“I guess I don’t understand what you think,” I answer her. “It’s hard for me to fathom a woman putting herself in your position—apparently quite willingly. And I wonder if it’s willing at all, or has he duped you with his sexual philosophy and clouded your own?”
“I prayed to God for a dominant man long before Billy appeared in my life,” she tells me.
“Really?”
“The thought of being owned has been in my fantasies since I was a child.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“So what is this between you and me? You can’t tell me there’s not some sexual connection here.”
Her lips pout a little, and a curl of hair falls over her brow. As her crotch makes love to the seat of her chair, the tension between us climbs skyward and downward between thighs. My penis snaps ungraciously, reminding what I really want from Kirsten. Reaching under the table my hand finds the bare skin at her knee. She doesn’t shake me off. “Of course I’m attracted to you, what woman wouldn’t be?”
“Oh, I know many.”
“Humm. I’d think you’d have women knocking at your door in the middle of the night.”
“I’m very particular.”
“I guess you are. And choosing women that are promised to other men,” she observes, “…that keeps you safe.”
“At the very least frustrated,” I joke.
“But why would you?”
I’m not used to such candid probing, and find the answers coming to me a little unsettling. “Maybe it’s a form of masochism,” I state.
“Sounds like it to me,” she agrees—dead serious, while I’m trying to lighten the mood. “Perhaps you should take a look at your motives.”
“I’m not really into examining myself that much,” I say.
“I see.”
She’s damned coy, looking at me as though she reads every fuckin’ piece of my mind like there’s a open book before those odd hazel eyes of hers. I underestimate her multi-layered mysteries.
“What would your motive be?” she asks.
I think for a minute, realizing that this conversation is not at all what I planned it to be—an outright seduction. I doubt the way this one is going if we’ll have another. Why not be honest. “I’d like nothing better than to seduce you out of your relationship with Billy,” I finally say.
Still flirtatious, she has me savoring each word, each bat of her lashes, each lick of her lips. I want her and I hate this. “I already know that,” she finally says between sips of her latte. There’s a little cream on her lip I’d like to lick away with a kiss. Instead, I lift my napkin and dab it gently. My cock makes its presence known, pressing on the inside of my pants. The way I see her titter, her bottom squirm again on the wood seat, I imagine her aroused as well. This is a detestable situation. I should be walking away from her, putting as much space between us as I can. But I know how impossible that is when we are both here in Paris.
“Then, if you know that, if you know I’m trying to seduce you, why would you jeopardize your relationship with Billy, if you’re not questioning it?”
“Maybe I am,” she says. “I find you fascinating. I liked our conversations on the Princess Camellia. And since Billy is so busy right now, and I hardly know a soul here, it seems that—with his permission—renewing our acquaintance was a good idea.”
I back off, at least emotionally. Perhaps I was making too much of this. “Okay, I can live with that,” better than trying to live in Paris without speaking to her. “But just remember, my motives stick. I won’t press them, but I think Fitzgerald’s treatment of you borders on criminal. I’m not about to change my mind.”
“And I can live with that,” she says with an affection that stirs my sexual juices as much as her eyes seduce me, and her fluid body and the graceful curve of her supple neck. She drinks the rest of her lukewarm coffee while I polish mine off in gulps.
***
I see Kirsten Cates nearly every day for the next week. On three occasions we have coffee and conversations—again in the same café, same table, same distancing. She seems comfortable with this while I sit there letting her sexuality flow over me like water, so that I’m swimming in her essence by the time we part. We haven’t even talked about sex.
She shows me her work and I marvel. We discuss art and politics—though she’s not an enthusiast for that topic. My work fascinates her—just as it does most people. But unlike talking to most people, I find myself sharing the real details of my journeys and the filmmaking. She has an ear for such things and I don’t feel as though I’m giving her some insipid travelogue of my life the way I often feel with people who press me about my documentaries. Her questions are astute, her mind quick. She’ll make a good interviewer for her magazine.
Though I refuse to mention the way we seem to click intellectually, I know she loves these conversations. They feed her soul, which I feel has been deprived since she gave herself up to this sexual pairing. She anticipates our next conversation and ends each one reluctantly, each time looking at her watch to see that time has slipped rapidly by.
I venture physical gestures each time, which she doesn’t reject. A hand massaging her thigh, a simple kiss to her cheek, a genuine hug when we part. Each time with her seems more tender, the touch more lingering, the longing in her eyes more noticeable.
After a long weekend away, we meet after her art class and I make my offer again, one she gladly accepts.
“Billy’s going away for a week, ten days perhaps,” she tells me halfway through our first cup of coffee.
“Where to?”
“Greece, then Rome.”
“And he’s not taking you with him?”
“I could go, but I told him I’d rather stay here.”
“You don’t know what you’d be missing,” I say.
“I’d be missing you if I left—and my art classes,” she hastens to add.
This reply takes me by surprise.
“You want to elaborate on that statement?”
Her smile is sweet, inhibited, and a little ashamed. As her cheeks turn pink my heart is leaping in my chest, waiting anxiously to hear what she has to say.
“His leaving would give me an opportunity to get more real with this thing between us.”
“You mean that seriously?”
“Yes.”
I’m ready to rape her on the spot, but sense this is still a delicate revelation needing my restraint not enthusiasm.
“And Billy won’t have a problem with us?”
“Oh, he probably will, but I can’t be concerned how he feels.”
“Well, then, you’re much less under his thumb than I figured.”
“That’s what I’ve tried to tell you all along. I’m hardly under Billy’s thumb, except by choice, so it’s difficult to consider me oppressed and dominated in that sense. We could probably go round in circles about this issue, since we don’t think the same on it, but I’d rather not do that. I’d rather just act on what I’m feeling.”
“What makes you do this now?” I should just be happy and shut my mouth—if I’m reading the right things into this conversation, but I’m too damned curious.
“The lust is overwhelming. Our connection seems so curious to me. Would it be wise to marry a man three weeks from now with all these feelings clouding the picture?”
“No. It wouldn’t.” On this I heartily agree.
My one regret is that we have to wait until Billy is actually in Greece before Kirsten and I can consummate the burning we both feel. I’m clawing with need for three days—I must masturbate a half dozen times thinking of her. And our next conversation borders on an outright public sexual act before it ends. She lets me sit next to her in the café with my hand making a more penetrating journey under her skirt. The texture of her skin like pliant glass, and a tremor of fear at my touch discloses her nervousness. I find her submissive response to my probing unique among the women I’ve moved on in su
ch public settings. When I kiss her ear and follow that kiss with a line of them down her neck, she quakes so I feel the shudder in my hand.
“Oh, I wish he were gone now,” she purrs, reflecting back my very sentiments. She doesn’t kiss back, but remains docile and willing for me to continue advancing on her.
“Is it really necessary to wait?” I moan with my complaint.
“Uh, huh,” she’s sounding dreamy, dropping her legs wide apart, as my hand moves deeper up her dress. We’re bathed in cool shadows under the café’s outdoor canopy, only half hidden from passersby on the street. Though, with our backs their way, it might be difficult to make out exactly what we’re doing without stopping to take a good long look. “Oh, I think I’d better go,” she finally sighs. She sits up in the chair and I’m forced to pull my hand away.
“Yes, sure, certainly,” the stumbling comment surfaces along with a pang of grief. I wonder if she’s just baiting me, if I’ll find her changing her mind once her fiancé skips out.
***
It’s two days before I get an answer to the question that plagued me since I came on to Kirsten in the café. Billy has left for Greece and Kirsten meets me after her art class with the most beautiful womanly smile I’ve ever seen. Like she’s finally free.
Taking her to my apartment, I am, at first, as nervous as a little kid. But once we are in the door, our clothes are off so quickly that I forget the jitters. Her languid body eases into mine, any inhibitions dispensed with. Perhaps we’ve both combed our fantasies to strip each other naked, and now that were are body to body, we have no shyness. There’s no restraint, no reserve, her hands grasp my ass with a gentle force looking as though she’s in heaven as she squeezes. I move my hands with as much eagerness, feeling my cock spring nearly fully erect as I place my palm over one breast. To tease her nipple makes it completely firm. As she moves her groin against me, I can already feel the desire welling raw inside me. The desire to burrow my thing into her steamy cunt drives us to the living room couch. My hands move over her body, while hers massage my aching cock. It springs freely alive.
As Kirsten sinks down on me, I lie back against the pillow, feeling her lips surround the head, her tongue reach out fluttering against the rim, the underside and down the shaft. Then she drives it deeply down her throat, backs off and sucks the firm thing with tightening jaws. I am hardly in myself anymore, feeling as though I’ll float away, and yet, every nerve in me has become so alive, nothing escapes on this physical plane.
I find the soft curls of her hair in my hand, where they run like silken threads through my fingers. I clench them hard and she showers me with a sensuous response, like every element of her pours sexual energy. I groan, thrash about the couch beneath me, and finally, unable to stand her teasing any longer, I grab that hair forcefully upwards—pulling her mouth off my cock so we’re face to face and her lips meet mine again.
Her thighs part, and with her pussy settling down against my groin, I sink my erection into her snatch and begin the fuck.
“Ooo, ahh, yessss…” She exclaims and whimpers, little mewing kittenish noises. We awkwardly turn on the couch, so I can rise above her. Kirsten wilts under me, eyes dangerously molten while she takes the beating in her belly, almost as if she draws it from me. Watching her breasts bounce against her chest, I want to claw them, to bite the surface and take those pert pink nipples in my mouth and draw them out tight while biting down. Her skin is flawless, like cream, like a rosy, translucent cream.
I’m cumming too fast to slow this down. And as I feel her cunt orgasmically clenching my erection, the climax takes me, spending weeks of pent-up need in a dazzling, hot geyser inside her welcoming home. As the feelings fall away, I collapse against her, pressing my chest to hers as we repair in the quiet that engulfs us in my stuffy rented apartment.
“I should have taken more time,” I say, almost feeling embarrassed by this hasty fuck.
“Why?” she asks.
“I really don’t want to waste any time with you.”
“I’m not going anywhere soon,” she says.
All so compliant, like she’s serving me.
“You did cum?” I suddenly wonder aloud.
“Of course, long before you did. I was cumming before you even entered me.” I love the way she snickers laying that surprise on me.
“You were?”
“Happens when I’m really horny.”
What could this glorious woman possibly say that would be more flattering to a man’s ego?
“Why would you wait so long to act on your feelings?” I wonder.
She takes her time replying. “I had to be sure. I didn’t want to make a foolish mistake and regret it the instant after our fucking was over.”
“So, no regrets?”
“Not a one.”
I’m at loss for what to say. I think I’ve fallen in love, but I have no real clue what’s going on inside her head. And Billy Fitzgerald blurs the whole fuckin’ mess. Why do I choose impossible women—what kind of masochist does this make me? Or have I gotten lucky this time and achieved my goal? Have I won her from the bastard?
The day is dying. As the shadows lengthen, the glowing sunlight streaks in through the vine-covered trellis surrounding my porch. Shadows of leaves dance on the wall. Particles of dust vibrate in the rays of light, and a lethargic sun sinks deeper into the horizon until at last it becomes a glowing ball of fire behind the far trees.
This energy moves inside us both, though this time it doesn’t roar like an angry beast. It’s subtle, and yet still forceful, urging my limp dick from its repose. I find her ticklish at the crook of her neck, and licking along that line, her body jumps. Her belly swells and she moves her sopping cunt against my thigh, fucking me like there’s already a dick buried inside. Squeezing her ass with my hand, her body jolts again. Covering her fat purple nipple with my mouth, I suck until she begins to gasp. Her head falls back as though she’s delirious.
When I play with her cunt, so many fingers ease inside, I wonder if I could fit them all—but then my hand is hardly small, so I don’t try. I’m not so used to being free with a woman, having one who won’t debate me or contest a little pain, a pinch too hard, a nibble too stinging. I could smack her ass with the palm of my hand and she wouldn’t resist—she’d be hornier still. I could be much rougher, but I won’t do that. I want her aroused by my passion, not by force. I want to show her gentleness, the body joy inside my kindness—if I were to be a ruthless ass, I’d be no better than her beloved Fitzgerald. It is my plan to show her more than she can have with him. I hate myself for this agenda, but I’m face to face with the fact that I live in the shadows of another man. She’s testing me. I could despise us both for that.
I need to let my thoughts end here. If I keep up, I’ll screw up everything with this goddess. No, I’ve waited much too long…
My thoughts return to sex, as my fingers slide in and out of her cunt, moving deep into her cleft where, with a slight prick at her anus, she jumps startled. There’s an expression of concern on her lips and then they break out into a smile. A warm, mirthful smile, that tells me to go on. Driving my fingers deeper, she groans contentedly. As my erection slides inside the enveloping warmth of her vagina, I hear her mew. Two fingers continue to probe her back door, and as I pump myself to the ends of her cunt, I imagine my cock next in her ass. She rocks with me, this musical rhythm dissolves everything, all that matters is our crotches grinding together. The world comes down to this one animal act. The center of time surrounds this slip of space we’ve entered where the physical is paramount, and bodies turn toward heaven. I slide in and out of paradise, and bear down as my cock breaks against the foamy shores of her insides. I have no idea where my lover is at this moment, and it doesn’t seem to matter.
Kirsten’s now limp next to me. She’s spent with my cum and hers dripping down her legs. It’s almost painful as we peel off each other. We’re fused so tightly, I’ve never been quite so inspired by a wom
an, never found myself thinking ahead to the next time we have sex and what I want to try with her.
When my thoughts return to reality, I quickly make a mess of things, asking her, “did you make love to Billy last night?”
“Yes,” she replies.
I’m instantly jealous.
“Tell me about it.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this relationship, Kirsten, if I’m looking over my shoulder seeing Fitzgerald’s face looking at mine, or thinking that you’re comparing me to him.”
“You’re being silly,” she says with a pointed finger at my chest.
“Then I don’t come up short?”
“Hardly. You’re more than I imagined and I am a very happy woman right now.”
“So tell me about him.”
“Billy?”
“Of course, Billy.”
“Just what we did last night?”
“Yes, just what you did last night.”
She considers my request carefully and begins, leaving me again wondering what this woman really feels inside. “He chained my hands to the bed—chains because he finds them primitive and because they seem to give me a sensation of slavery like nothing else.” She pauses as though she expects me to say something, but I keep quiet. “Then, he gagged me with a bit in my mouth he could tug. There was a chain around my neck attached to another he thread about my breasts, almost like a harness he could pull if he wanted. After I was bound, Billy fucked my ass, greased it well and fucked it for a long time—I’d given him head earlier in the evening, so he could hold on to this one for a long time. I was pretty sore by the time he finished.” She has me thinking about her ass being sore—one minute I’m wondering if I just hurt her with my probing fingers, though the next, I find a part of me turns on to that very thought.
“Is that all he ever does? Find some way to cause you pain?”
“No. Sometimes Billy is very gentle.”
I’m not sure how I can compete with him, why she even wants me. We lie close to each other long into the night, drifting in and out of sleep. We caress. For a time her mouth takes my prick and I grow hard again. I return the favor bringing Kirsten another orgasm with my mouth. Her cunt tastes sweet. I think I could lap it all night seeing the way her body responds. I can do anything and she won’t object. I fall asleep with that thought in my mind unsure where to proceed next.
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