She starts to read. I cry.
I cry because I see her mouth form the words that I’ve written, because I hear the tenderness in her voice when she speaks my words.
She reads a few chapters. She takes her time. She forms the words carefully, imbues their articulation with a slow sensuality.
Finally, she pauses. She looks at me, and she’s crying too.
She says, “I like it.”
When I come back from my morning run, Tamara is still asleep. Her feet are sticking out from under the sheets. This is one of my favourite sights: tenderly domestic and deliciously sensual. I fantasize about straying from our scripted lives, about indulging in spontaneous intimacies outside the confines of our rituals, and . . .
Fuck Andrei.
I look at Tamara’s sleeping body and let the sight of her overwhelm me.
I stoop down and kiss her toes. I slip my tongue between them, slide it around each one. I nibble on them.
She moans, still asleep, and throws off the sheets.
The sun hits her skin, from her nipples to just below her luxuriant pubes. The prospect of transgression makes my blood rush, but I rein in my impatience and move with slow but focused intensity.
Cupping her heels, I raise her legs in the air. Below, I catch a glimpse of her moist vulva, framed by her butt cheeks and by the backs of her thighs. I bend down and breathe on her wetness. She gasps, still asleep.
I smell her and close my eyes. Her pubes tickle my nose, and I can’t help laughing.
That wakes her up.
I fear her reaction to this unscheduled intimacy, but she opens her arms in invitation.
I let go of her legs and fold myself into her sleepy embrace.
“You’re sweaty,” she mumbles. I’m still wearing my jogging clothes. “I love your smell.” Have we broken free? Can we write our own lives? Together. Finally, truly, together.
She disentangles herself and sits up. She hugs me, drowsily rubbing her face against my chest.
She pulls off my T-shirt, and she runs her tongue from my belly button to my armpit.
She squeezes my stiff cock through my shorts, and we both laugh.
She smiles coyly, letting go of me, then runs her hand in circles around my crotch, never quite touching it. She gently bites my nipples.
She moves as if to squeeze me again, but then she pulls away and slips behind me.
She hugs me from behind, bites my shoulders hard enough to hurt, sinuously licks my nape. I feel her breasts squish against my back, and I get even harder. Her hands start to slip into my shorts, brushing against my pubes, but, again, she pulls away, laughing.
I grab for her. I lock her wrists in my hands and push her down on the bed. I bite her nipples – alternating from one to the other – and she gasps and squirms. I pull her up and place her fingers on the elastic waist of my shorts. She pulls down my shorts, takes my dripping cock into her mouth.
She delicately scratches my chest while her mouth goes up and down the length of my penis. I could come right now.
But I pull out of her mouth. I stick my thigh between her legs and rub her moistness against my skin while I play with her breasts.
After a while, I turn her around and push her down on the bed. I run my wet, hard cock on her skin, from her butt crack, along her spine, to the side of her neck. Her tongue slips out and licks me.
Leaving my cock next to her mouth, I reach down and grab her ass. I fondle it, kiss it, bite into it. I dip a finger into her moist cleft, and I tease her anus. She squirms and coos. I plunge deep into her asshole with my wet finger, and she screams in pleasure. I wriggle my finger inside her, slide in and out tenderly. I look at her writhe with delight, and my heart swells up.
Eventually, she pulls her butt away and flips over.
She again takes my cock into her mouth. She pushes her crotch up against my mouth, and I slip my tongue inside her vagina. I pull back slightly and gently kiss her labia. I tease her by running my tongue on either side of her clit, never quite touching it.
Meanwhile, her mouth slides up and down my cock; her fingers play with my balls.
Then, she lets my cock slip out of her mouth, and works on me with her hands.
I can barely keep from bursting. I struggle to hold on just a little longer.
I cover her vagina with my mouth and work on her clit with my tongue. Her breathing changes, and I can tell she’s going to come soon.
In a sudden, almost violent, move, I pull away. She whimpers.
I grab her feet and run my teeth against her soles. Her whimpers turn to moans. I spread her legs, my tongue licking her inner thighs. Her moans become sharp cries. I kiss her belly. My hands find her breasts, my fingers squeeze her nipples. My lips find her mouth. My cock finds the wet opening between her legs.
I plunge deep into her; and she screams, comes, and then whispers the syllables I desperately want to hear, the inevitable name: “Andrei . . .”
And then I come inside of her, and the jism spurts out of me in neverending waves. In my mind’s eye, I see the beautiful face of my dead friend.
The Gift
Dahlia Schweitzer
The martinis were strong and lunch took too long, but it was my birthday, so I didn’t really care. I’ve always been pretty good at not showing how drunk I felt, and today was no different. Making my way back to my desk, a neat grin on my face, my feet methodically moving left, right, left, right in my pointy black patent leather heels, I slid into my seat and exhaled slowly.
All I had to do was stare at my monitor and type a few words, and no one would know I was wasted off my ass. I just had to keep my mouth shut, my face focused, and then I could leave.
“Rachel?”
I turned around.
“Um, someone left this at the front desk for you.”
Michael reached forward and placed an artfully wrapped package on top of “To be Filed.” I stared. I knew this package would have impressed me even if I wasn’t seeing double – the bow was red luscious silk, the paper was smooth as satin and as brilliantly red as my fingernails, and the box covered half my desk.
“Do you know who dropped this off?” I asked, turning around, but Michael had already gone back to the mailing room, leaving me alone with my unexpected gift.
I glanced around – no one seemed to have any interest in me or my enormous red box. I debated whether to open it now or save it for later, but I couldn’t resist; and so, with a sigh and a tingle of anticipation, I delicately slipped the bow off and ran my nails under the tape. Letting the wrapping fall down the sides, it made a satisfying hiss and exposed a white cardboard box.
I looked once more at the wrapping paper – no note, no explanation. Having no idea who would give me such a large present, much less deliver it to my desk, I opened the box and peered inside, hoping the contents would provide some answers.
At first, all I saw was a neatly folded stack of black lace, underwire, and red ribbon. I looked around the room – no one was watching. Was this some kind of joke? I reached in and lifted up the material, groping with my left hand to see if there was anything underneath. My fingers found a slim metal chain – and nothing else.
What the fuck? I looked around the room again; still no one was watching, no one was snickering, no one was paying me any attention. Time to figure this out, I thought. Quickly, I slid the fabric out of the box and into my briefcase. As I stood, I reached into the box one last time, grabbed the chain, and dropped it into my suit pocket before striding confidently to the restroom, all traces of inebriation eradicated by curiosity and adrenaline.
The bathroom door locked; I placed my briefcase on the shut toilet seat and opened it. The pile of lace and ribbon eyed me suggestively. I shook my head, grinning – this was the most intriguing birthday present I’d ever received. Lifting up the fabric, it took form and I laughed. Barely enough material to cover anything worth covering; anyone lucky enough to view it would be desperate to see what was underneath – and it
was the perfect size.
Within moments, my suit hung neatly on the hook behind the door, and I was wearing a decadent mass of material – all criss-crossed and tied and finessed around my breasts – the underwire fitting perfectly under my cleavage, the ribbon wrapped around my waist and lacing up the back of the corset, the red silk creating a pattern of Xs against the sheer black lace of the rest of the garment. The box had also thoughtfully contained a pair of black thigh-highs topped off with an inch of red lace.
I didn’t dare leave the stall to look at myself in the mirror. Slipping on my heels, I leaned back and closed my eyes. Running my finger against the ribbon’s smooth satin, I tried to remember when someone had last stroked me this way. It had been too long.
My last boyfriend and I had split up almost a year earlier, and between my work schedule and my distaste for bars and one night stands, I’d slept alone every night since, which made this gift all the more mysterious. No one had shown interest in me lately, and the only appointments I made these days were with co-workers and clients.
As I ran my fingers back and forth over the trail of red ribbon, eyes closed, breath quickening, I let my mind wander. By the time my fingers reached between my legs I was all wet. With a rush of need and desire, I shoved first one, then two, inside; pressing along the curve of my body, breathing deeply, every inch of me focused on the hot wetness of my pussy. I slowly started to push them in and out, my left hand making its way along the fine bone of the corset’s underwire, cupping my breast and pinching my swollen nipple between my fingers.
The pain from my nipple, combined with the swelling of my clit and the pressure of my fingers, following a martini lunch, almost made me pass out. I slid back against the wall of the stall, falling into the corner, sweat glistening on my face, hair in my eyes, as I pressed in and out, harder and faster, feeling every inch tighten, every inch beg for more, my clit craving the pressure of my fingers, my pussy craving the pressure of a cock. I alternated as quickly as I could – a few seconds outside, a few seconds inside, my fingers darting across the edge of my clit, back and forth, round and round, and then inside – quick, as deep and as hard as I could shove. In and out, round and round, back and forth, every motion of my right hand echoed by my left across my breasts.
Both breasts had long since been liberated from their lacey confines, and they swung over the underwire, quivering as my hips thrust forward and my entire body began to shake. I could feel myself starting to come – the hint of delicious pleasure teasing me on the edge of my horizons, a promise of what would come if I kept at it, if I didn’t let up, if I shoved harder and deeper, if I pinched stronger and tighter, if my fingers moved faster and my hips pushed further.
Leaning against that damn bathroom wall, hair around my shoulders, breath heavy, face flushed, my wetness leaking down my thighs, I kept moving – my fingers, my hands, my hips, until I could feel the sensation building and building and building and then – with one big rush, I exhaled as millions of tingling sensations rushed through me.
A huge grin on my face, I shoved my briefcase off the toilet and sat down. My chest was heaving, my head was spinning – and I felt magnificent. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d masturbated, and certainly not the last time I’d done it in a public restroom. It had been way too long. What a birthday present.
When David left, I’d gone onto autopilot. Getting close to someone else seemed like too much work and way too much risk. It was easier to focus on my friends and my job and my apartment. Without anyone to run their hand between my legs, without being woken in the morning by someone pressing up against me, it was easy to forget that my body served anything but clinical purposes.
The last ten minutes had been a delicious reminder.
With my clit still throbbing and my nipples still swollen, I unhooked the corset and stepped back into my suit. I looked at my watch – only an hour or so until I could leave without guilt. I bent down to pick up my briefcase when a loud tinkle startled me out of my reverie. I glanced over to see a pile of silver chain against the edge of the toilet.
I smiled to myself. I’d totally forgotten. What the hell was that? Reaching over, I picked up the large circle at one end and lifted – it was a very delicate, very finely linked leash, the clasp attached to a matching very exquisite, finely linked collar. I smiled to myself. Whoever put this gift together certainly spent a lot of money. I’d never seen a chain so expensively made; they definitely knew how to pick things out. That outfit had fit me perfectly, and my flesh tingled at the feeling of cold metal against it.
Suddenly remembering a small makeup mirror in my bag, I fastened the collar around my neck, letting the leash hang down over my shirt. I couldn’t resist. I opened up my mirror and looked at myself. I looked naughty. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt naughty, much less looked naughty – and it felt hot. I loved the way the chain looked against the collar of my white shirt, the metallic glitter of the leash against the sober gray of my suit. I ran my fingers down the metal and felt chills down my spine. Delicious.
I unclasped the leash from the collar and slid it into my bag. I kept the collar on. I wanted its cold reminder to stay with me the rest of the afternoon. Doing my best to keep a straight face, I made my way back to my desk. I felt like everyone must have heard my moans or at least noticed the excessive time I had spent in the bathroom, but no one paid any attention, no one commented on my pinkish cheeks or unruly hair. I patted my hair anxiously as I sat back down at my computer, realizing I had forgotten to check my appearance in the bathroom mirror.
“Um, excuse me?”
The meek voice came from behind, and I spun around guiltily. The girl had long curly brown hair and huge brown eyes behind small tortoiseshell frames. I noticed her lips, which were large and seemed just slightly dry and cracked. For an instant, I wondered what it would taste like to lick them wet.
“I really hate to bother you, but—”
“It’s no problem,” I said reassuringly. “What can I do for you?” She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t think from where. I tried to remember if I owed her any paperwork.
“This is terribly awkward,” she flashed a nervous grin, her hands anxiously twisting together, “but, you see,” and then it all came out in one sudden rush. “I went out at lunch and I bought myself a present and I left it on my desk while I ran to answer the phone and the lunch receptionist thought it was for you because my name is also Rachael and the regular receptionist told her it was Rachel’s box, and I don’t know exactly how it happened but she told Michael and somehow he thought it was yours and then I asked him if he’d seen it and he said oh no, he had thought it was for you, and he gave it to you, and I don’t know if this makes any sense, but I wondered if you knew where my box was?”
I smiled. Of course. Of course it wasn’t for me. Of course not. How ludicrous. Only in my life. I smiled at her, at this darling girl with the dry lips and the nervous hands.
“Nice to meet you, Rachael.”
She laughed shyly, her hands resting for an instant against the edge of my desk.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” I asked, motioning to my extra chair. She sat down and stared at me, wondering.
“The box is here,” I gestured under my desk, showing her where I had tucked the package before my trip to the bathroom, “but the contents are in my bag. I’m sorry.”
She looked at me, confused.
“I couldn’t resist. I had to try it on.”
She laughed again, a bit longer this time and a bit less shy.
I reached into my bag and pulled out Rachael’s outfit and slipped it back into the box. The leash I placed carefully on top, before handing it all to her.
“I’m really sorry about this. You must think I’m terribly strange.” Her eyes stared straight into mine.
I smiled back at her. “Not at all. I think you’re wonderful. It’s the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.”
“It’s your birthday toda
y?” she exclaimed in wonder.
“Yes, yes, it is.” I couldn’t help smiling at this delightful girl.
“Oh, God, I had no idea. Why, then you must keep this. It should be yours.” She pushed the box back at me.
“No, no, no. It’s yours. I tried it on. That was amazing enough for me. It’s your outfit. It belongs to you.”
There was a pause while we both thought about what to say next.
“Please. I’d like you to have it.”
I couldn’t stop staring at her lips. “No, no, thank you, it’s not really me, anyway. I like my underwear to be brighter than the clothes I wear on top . . .”
She laughed again, this time the shyness almost gone, the brown eyes bigger and browner than before, and I began to notice little hints of gold inside them.
“You know,” she leaned over to me and said, in a soft whisper, “they have corsets in red and pink and blue . . .”
My first thought was that her lips were only inches from mine. My second thought was that I’d never kissed a girl. My third thought was that a pink corset might be the best thing I could ever buy.
“Will you take me to the shop? I want to go.”
“Of course!” she exclaimed. “If you won’t let me give you mine as a birthday present, perhaps you can let me buy you another?”
“Only if you let me buy you a drink after?”
I couldn’t believe it. I was flirting with a girl. I was flirting with a girl named Rachael. I was sitting at my desk, flirting with a girl with my name, and all I could think about was how her lips would feel between my teeth.
“I would love it,” she said as she stood up. “Shall I stop by your desk at six?”
“That sounds great.” I couldn’t stop smiling at this creature.
She leaned over again, her lips inches from my face, and my breath stopped. What was she doing? Was she going to press her lips against mine, her tongue in my mouth, running against my teeth, her breath mixing with mine? Was she going to kiss me at my desk?
“You can keep the collar,” she purred, and then turned to walk away.
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