by Roxy Harte
I think that Bishop must be halfway between my two men. I would guess him at six feet because in my heels we stand toe to toe and eye to eye…
Bishop surprises me by dropping down on one knee. He holds out his hand, and without being told I know that I am to place my foot in his palm. I do, readjusting my balance, wobbling a bit on the plush carpet, or maybe it is merely my shaking knees making me so unsteady.
“Easy,” he says, his other hand sliding down my calf, slowly enough to make me crazy with desire before his hand finally reaches my shoe. He removes my stiletto, still holding my foot in his hand. Leaning forward he kisses the top of my foot, leisurely kissing his way down to my toes, then reversing, kissing higher and higher, as he lowers my foot, holding me in place with a readjustment of his hands as he kisses the inside of my knee. I close my eyes, soaking in the pleasure of his lips through the silk hosiery. I suspect that he will kiss a trail higher, but my thought doesn’t prepare me for the thrill of pleasure that stabs through my groin when his heated lips finally meet bare skin or the whisper soft breath that makes me needy enough to moan when his lips reach my inner thigh.
Inside my brain, I am begging. Higher, higher. I want him to lick my clit so badly it is perverse. You would think it had been weeks, months, since I had sex, not mere hours.
He leans back, holding out his hand. I do not know if I can bear a repeat of the same on my opposite side, but I lift my shod foot into his waiting palm. He removes my shoe and places it neatly beside the first before bending to kiss, to tease the trail to my toes. This time he shocks me by pulling my toes into his mouth, not just a teasing bite, but a long thorough suck, enough sensation to make me think that I may come in my panties solely from the pleasure he is bestowing on my feet. “Oh God!”
His kissed trail continues, making his way back up my foot, over my calf, lingering on the sensitive flesh on the inside of my knee, making me fidget with want, kissing still higher and higher. I think for a second that I will cry out, and then my brain overloads with sensation as I find his mouth closing around my mons, sucking my clit through the lace. He drapes my knee over his shoulder, steadying me but not letting up on his onslaught of my most private place.
I am climbing quickly, the pleasure building, lifting me higher and higher, when he releases me, stalling my almost orgasm. I cry out and it is a moment before I can open my eyes and look down at him. His lips are upturned in a soft smile.
“That was a naughty thing to do,” I admonish, trying to regain my composure. My Mistress Mind rears its head.
He interrupts whatever it was that I thought I was going to say when he says, “I’ll tell you when it’s time for you to come.”
Oh, really?
He lowers my leg, helping me to get steady on both feet before he stands. He wraps his arms around my waist. “I think you’ll learn a bit of patience with me tonight. Maybe learn to enjoy the build-up, not just the fall.”
“I can enjoy both,” I promise. “Repeatedly, if need be.”
“Oh, I have no doubt of that.”
I direct his attention to the wide bank of window. “It’s morning.”
He looks over his shoulder at the spark of sunlight just cresting the tops of the skyscrapers. “Well, don’t get any ideas about sneaking away just yet. We’re only getting started.”
Despite his promise, I walk out of his arms, needing a moment to catch my breath and harness my disappointment. I lean into the length of window, pressing my body against the cool glass. I will my heart to slow and my irritation to fade. I don’t like it when someone messes with my orgasm, and he just stole mine away purposely. My jaw clenches as I toy with the idea of leaving his room right now, not giving him the chance to make it up to me.
Dark clouds are forming west of the city, an ocean storm. I think the approaching darkness matches my mood, and perhaps it is not Bishop I’m really disappointed in. Adrian and Jameson, yes, very, but Bishop I decide to give one more chance.
Chapter 5
Adrian
It is late morning when I go into the bedroom to check on Toby. She sleeps still but she is fitful, tossing and turning, crying out. I don’t think it has anything to do with the storm that is passing through, but in case it does, I sit on the edge of the bed and comfort her with gentle pats.
It was the storm that pulled me away from the bedroom. I couldn’t sleep.
I am always jazzed up after a rope session, energized to an extreme that will leave me sleepless—sometimes for days—and last night’s session with Toby was intensely emotional. We’ve never taken what is private between us onto the stage before. Her reaction, her breakdown, was the visible; my breakdown, though more controlled, hidden in the shadowy recesses of my brain, was no less emotional. Still, I haven’t processed it all.
I don’t want to process it.
I am only glad that Bianca left. It could have gone so badly, it could have gotten so ugly. Honestly, I get it…the intensity of her emotions…the scene in the parking lot. We all agree to be polyamorous, we share what we most love with others, but when it comes right down to it, we all get a little jealous, a little crazy and possessive from time to time when we feel like our boundaries are being trampled and our time rights are being ignored. Last night was totally unfair to Bianca, and for that I will need to apologize in a big way. But could I have gone with her? Could I have abandoned Toby? Not a chance in hell.
I wanted to finish what we started on stage. In a bad way.
I couldn’t wait to get her home, get her stripped, and use the force of her emotions to project us both over the moon.
I argue with myself about how I treat her, I push her hard, but do I push her too hard? I was on her as soon as we entered my apartment. I pushed her. Hard. Square in the chest. “What was that, boy?”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said, her face crumbling.
“Boys don’t cry!” I shouted. “Did you cry?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.” She dropped to her knees, lowering her head to the floor.
I left her like that, kneeling, sobbing, until I thought that she was sobbed out, and then I walked up behind her, grabbed the collar of her t-shirt and jerked her to her feet. “What am I going to do with you? How am I ever going to turn you into a man if you won’t stop crying all the time?”
“I’ll do better next time, Daddy, I promise.”
I grabbed her face and pinched her cheeks cruelly between my fingers. “I know you will, baby boy, I know you will…because you like it when Daddy’s proud of you.”
I kissed her hard, crushing her mouth as hard as I would any of my male lovers. I held her by the nape of the neck, controlling her. There was a little residual fight left in her, just enough to make her want to pull away from the rough kiss, but then I felt her submission, her mouth going soft against mine, the muscles in her shoulders giving beneath my fingers. I pulled her back by the neck, looking into her tear stained face, and gazed deep into her eyes. God, I wish I knew what made her tick.
We’ve been together long enough for me to know that she was dripping wet, aching with need, but she will never let me take her like that. She has a hard fast rule, no penetration of any kind.
I held her gaze as I told her, “I was proud of you tonight. You are making progress. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded, and her pupils dilated just a little. “I want you to be proud of me, Daddy.”
I rubbed the bristly soft stubble on top of her head, “You do make me proud. Take off your clothes.” No matter how many times I demand it and no matter how many times she obeys me, she still trembles.
She slid her t-shirt over her head with shaking hands and let the fabric fall to the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra. As far as I know, she doesn’t even own one. She stooped down and unlaced her boots, pulled them off, followed by her socks which she placed carefully inside her boots before she stood up.
Her hand paused on the button at the waistband of her pants.
I
forced myself to tighten the muscles in my jaw and make a show of impatience through just my facial features. With a look, I challenged her to disobey me although I knew she wouldn’t.
Holding my gaze, she lifted her chin, her own cheek muscles flaring as they tightened and released and tightened again. She undid the button and slid the zipper.
I fought to not smile or smirk or betray any humor in the situation whatsoever, no matter how cute it was that her girlie side wore lace panties tonight. She dropped the pants and panties in a single move, stepping free, kicking them to join her shirt and boots.
I took a long look down her body and back up again.
Physically, she is perfection, every muscle detailed, not an ounce of fat anywhere. She is waxed bare, and I assume she does it herself, although I’ve never been privy to her exfoliation. I only know that she would be too withdrawn, too embarrassed to let anyone else see her naked long enough to do the job…let alone the physical touch that would be required.
I touched her cheek, caressed her. It was the first kind touch since we’d arrived at the apartment, and I watched her blinking eyes, her flaring nostrils, and the twitching corners of her mouth as she struggled to hold it together.
“Do you want to please me, little boy?”
Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and she nodded slowly.
I smiled and nodded, giving her permission to do what she needed to do to get everything ready. I fought not to laugh as she hurried into the bedroom to fetch the bottle of sesame seed oil she would use to give me a hand job. When she returned, she was no longer sullen, she was bright and happy.
“Good boy,” I said as I unbuckled my belt and dropped my jeans. My erection stood out hard and ready. I took her free hand and brought it toward my stiff cock. “Touch me.”
Her fingers closed around my length and she looked up at me. Holding her gaze, I took her other hand, the one holding the oil, and brought it closer, helped her tip the bottle. The cool oil drizzled over my dick and dripped down to my balls before she started to stroke.
I freed up her other hand by taking the bottle of oil from her and setting it on a near table.
Her oiled fingers made quick work of bringing me to orgasm, her touch gentle but firm. She knew just how to take me over the edge, her fingers gripping then loosening, then just as I started to jerk, she went up on tiptoe to kiss me, to fill my mouth with her tongue. That’s when she started laughing, giddily. She just can’t keep a straight face…every time she makes me ejaculate—it is the funniest moment in the world to her. After I stopped jerking in her hand, I even managed to laugh with her.
A flash of lightning fills the room, and the crash that follows is almost immediate. She startles awake and I climb into bed beside her to comfort her. I pull her close as she shakes. “I’m here, Toby, you’re okay. I’m here.”
She snuggles into me, her body relaxing at the sound of my voice. “I love you.”
“I love you, go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
She sighs as I spoon around her. She looks over her shoulder at me. “You can’t sleep?”
“A little worked up is all.”
She rolls over so that we are belly to belly. “I’m sorry.”
I stroke her face. “Sh-h, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“Did I mess things up with you and Bianca?”
“What?” I exclaim. “No. Everything is fine with Bianca.”
I feel her hand slide down between us. She wraps her fingers around my dick. “I heard you on the phone.”
“I was worried. She didn’t go home when she left the club, and Jameson didn’t have a clue where she was, but she’s fine, everything is fine.”
She snuggles into my chest, still sliding her fingers up and down my quickly thickening shaft. “Good. I don’t want to mess things up for you and her. I think I’d like her, if she’d give me a chance.”
She keeps stroking me, although there seems to be no motive other than the contentment it brings her to stroke my penis; I often awaken to her holding onto it in her sleep. I tip her chin to look down at her face. “You want to get to know Bianca better?”
“I want her to like me.”
“Baby, you are impossible not to like.” I still her hand. “But unless you want to really get me worked up, you need to stop what you’re doing.”
She pulls her hand back. “Sorry.” And I realize that she didn’t even comprehend she was touching me. She turns her face to me with a serious expression. “Do you think she’d have lunch with us sometime?”
We both stay lying flat on our backs, but face to face. I try to not change facial expressions, but she makes it very hard. I don’t want to say the first thought that springs to my mind, “not a chance in hell,” because I don’t think it would be in the best interest of us having a decadent morning.
“Why the sudden interest in Bianca?”
“I’m who I am, I don’t have a label. My experience is solely with you…which would make it seem that I am heterosexual.”
“Except for that part where we don’t have intercourse.”
“Ha-ha,” she says, making a face. “The rest of the world could potentially perceive me as butch.” She whispers the next part, “but I’ve never been with a girl.”
I nod, knowing this, but press my lips tightly together. I really hope this conversation isn’t going where I think it is going. She rubs her hand over my chest, lingering to tease her fingers through my chest hair, making it hard to think of her in any other terms but female.
“Do you think of women sexually?”
She blushes. “I think women are beautiful, but I also think men are beautiful. When I fantasize, when I masturbate, I may think of either, depending on my mood. The thing is, when I roleplay, I always think of my clit as a dick. That’s why I ended up in bed with you the first time, because you honored me with respect for my gender.”
“Because you think of yourself as a boy.” I do not use the word man purposefully, because it would seem too ridiculous; she comes across as an adolescent, even though she is close to thirty. She is fun, spirited.
She punches my shoulder. “I do not think of myself as a boy! I’m a girl. I just like to pretend I’m a boy.”
This is an old argument between us, me trying to convince her that it is okay if she is gender confused. It happens. It could be genetic even. I don’t say any of that today. “Okay. So why the sudden interest to label yourself?”
“Advocate wants to interview me.”
“What?” I exclaim, and she looks hurt. “Not that you aren’t deserving of an interview, because you are. You are an amazing woman.”
“It’s because the show is being picked up by FitTV.”
“You said yes?” I express disbelief at her decision to go national, because the last I heard she wanted nothing to do with the networks.
“I’m tired of saying no,” she says. “Besides, they offered me enough money this time that I said yes without thinking about it.”
I gasp, saying theatrically, joking, “You sold your soul for a paycheck?” She gives me an evil look, and I smile. “Toby! This is wonderful news.” I try to distract her from the interview until I can figure out what to say, because no doubt as part of the interview they will want her to come out publically and I’m not certain that is something she even considered. “We should be celebrating your syndication.”
“Which is exactly why I haven’t mentioned it. I want it to be a low key transition in my life,” she says. “Can we get back to my Advocate interview dilemma?”
It’s been upgraded to a dilemma?
“Of course I have to talk about the program, but they said I can also talk about my art. So I really want to do it!”
I shake my head; she truly is the epitome of the reluctant star. “Okay. Tell me your concerns about the Advocate interview.”
“They were sent a press release.” She sighs heavily. “The thing is, they sent over some of the questions
the interviewer will be focusing on, and they want to label me as a successful transgender.”
I wince, knowing this is one of her peeves. “And how do you feel about that?”
“I’ve almost convinced myself that I’d be okay with that part of it, because I identify as more male than female. I just won’t go on some pathetic lament about being a soul born into the wrong body…because I don’t feel that way—I have no desire to change myself physically.”
I smirk.
She rolls her eyes. “Girls can have killer bodies and not want to be male.”
“I know.”
“I do not take testosterone.”
“I know, baby. Remain calm, it’s just me, we’re just talking.”
“The interviewer assumes I’m lesbian.”
I suppose that is why we are now calling it a dilemma.
We lay in silence. I don’t say another word, because at this point I have barely said anything and even that was too much.
“I’m scared.”
“Don’t do the interview. It’s as easy as that.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not just the interview. I need to find out who I am…sexually…beyond what you and I do.”
Oh hell, that’s exactly where I was afraid this conversation was going.
“I need to have sex with a woman.”
“You want to sleep around?” Crap. As soon as I ask the question I feel like a douche. I can’t even believe I said that.
“Because I am so the girl who is the sleep around type, right?” She goes from sad to mad in zero to sixty. “How many people have you had sex with this year?”
I don’t answer, because she’s right. I’m a slut.
She smacks me on the shoulder. “I do not want to sleep around. I want to have sex with Bianca.”
My mouth drops open. I didn’t see that coming.
“Convince her to have sex with me…and I don’t even know if it will work out or not—I may freak and run, but I want to try.”