by Stark, Rhona
‘That’s right,’ she said, as I moaned once more, ‘you’re incredible, Rayne.’ I felt her gently hold onto my hair, pulling my head back, changing the angle of her entry as my ass tilted itself back and down. She hit a new part of me, further up inside.
‘Fuck,’ she said, ‘I love seeing you like this.’ She then seemed to go into overdrive. She dropped my hair and then I felt her teeth suddenly around my right shoulder as she held me in place, biting me firmly but gently and then, she groaned, loud and bestial, so deep and strong. As she groaned, she pushed her fingers further into me, so far that I gasped, and then I felt her shudder, crying out and spasming.
She was cumming! Fucking me like this had turned her on so much it had made her cum!
She continued to grip me with her teeth. I never wanted this feeling to end.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
This time, after we finished, Ms. X didn’t just leave me and fly off to China. This time, she undid my straps, and we lay together in the bed, under the soft silk sheets, warm and safe, secure. And you know what? This time, we talked.
‘That was wonderful,’ she said.
It took me a moment, lying there quietly, before I plucked up the courage to reply.
‘I loved it,’ I said.
She smiled that huge, soft grin of hers, so different to how stern her face normally looked.
‘Your voice is so pretty,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad I finally get to hear it.’
I laughed.
‘And your laugh is so beautiful, too!’
I’d always hated my laugh. To be told that she liked it made me feel so goofy, like a little kid again.
‘I’ve got a confession to make,’ I said. ‘I’ve never done this before.’
‘This is your first time being involved in bondage role-play?’
‘No,’ I said, blushing.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘your first time with a woman.’
‘Actually, I mean that that was my first ever time. With anyone. Like, as in, it was my first time .’
It seemed to take her a moment to realize what I meant. She looked at me with this confused expression, and as it dawned on her, her brown eyes widened and she opened her mouth. ‘Oh Rayne,’ she said. ‘I had no idea.’
‘It’s Cassie,’ I said. ‘My name. Cassie.’
‘I love it,’ she said. ‘Cassie, was it OK for you, your first time? If I’d known I’d have asked you about it, I’d have done something more… normal.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I loved it. I’ve never felt like that before. It was perfect.’
She smiled. ‘So, were you waiting for the right person then, or what?’ She winked.
‘Something like that,’ I said. ‘Religious upbringing. Denying my sexuality. Yadda yadda.’ It felt like a relief to reduce so many years of uptightness to a couple of mere sentences.
‘I see,’ said Ali. ‘So before me, had you ever thought about having sex with a woman before?’
‘Not exactly… but I think the clues were there, in retrospect. Never really feeling turned on by a man’s body. Being intrigued by the female form.’
Ali laughed. ‘Yup. That’ll do it.’
We talked for hours. She asked me about my work, and I told her about my job. Amazingly, she seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. She laughed when I told her stupid, boring stories about Teresa and groaned when I explained that I didn’t get paid.
‘It’ll be a good experience though,’ she said, ‘for running your own marketing empire. You’ll know not to take on any interns.’
‘Oh, I’m never going to pay anyone ,’ I said. ‘I’m going to try and get Teresa working for me for free. That’d show her.’
She asked about my parents, about my upbringing, and I gladly told her all there was to tell. The amazing thing was, I didn’t stutter, I didn’t fall over my words, I didn’t blather on or mumble, I just spoke with the quiet confidence I always wished I had. Every time she said my name, I felt a little thrill of excitement. It was such a simple thing, but it was as satisfying and joyful as anything else I’d experienced that day.
I found out some things about her, as well.
I found out her surname: Stracelli. It was almost as sexy as her first name, I thought to myself. I found out that her grandparents had come over to the U.S from Italy, which is why she was called Ali, which apparently is short for Alessa and is a fairly common Italian name. I found out that she was actually an architect. Her involvement with the Plaza went back quite a long way, and was to do mainly with the internal remodeling of some of the communal areas, and redecoration of the rooms. She’d saved them a lot of money because of some kind of environmentally friendly new material she’d introduced them to. To be honest, a lot of the technical stuff went over my head, but she always seemed to notice and rerouted the conversation to something more simple to understand. It was clear that she was passionate, though.
‘It’s not just that it’s good for the environment,’ she said. ‘Houses made of straw bales look fantastic.’ That’s right, straw bales. She’d been over in China to talk to building firms about the suitability of straw for building.
‘It was awful,’ she said. ‘I was in the meeting with the CEO of this huge building firm, and I was explaining the pros and cons. And I said, obviously as a joke, “The only thing you’ve got to watch out for is that wolves - if they huff and puff, can blow down houses made of straw…” and there was this awkward silence. The joke totally went over all of their heads.’
‘Something must have just been lost in translation,’ I said, stifling a giggle.
‘Come on,’ she said, ‘the joke was crap. I can admit that now. At least it didn’t stop them from investing in the new technology. We need to do as much as we can do reduce their carbon footprint…’ And she was off again.
‘So what’s your dream, Cassie?’ she asked after a while. ‘What’s the thing that you want more than anything else?’
I thought for a moment. No-one had ever asked me that before. For a second I felt like I was in a job interview again, and that it was Teresa asking me a question. Then, as I looked into Ali’s calm, non-judgmental face, I realized that I was safe here, that I could be really honest with this woman. She had really opened up to me. She’d shown me a freaky room full of antique bondage gear. We’d shared our bodies with each other.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘until today, I feel like I would have said that my main goal in life was to be able to talk to someone I liked without stuttering and rambling.’
Her face was suddenly inquisitive.
‘But somehow,’ I continued, ‘getting to know you has really helped me to relax and be calm. Honestly, if I’d had to talk to you that first time we met in the rain, it would have been a non-stop stream of sorrys and ums. But now that I’m hopefully cured of that, I guess I want to be successful, and I want to be happy. No big dreams apart from that. Just happiness.’
She smiled.
I’ll never forget that night. It was the first time I’d spent a whole night talking with someone. We stayed up so late that Ali even asked me whether I’d like to watch the sunrise with her. We walked back up the staircase to the main part of her suite. I felt like a new woman climbing those stairs. Confident, positive and elated.
We sat out on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket, as the sun climbed over the city’s horizon. The light, thin and cool at first, gradually strengthened, until I was dazzled by the warm fall heat of the dawning day.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Cassie, Cassie, Cassie. You are a bad influence on me. Do you know what time it is, young lady?’
It was tough to open my eyes. I was so tired! I wasn’t used to staying up ‘til dawn. OK, it wasn’t so much that I wasn’t used to it, more like I’d never done it, ever !
The smell of breakfast was enough to get me up, though. I don’t know about you, but breakfast food is pretty much my favorite food. You can keep your fancy crap - caviar, smoked salmon, all that trash. Jus
t give me a stack of waffles with bacon and maple syrup, and I’m the happiest girl on the planet.
‘How do you take your coffee?’ asked Ali. She was holding a silver tray with a beautiful French press, full of rich, steaming coffee.
‘Um, black please, m’lady, as dark as the night,’ I said, trying out a posh British accent.
Ali joined in. Her voice sounded hilarious when she tried to change it, like she had a stick up her butt. ‘And will madam be partaking of any sugar this morning?’
‘No thank you my kind butler, none whatsoever.’
The coffee was good, the breakfast was even better. The only thing spoiling my mood was the thought that this heavenly situation might have to finish soon.
‘Do you know what time it is?’ she asked. She looked so handsome this morning, her white shirt was loosely fastened about halfway up her chest, and she was just wearing lace panties on the bottom half. She leaned over to me with a cup of coffee.
‘I’ve got no idea,’ I said.
‘It’s half past one.’
‘Whoops,’ I said. ‘Hope you didn’t have any plans this morning.’
‘Nope. My diary is freakishly free this weekend.’
‘Hope we didn’t miss the checkout time for the room.’
Ali laughed. ‘I don’t think many other guests want to pay for a room with a BDSM dungeon attached to it.’
‘So that’s what we did last night. Bondage?’
‘I guess so,’ she said, ‘but really it’s very light what we did last night. Lots of people go much more extreme with it. You know, people do lots of humiliating stuff.’
‘You didn’t want to humiliate me?’ I said, batting my eyelashes at Ali.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘not for our first time.’
‘I wonder whether you might like it if we switched roles,’ I said. ‘You seemed to quite like it when I took control last night.’
‘I did like it,’ she said. ‘Maybe it’s something we can explore in future.’ She gave me a look. ‘There’s lots of stuff I’d like to explore in future.’
I can’t really explain how eating breakfast turned into having sex. One moment we were sipping our coffees with hungry looks in our eyes, the next thing I knew, Ali was gently holding me down on the bed, rubbing my clit. I got wet so fast that she slid her fingers into me effortlessly. She put her tongue down on my clit as she fucked me. I made the most of my freedom to explore the shapes she made - her strong back, her firm thighs, her ass. I pulled her into me as deep as I could, pushing my crotch up into her, then I snaked my hand round behind and gently stroked her ass. She kissed me hard and long, then moved faster in me. I moved my hand even further forward now, seeking out her pussy, and then I used her juices to moisten her clit, and began making her moan with pleasure.
Our climaxes, when they came, were satisfying. We collapsed into each other again. It was wonderful to feel so cared for, and amazing to be able to chat. Just like a real couple. The best possible way to spend a Sunday. And eventually, we ate our breakfast.
‘So, what do you want to do now?’ she asked. ‘Don’t feel like you have to stay. You probably have stuff you’ve got to do?’
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘my diary is also freakishly free today.’
‘Well if you’re free,’ she said, ‘do you want to go to the Guggenheim?’
‘The art museum?’ I asked.
Ali nodded.
‘I don’t really know much about art,’ I said.
‘It’s easy, you just go, look at stuff, and see how it makes you feel.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘And the café does a killer cheesecake. And better coffee than here.’
‘Well that settles it,’ I said.
We walked north up fifth avenue, with Central Park on our left the whole way. It was another beautiful fall day, and the leaves from the trees danced in a light breeze in front of us. The sound of gentler Sunday traffic was all around, and we walked past shoppers and tourists, making their way around the city. I wondered how many could guess what we’d been up to last night, and this morning. To my amazement, Ali took my hand in hers. She squeezed it gently and moved her lips close to my ear.
‘You’re such a pleasure to spend time with, Cassie. I can’t believe I’ve been wasting my time with Rayne.’
I blushed.
‘Is this your first time at the Guggenheim, then?’
I nodded. New York was such an amazing place. Even though I lived in the city, I barely knew it. It felt like the whole of life was here, waiting to be discovered. So many museums, so many restaurants, cafés, art galleries. I felt like I’d never get bored of the place.
‘It’s an amazing building, isn’t it? The building is as impressive and expressive as the art within, I always think. The architect, Frank Lloyd Wright is something of a hero of mine, too. She combined aesthetic beauty with spirituality, and practical considerations. Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?’
I couldn’t believe that Ali was the one rambling, not me!
‘No, it’s nice to hear you passionate about it,’ I said. The building was impressive, too. It looked like a kind of cornet, or a layered cylinder with a wide base. I’d never really seen anything else like it.
‘It’s meant to be like a temple of the spirit. You see, like it’s a church to creativity, to artistic expression. It’s an example of the organic architecture which Frank Lloyd Wright was famous for.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I said.
‘Wait ’til you see what’s inside,’ she said.
I loved walking around the magical space of the Guggenheim, taking in all of the artwork. I’d never considered myself an art lover, like, at all, but I was definitely getting something from the paintings, sculptures and photographs. It sounds dumb, but Ali was right; it was as simple as looking at a piece of art, and trying to work out how it made me feel.
Sometimes, it was just that it was beautiful, and I was lucky to be looking at it. But what surprised me most was just how playful a lot of the art was. I’d never really considered it before, but it was like the artist was trying to communicate with me - something fun and exciting, through the canvas.
‘This one’s amazing,’ I said. In front of me was ‘The Yellow Cow’ by Franz Marc. It was a painting of a yellow cow, prancing through a strangely colored landscape, a funny little smile on its face. ‘It’s funny, and makes me feel really close to nature, even though the colors are so strange.’
‘That’s interesting,’ Ali said. ‘Franz Marc loved animals - he was quite passionate about them, and thought that the feelings animals must feel are stronger in a lot of way than those of humans. I think you get something of that from this picture. The cow looks so wild, so free, and so content.’
Wild, free and content. Those were words you could easily apply to me at the moment. I squeezed Ali’s hand and we moved on.
The next painting I saw almost floored me. It was so confident, so simple, but so complex and expressive.
‘This one’s my favorite in the museum,’ said Ali. ‘”Woman with Yellow Hair”, by Picasso.’
It was a painting of a sleeping, blond woman, with her hair swirled around her face. She was lying on a red, white and green striped cloth. There was just an indication of a breast under her. It was difficult to tell exactly how she was lying, because of the shape and placement of the face.
‘It’s so sensual, isn’t it?’ said Ali, ‘the way you can’t tell where the hair ends and the skin begins. You know he produced over 1,800 paintings in his life? He was such a passionate, engaged guy, all the way through life.’
I looked again at the painting of the woman, wondering if Ali might have looked at me like that this morning, before waking me, wondering what my hair might look like spread across the sheets of the bed in Room 901.
Ali squeezed my hand this time.
When we turned the next corner, it wasn’t the artwork that stopped me dead in my tracks.
There, in the middl
e of the gallery floor, gazing at ‘The Mountains At Saint Remy’ by Van Gogh, was none other than my boss, Teresa. I was looking at her back, but there was no mistaking that haircut.
I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t doing anything wrong by being here with Ali, of course, but I just didn’t want her seeing me. I guess I just wanted to keep the thing that was so new and fresh a little private. It felt that by having my mean old boss know about it, it might make the relationship go sour, like her. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it, but I let go of Ali’s hand. Before I could whisper to her that we should leave the room, though, she opened her mouth and started to talk.
‘Here’s the painting of one of the great tortured artistic geniuses of all time, of course. Van Gogh got basically no recognition during his lifetime, and often had barely a penny to his name.’
As she spoke with her usual loud, authoritative voice, Teresa turned to look at the noise, to see where the commotion was coming from. When she saw the two of us together, her eyes lit up. She had this maniacal look, as though she had discovered the most delicious chocolate in the world, and was about to eat a hundred of them. She stepped toward the two of us.
It took me a moment, to notice it, but when Ali looked at Teresa there was something like recognition in her eyes.
Teresa was dressed (I think) in actual fur. It looked like she had an animal draped across her shoulders. Her makeup was immaculate as ever, and her fox-like eyes widened as she stepped right up to us.
‘Well, fancy this! What a pleasant surprise,’ she said, her voice unnaturally cheerful. ‘I didn’t know that the two of you knew each other.’
You two? Did she know Ali? What in the world was going on?
‘Cassie, I didn’t take you for an art lover,’ she said to me.
‘Teresa,’ said Ali, ‘nice to see you. Cassie and I are…friends… we met recently and found we had a lot in common.’