoms and extracted one. I replaced my mouth with the condom before straddling Justin. Our eyes locked as I lowered myself onto him. I felt my body happily accept his cock, and my eyes closed with pleasure.
I let instinct and need take over, rocking my hips slowly and then more urgently. I positioned my body to best stimulate my G-spot, knowing Justin would only let himself come once I had. As if it had only been moments instead of months, my body knew exactly the right rhythm, the right pace to let the orgasm build and then flood my body. Moments after I began to moan his name, I heard Justin gasp mine as he came.
I let my body still, and we were motionless for a few moments, letting pleasant aftershocks dash through our bodies. Then I gingerly lifted myself off him, careful to keep the condom in place. He was equally cautious in removing it, both of us treating the sperm like potentially dangerous prisoners.
Lying in the king-size bed, we talked and laughed long into the night. In the morning, Justin called in sick, and we spent the morning in bed renewing our commitment to each other. When it was time to check out, we headed home to our children, eager to find the balance between his work, our own interests, our love, our lust and our family…with maybe a sandwich or two for me in there somewhere.
THE NETHERLANDS
Justine Elyot
These were the things I thought of when Matthew told me he was taking me to Amsterdam: tulips, windmills, canals, Van Gogh, dope, sex trafficking.
If you work for the Dutch Tourist Board, please forgive me. I know the list is hackneyed now, but I didn’t then. Oh, how experience has skewed my view now. Tulips are off the list; windmills have sailed right out of the running. The sex remains, but without the trafficking. Where is it on my list now? Much higher up. I’ll explain.
Our relationship was a year old when the choir took its biennial exchange visit to Amsterdam. Matthew was the chorus master. I was in the chorus. I suppose that made him my master from the moment I passed the audition, though he only became so in the more intimate sense some months later.
I was a D/s neophyte at the time, knowing what I knew only from The Story of O and some Depeche Mode lyrics, so Matthew taught me a great deal in a short space of ti
me. He was never less than careful of my feelings and considerate of my boundaries; had I known that a man who loved so dearly to wield a whip could be so gentle, perhaps I would have plunged into this kind of relationship before. But, echoing my Amsterdam checklist, my concept of a dominant man had been a jumble of rather frightening and ridiculous stereotypes, so I had written it off as masturbation fantasy.
More fool me? Perhaps. But on the other hand, I could not regret waiting for the right man. And Matthew was certainly the right man for me.
The morning after our performance of Bach’s St. John Passion in the St. Nicolaaskerk, Matthew and I visited the Rijksmuseum.
We were queuing in the ticket hall when Matthew’s phone bleeped and he read the message. He bit his lip and glanced sideways at me.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Do you remember me telling you about my friends Jan and Karin?”
“Oh! Those friends.”
“Yes. Those friends. They’ve invited us for lunch.” He put his phone in his pocket and wrapped a hand around my elbow, leaning down to murmur in my ear. “They’d very much like to meet you.”
My scalp prickled and the room swam before my eyes. Had that time come? Was I ready? How do you know when you’re ready?
Harvesting all the breath I could from my tightened chest, I essayed a tone that was several shades lighter than I felt.
“Is this the kind of meeting that involves nudity?”
He patted my bottom discreetly and said, “Only if you want it to be, Loveday. You know that.”
“Right.”
We were at the desk. We bought our tickets and wandered up the stairs to the first-floor galleries, though I had no clue where we were going, and if Matthew hadn’t been leading the way, I could just as easily have walked through an open window. Dutch Renaissance art was approximately the last thing on my mind.
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