She stopped coming after a few minutes. She took a deep breath and slid the buttplug out of her ass. Well, she thought, that was interesting. Not so bad. It’s not like I died or anything. Maybe that’ll be the last of it.
It wasn’t the last of it.
The thoughts kept coming. She’d try to drive them off, or she’d try to distract herself, or she’d go ahead and jerk off to them. None of it made any difference. The thoughts were there. They’d tap her on the shoulder like an annoying coworker, or scream at her cheerfully like ads on TV. Whenever she masturbated. Then when she wasn’t masturbating. Sexual images would drift into her head without warning, a phenomenon she was well used to by now, but now she found it distracting and disturbing. All that wonderful Zen-like bliss had dissolved, as if it had never been there, as if it had been a lie. She hadn’t stepped away from the wheel at all; she was tied to it, and the wheel was on a roller coaster. She was excited and fluttered one hour, calm and curious the next, anxious and irritable the next. Until now, she had organized her entire sex life around being bent over. She had organized her life around it, period. Everything else had been built around it. But bending over was taking up less space in her mind every day, and in its place was this… hole. This enormous empty place where bending over used to be. And now her whole life was built around that empty place.
The thoughts kept coming. The first time she thought about tying up that cute bank teller and making him eat her pussy, she felt like crawling out of her skin. The third time she did it, she rolled her eyes and went on with her grocery shopping; the fifth time, she reached for her vibrator. Gradually, tentatively, the new fantasies were becoming less like strangers, and more like… not friends, but friendly acquaintances. But the very familiarity made her twitchy. It felt like it could be a trap.
When she started fantasizing about Betsy going down on her, she began to shake. She was at the movies, at a matinee, alone. She got out of her seat, hurried to the bathroom, and sat on the toilet, willing herself not to cry.
The next day, she told Betsy.
“No,” Betsy said. “What? No.”
Dallas’s face fell. “So it’s not okay.”
“No,” Betsy said. “It is not okay.” She stood up and paced the room, agitated.
“So, you mean it’s not okay with you, as in, you don’t even want to try it?”
Betsy shook her head. “It’s not okay with me, as in I don’t want to try it. It’s not okay with me that you want to try it. It’s not okay with me that we’re having this conversation. It is not okay with me, period, in any way. What the hell happened? What about those three days?” She blanched. “Oh, my God. Was it the three days? Did I take it too far? Did I really hurt you? Was it—”
“No,” Dallas sighed. “The three days were… they were… Amazing. Mind-blowing. Really really good.” She struggled for a moment for better words, then gave up. “It was the best thing, ever.”
“So what the fuck?” Betsy asked. “How does something be the best thing ever, and then you don’t want it anymore?”
Dallas shut her eyes. “I didn’t say anymore. I didn’t say I never want to get bent over again. I just want to try some other things, too.” She opened her eyes and glared. “Anyway, why do I have to explain it? Since when do I have to explain to you why I want what I want?”
“Since you want me to go along with it,” Betsy snapped. “Since I became a central part of your sex life. You don’t get to just pull the rug out, and then set a bomb under the fucking floor, and not give me an explanation.” She sat down, and immediately stood up and started pacing again. “Remember what your ad said? How you wanted to be bent over and done from behind, and you didn’t want to do anything else? What the fuck is—”
“Yes, I remember,” Dallas sighed again. “Of course I remember. But I didn’t say forever, did I?”
Betsy stared as if she’d been slapped. Dallas pressed her advantage. “Do you want me to promise to always want the same things, and never want anything new, for the rest of my life? Do you think that’s even remotely fair? Yes, I said I wanted to be bent over and done from behind, and I said I didn’t want anything else. I didn’t say I’d never want anything else ever. I didn’t say I wanted to be bent over my wheelchair when I’m seventy, for fuck’s sake. I want some new things now, and I don’t think that’s bad, and I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m not—”
“Don’t get so fucking superior,” Betsy snorted. “Like you’ve grown, expanded your horizons, and I’m still stuck in my immature, narrow-minded fetish.”
Dallas threw her hands in the air. “I didn’t say that. I don’t think that. Don’t put words in my mouth. Look, I just… Look. I know this is upsetting to you. It’s upsetting to me, too. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t expect it, I don’t… And in answer to your question, I don’t know what happened. Ever since those three days, it’s been different. I’ve been different. Those three days, it was huge, way bigger than I expected, and that’s not a slam at all, it was incredible, but it was a lot. Life-changing a lot. And life-changing things, they come out weird sometimes.” She paused, scowling. “I don’t know. We said we wanted to bend me over and do me until I had enough, and we did. I had enough.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Betsy snapped. “I totally didn’t have enough. I had ideas lined up for at least another week. Clear, detailed, planned-out ideas. Not to mention the stuff that was lurking on the back burner. I was really bummed that you called a halt when you did. I could have easily gone on for the whole two weeks. I wanted to.”
Dallas sat silently for a long moment. “Jesus,” she said at last. “I’m… God, I’m an idiot. That hadn’t even occurred to me. I just assumed that after a couple of days, you’d mostly be doing it for my sake. I figured you’d get tired of it way before I did. I didn’t—”
“What planet have you been on?” Betsy asked. “We’ve been doing this for, how long? Five months? What could possibly make you think I’d get tired of it? What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Mercy fucks?” She clenched her hands, then carefully unclenched them. “Look. I just want to bend you over and do you from behind, and I don’t want to do anything else. And I don’t get why that’s all of a sudden a problem.”
“Okay,” Dallas said “I get it. You don’t want to do this. Fine. I’ll just… I don’t know. But you obviously don’t want to do this, and I’m not going to try to argue you into it.”
Betsy sat down, a bit calmer now. “Look. Why don’t you do this other stuff with someone else? You know that’s okay with me. I don’t care if you fuck other people now and then. Run an ad or something. Get it out of your system.”
“Maybe,” Dallas said. “I guess that’s a possibility. It’s just…”
“It’s just what?”
Dallas paused, choosing her words. “I don’t know that it is going to be just every now and then. I don’t know if I’m going to want to be bent over three or four times a week, and then go play on my back every month or two. That may not be enough. The way I feel now… maybe. I don’t know yet.”
Betsy stared. “Christ,” she said. “I have no idea what to do with that information.”
“Me, neither.”
They sat for a moment. “Look,” Betsy said at last. “I’m tired. You’re tired. I don’t think we’re going to say anything else useful tonight. Let’s go to bed. We’ll talk more later.”
They slept uneasily that night. They didn’t see each other for a few days. When they did, they had the same fight again. Calmer, and with less cursing, but still the same. They met again the next day, and had the same fight yet again; calmer still, and with more “I’m sorry”s and “I know this is hard for you”s and “I really want you to be happy”s, but still the same.
Dallas called Jack that weekend.
“So how’s Bobby?” Dallas asked. She set her teacup on his coffee table and plopped her feet up next to it.
“He’s good,” Jack said. “He’s in Seattl
e this week. His sister just had a baby; he’s helping her out.” He paused for a moment. “We’re talking about getting married, actually.”
“Damn,” Dallas said. “Who’da guessed. Well, good for you. Forsaking all others, and all that.”
“Yeah, right,” he snorted. “I don’t think either of us is writing that one into our vows. More like ‘Forsaking all others unless they’re relatively sane and know not to mess with the relationship, in which case, go boff them already.’ Anyway, we’re just talking now. No decisions yet.” He laughed. “Except for the caterers, of course. We haven’t decided about kids yet, but we know we want dim sum.”
Dallas groaned. “Sheesh. Californians. What will the wedding supper be? A steamed pork dumpling and a grilled snow pea?”
“You’ll probably have barbecued ribs at yours,” he retorted. “With pork chops on the side, and potato salad with bacon. Speaking of which, how are you and Betsy? Are wedding bells in the stars?”
Dallas scowled at her tea. “Come on,” she mumbled. “We’ve been together, what, five months? Anyway… that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Concerned face,” Jack said. “Are you guys in trouble? You seemed so happy the last time I saw you.”
“The last time you saw me, you had your dick in my ass. Of course I was happy.”
“My dick doesn’t make you that happy, muffin-chop. You were blissed. I’ve never seen you like that, and I’ve had my dick up your ass more than once. So what happened?”
“Well… it isn’t her,” Dallas said. “Not mostly. I’m…” She pulled at a lock of her hair. “You know how I only like the one thing in bed? How I just like to be bent over and done?”
Jack rolled his eyes.
“Screw you,” Dallas grinned. “Anyway. I told you about our little sex vacation, how Betsy and I spent three days bending me over and doing me? The gang bang you were in, when you two had me over the toilet, that was part of that.”
“Good times.”
“Yeah. Well. Ever since then, I’ve been… there are these fantasies…” She stopped and stared at her teacup.
“Jesus,” Jack said. “Spit it out. You want to get buggered by sheep? Gangbanged by the LAPD? Just tell me.”
“Okay.” Dallas took a deep breath. “I’ve been having fantasies about doing things, sexual things… that don’t involve being bent over.”
Jack raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth to speak, and closed it. He opened his mouth again, and left it hanging open.
“I know,” Dallas replied. “I’m a freak of nature. But I’m serious. This is very weird for me. Ever since the three days with Betsy, I’ve been thinking about all these other… things. Being on my back. Strapping it on. I’m even thinking about topping, if you can believe it. All this shit I used to think was boring and pointless, now I can’t stop thinking about it. All the fucking time. I mean, I still think about being bent over, but only now and then. Ever since those three days.”
Jack nodded. “Interesting. You found the Holy Grail, and it turned out the Grail wasn’t what you wanted after all.”
“No,” she sighed. “No, no, no, no, no! That is most emphatically not what I meant at all. It was exactly what I wanted. It was… It wasn’t like, you got the Grail, but it turns out the Grail sucks. It was like, you got the Grail, and the Grail is amazing, but then what?”
Jack chuckled. “Have you read the scripts for Monty Python and the Holy Grail?” Dallas shook her head. “Very funny,” he said. “I’ll lend you the book sometime. Anyway, in one of the earlier drafts, the Knights find the Holy Grail, very cool, they’re very happy. And then they stand around for a bit, kind of dissatisfied, wondering what to do next. And then they decide that one of them should hide the Grail, so they can all go looking for it again.”
Dallas laughed. “Yeah. That. But in a way, it’s just the opposite. It wasn’t unsatisfying at all. It was… All those years of being bent over, it was never enough. Nobody else wanted it like I did, so I always just grabbed what I could get. Like not knowing where my next meal was coming from.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Now I know. I can have enough of it. So I can relax. I can want other things. And I do.”
“So what’s the problem?” he asked. “I’ve known you for what, two years? Two and a half? And you’ve never not wanted to want something before. Not in bed, anyway. What’s the deal?”
“Well—Betsy, for one,” she said. “And for two, and for three. She is seriously not okay with this. We may not survive it.” She looked down at her hands. “I never got this before, but she’s into the whole bending over thing even more than I was. She has been, all along. And our little vacation didn’t change her mind. I think it actually made her want it more. She got the Grail, and now she’s like, ‘Cool, amazing, where can I get some more grails?’” She rubbed her eyes. “I feel awful. She gave me this amazing gift, and I take it and say, ‘That’s great, sweetie, thank you ever so much, now here’s what I want tomorrow.’ I suck. I can’t even—”
“No,” he said. “Shut up. Look, there may be things about you that suck, but trust me, wanting the kind of sex you want is not one of them.” He shrugged. “You guys just want different things now.”
“So what do we do about it?”
“Beats me. Look, I hate to sound harsh, but you do about it what every other couple in the free world does when they have serious differences. You compromise, or you suck it up and live with it, or you break up. This isn’t the movies—being honest and brave and true to your heart doesn’t guarantee you a happy ending. You can make all the right choices, and things will still suck sometimes.” He patted her hand, trying to be comforting; he looked at her downcast face, and abruptly changed the subject. “So, just to be clear. These fantasies you’re having, they’re not just things that are fun to think about when you whack off? They’re things you want to do, with your actual body?”
“God,” she sighed. “That’s the question before the court, isn’t it? If I knew that… Well, yeah. I guess I want to at least try them. With my actual body. If for no other reason than to find out.”
He nodded. “So are you propositioning me?”
Dallas was suddenly derailed, her mind pulled from its philosophical wanderings to the here and now. “Huh?” she said. “Oh. No. I was just saying…” She looked at Jack, and her mind shifted over onto yet another rail, a friendly and happy and enticing rail. “But… well, now that you mention it—”
Jack laughed, a deep, friendly belly laugh. “You are so easy,” he said. “I completely adore how easy you are. You are the least coy person I know. I have never known you to even think about saying no when you want to say yes.” He put his teacup down. “Now?”
Dallas hesitated, still somewhat derailed. But she was adjusting rapidly to the new track. “Sure,” she said. “Why the hell not. No gift like the present.”
“Good,” he said. He strolled over behind her chair, gave her shoulders a quick massage, and sneakily began to play with her breasts.
Her breasts.
Now, that was interesting. Novel. For some years now, her breasts had been pretty much out of commission, mushed up against a bed or a table for the most part, or else dangling uselessly in the air, in front of a sawhorse or some such thing. Oh, they sometimes got clamps put on them, or were fumbled with blindly for a few moments from behind. But now Jack was circling in on them, patient, relaxed, completely focused, like they held the secret to perfect happiness and he had all the time in the world to find it, and Dallas was starting to think that he might not be wrong about that. He spent long, lazy minutes cupping and massaging the curves of her breasts through the fabric of her T-shirt, and another slow minute pulling her T-shirt up to her armpits, lingering as he drew the hem across her nipples and exposed them to the air. Dallas felt her nipples stiffen. She glanced down self-consciously to see what they looked like.
Jack began playing a bit more seriously now, tracing his fingers from the outer rim of her
curves to a micron away from her nipples, then back out again, like a postulant walking a labyrinth. He teased her, pleasantly, nastily, circling his fingers around her nipples as if they might explode if he touched them too soon. Dallas squirmed and slumped back in her chair; she felt awkward, self-conscious, and Jack’s sadistically patient fingers were making her feel decidedly off balance. But they were also making her feel like she’d crumble into dust if he didn’t touch her nipples in the next six seconds. Jack purred; he always loved making her beg for it, whether it was with her words or her body, and she was begging for it now, letting out little whimpering moans and shoving her breasts out as far as she could. He took pity and brushed his fingertip over one nipple; Dallas wailed, and ground her hips in panicked circles into the hard seat of her chair. Her mind drizzled out of her head and distilled itself into her nipples, paying frantic attention to every spiral and brush, every millimeter of pressure and movement. At the same time, she felt a sort of calm curiosity, an inner watcher taking notes for future reference. Her nipples felt like clitorises, a bit less sensitive but capable of tolerating more, which might be useful. Especially now that Jack was pinching them. He squeezed them slowly like a gradually tightening vise, and let go sharply. And again, a bit harder each time, like a rising tide. She held her breath with each pinch, fighting the pain and then relaxing and letting it in, then letting it all rush out in a huge sigh of relief when he let go.
He squeezed her nipples then, hard, and twisted them hard, and didn’t let go this time. He twisted them harder, a sharp, vicious twist, digging his fingers in deep, and she screamed, and pounded her feet on the floor, and felt a spasm shake her body from her shoulders to her belly. It was over in a second. The sensation in her nipples quickly shifted from painful to annoying, and she knocked Jack’s hands away, and then grabbed them and pressed the palms flat against her breasts.
Bending: Dirty Kinky Stories About Pain, Power, Religion, Unicorns, & More Page 18