Aha!
I try to stand up and he pushes me against the wooden wall of the cabin. Walls again!
But this time we’re doing it face to face.
He gives me the full force of his stare. Anger blazing. Muscles jumping in his cheek.
Lust and desire meeting mine. All that wrestling …
Swoosh!
He tears my beautiful blouse open. Right down the middle. Buttons fall everywhere.
So he’s obviously not expecting me to go anywhere after this.
My nipples stand up for him straightaway. They rub painfully against my bra. And here’s my vagina again, pulsing lustfully inside.
Game 4 Score: Even
He leans on me.
I feel his cock, still inside his pants, press into my crotch.
He rubs himself up and down.
My vagina gives a tug. Then another.
He wants me.
I want him.
My vagina, as always, is ready to rock with him right now.
But not without the last bit of a fight.
I mean, it wouldn’t be proper, would it?
And what would he think if I just gave in, spy to spy?
Clearly, he thinks the same.
He rips the blouse completely off my shoulder.
Winds his leg around mine so I can’t move – well, I can move but only in the way he wants me to.
And still I think there might be a chance.
He’s got to unzip those pants at some point …
While me, I’m wearing a skirt. A very short skirt. And no knickers, obviously.
And yes, there is a moment when I could knee him in the balls.
We’ve both sustained some bruises, mostly under our clothes, but I can see a pretty one forming on his arm, where I got him just a few minutes ago.
And now I have him at a disadvantage. I could deliver a knee punch that would double him over. I could take the moment. I could run, I could hit him again, I might be able to make it to the door. I could lock him in. I could abandon the barge and let him crash.
I could set a fire on the barge …
But I don’t.
Again, that look passes between us.
He’s strong, he’s fierce and, just now, I could get to him.
I want him.
Instead of trying to knock him out, I slide my hand into the front of his pants.
Oh, yes, he wants me too.
I press his cock a little, not too hard. Don’t want to damage the goods.
He closes his eyes for a fraction of a moment.
‘Give up?’ I say softly.
He shakes his head. ‘Not yet.’
Game 5
OK then, time to take charge.
I continue to rub his cock. Firmly. And more firmly again.
I can see the effect.
He moves involuntarily. Good.
Stealthily, with my other hand, I slide the door of the cabin open.
Oh – here’s another hand over mine.
He’s joined me in the rhythmic movement up and down his cock, directing the rhythm. So much for taking charge.
These pants are getting too tight for sure.
Is he going to unzip them any time soon?
His penis swells.
I think he’s going to have to.
Brilliant idea.
Another way to disable his advantage.
What spy can fight with his pants around his ankles …
His other hand moves towards the zip.
Good.
I’ve almost got the door open behind my back.
He grabs my arm.
Really, really hard.
Pulls me towards him.
I have to let go of the door.
He slips his other hand out of his pants and grabs me around the waist.
His cock gets even harder.
He still wants me.
He presses me close to him – and swirls me round to push me up against the steering wheel.
I can feel the hard wood driving into my back.
This is a high-end vintage barge. It used to carry wool to the sea and silk to the beautiful old town. It made us rich. It was refurbished only a few years ago.
Right now I wish it wasn’t quite so solidly built.
The bruises on my bottom hurt.
My clitoris responds by opening herself up again.
My vagina gives me a few big jumps.
Who am I kidding?
Finally!
I look into his eyes.
Such a slow journey from the eyelashes to the full frontal view of his glance.
He is trapped.
I am locked. Into his gaze.
I can never remember the colour of his eyes.
Isn’t it weird that I don’t know?
I’m not sure. Is it?
I spend a long, long time looking into his eyes.
I’m looking now.
Brown; I think they’re brown. Or maybe with a touch of grey? Green-grey, that much-admired Scandinavian hue?
The reason I can’t come up with his eye colour when he’s not there (maybe I should take a picture?) is that I don’t look at him. I’m not an observer.
I couldn’t be.
The moment my eyes make it past my lashes and into his, I fall into a vortex.
Game 5 Score: To the Spy Master from the Opposite Side
‘Ready to give up?’ he says.
His eyes suck me in. I don’t know any more who I am, what I am, never mind where, and when …
I am not me any more, gamine extraordinaire. I am flying in the vortex. I am his.
He searches me bare, he dives right in and he envelops me.
With his eyes only.
‘Yes,’ I hear myself whisper, ‘yes. You win. Master.’
My body goes all soft and limp.
Propped up on the good old steering wheel, I let him push my short skirt up (all of an inch).
He pauses for a moment and traces the line of my stockinged thighs. He sighs.
Then he bends me back as far as the wheel will let him.
I bend with him. I look into his eyes.
He pins my arms under the spokes of the wheel, just a little so that I can’t escape, but not enough to hurt me, and then he moves in on me.
Ironically, I miss the moment when he unzips.
We go out blazing …
Victory (He Wins)
‘I love you,’ he says, ‘my little fox, my feisty gamine.’
‘I love you too, my master,’ I answer.
My voice sounds a little shaky.
And we kiss.
It’s a long soft kiss, starting with a tentative meeting of the lips, and then another and another. He flicks his tongue inside my mouth and runs it along my teeth. I try not to bite him.
Instead I open up further and he slides his tongue in.
We wrestle.
Softly, with our tongues.
Big deep breaths when we come up.
We stand in the darkness of the skipper’s cabin. Only the light from distant stars throws a small shimmer across the trees and the canal.
Unless there are some deep-sea fish there, swimming by the light of their own jaws.
I snuggle deeper into his arms. He holds me very tight.
‘I almost didn’t find you this time,’ he said.
‘But you did,’ I answer.
He always struggles, and he always finds me in the end.
He chuckles appreciatively.
‘That trick with the tracing paper was smart,’ he says. ‘You were quite right. I had never seen these shapes before.’
Now it’s my turn to giggle.
‘I did send you to all the places you like,’ I say. ‘The sculpture fountain, the exhibition of old masters …’
‘Except that by the time I got there, the museum was already closed.’
‘Oh.’
‘I simply took too long figuring it out.’
Another kiss.
<
br /> ‘So how did you?’ I say.
He smiles.
He looks into my eyes.
I feel the familiar draw.
I could lose myself in there, so easily…
I shake my head. I want to hear this.
‘As I am sure you intended,’ he says. ‘By context and association. I didn’t spend my life studying the arts for nothing, you know.’
‘I know,’ I say dreamily. ‘Oh, I know. To you, everything is art.’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘there’s one art I’ve clearly overlooked.’
He was on the verge of giving up, he says. That aimless wandering I observed was just as desperate as I thought.
It took all his self-discipline to sit down for an espresso and regroup. Better than waste more time going in circles.
‘I let my mind wander,’ he says, ‘and then I looked at what I had. Those beige French knickers …’ (‘Natural Wild Vanilla!’ I correct him with a smile) ‘… that’s what the lady said, too,’ he continues, ‘when I finally put it all together. The knickers, the label from the local lingerie shop, the tracing paper … I nearly knocked my espresso over when I realised. And then I only made it to the shop just before they were closing.’
He smiles too. He’s clever. I am proud of him.
‘But they opened up just for me.’
Of course. I bet he charmed the vanilla knickers off that stately lady too. I hope not literally.
‘I never thought there was so much art in creating lingerie,’ he says.
‘Oh, there is,’ I say.
He gives me a kiss on my nipple. It still hurts but I want it. Once more, please, master. Thank you.
‘You’re going to have to educate me,’ he says.
‘With the greatest pleasure,’ I say.
We look at each other. I see the beginnings of another game. Where I am the teacher, and he is learning everything from me. And if not …
Our smiles are swallowed in a kiss.
‘After she explained the shapes to me,’ he says, ‘the intricate patterns for cutting the fabric and sewing it together, I could see that they were also some kind of map.’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘So I followed it,’ he says. ‘Except that I was so late … So I took a few shortcuts.’
‘I started the journey home without you,’ I say. ‘I won but I was sad. Nothing surprised me more than when you jumped on board from that bridge …’
‘It dawned on me what you had planned when I was standing on that bridge,’ he says, ‘the bridge that commands the best view of the city, day and night, and over the canal that mirrors it.’
‘The place where we first met,’ I say, reaching up to his neck. He obliges me by bending down to take my kiss, or succession of kisses, soft and sweet.
When we first met, on that bridge.
I realise now that our whole lives before that were a long, secret hunt for the partner we didn’t even know existed. Keeping secrets, sending clues, writing letters, never finding the one who could decode it all. The one who would come and play the game with me. With him.
We were cautious, mistrustful at first. We didn’t like to turn our backs on each other. Even that first date was a fight. For position, for advantage and, deep down, for what we really wanted. But I knew the very first moment I looked into his eyes, reflecting the brilliant light of this generous Northern city, that he wanted me.
By the end of the evening, I wanted him, too.
* * *
We have all night.
And all day if we want.
It turns out that the country hotel we booked is only about an hour away by boat.
It’s a bit cramped on the little bench in the wheelhouse so we have to stay entwined.
His hand finds its way down my stomach and starts to caress my clitoris. I gently stroke his penis.
Just tenderness and slow waves of satisfaction. Up and down, breathe and hold. Soft climax in tandem. No games.
We take all the time in the world to make the moon rise above the fields. It shines big and yellow into the cabin, like a festival balloon, coming to take us for a ride above the clouds.
Or at least that’s how I feel.
And isn’t a girl allowed a little romance, especially on this day?
Victory (I Win)
‘So,’ he says, ‘what would you like to do for our anniversary next year?’
‘It’s your turn,’ I say, reaching over behind the steering wheel where my own platinum ring hangs from a silver chain inside a secret shaft.
He smiles.
‘So that’s where it was,’ he says.
‘I would have told you,’ I say, ‘except that I forgot, when I looked into your eyes.’
‘My clever little fox,’ he says. ‘This will be a hard act to follow. Best game so far.’
Then he takes the ring from me and slips it slowly over my finger. Where a slight pale line shows from where I’ve worn it all these years.
He kisses my hand.
I kiss his.
Then I look up again.
‘Tell me,’ he says slowly, in his deep voice. ‘My little fox, as always, you are in charge.’
I still don’t know the colour of his eyes.
A Mischief Collection
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