“Ouch,” I whispered, opening my eyes.
“You can handle it,” he said, running his hands across my waist and down.
My eyes were still closed, but I could feel Daniel pulling at one of the clothespins with his teeth, opening the clamps, then the release of pressure as he pulled it off. The nipple stung a bit and was swollen and sore, as if it had been lightly bitten. I felt him move down the bed and all in one movement pushing my knees wider apart and up, so I was completely open to him, which could be awkward but wasn’t.
“Hold still,” he told me, and I did.
I felt his warm breath between my legs and fought the urge to squirm, waiting for his tongue to touch me. Instead, I felt a sudden, firm pressure directly on my clit, and it wasn’t the sensation of being sucked, stroked or licked; it was a tight, snug squeeze that didn’t release.
“Open your eyes.”
Daniel had pulled my hips up onto his lap so my pelvis was elevated and open, my legs spread so I had a clear vision of my engorged pink clit, clamped by the clothespin. It was throbbing, a hot little pulse mimicking the rolling waves of orgasm. The sensation was exquisite. I even loved the way it looked, the odd contrast of a practical, hard object on my soft, tender skin.
“Like it?” he asked, bemused.
“I do.” I leaned back to wait for what would happen next.
I didn’t think about what would come next. I didn’t need to know. I turned my rational brain off to leave my mind open to what we would do, which heightened all my senses. I trusted him to not hurt me or make me look or feel foolish. It was my own form of submission, and to me, it was exhilaration at its very best.
Daniel sat up, his hands on my knees, pulling my legs apart to look at me. Just look. I fought the urge to close my legs, because it felt strange to have someone staring at my private places, but after a moment, it felt utterly powerful to hold someone’s fascination that way, just by being a woman. After a moment, he eased off the clothespin and put it on the bed. Then he turned his attention back to me.
I watched Daniel’s face as he looked in wonder, as if it was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen, the first one he’d seen (ha, like that would be true!). At last, he ran his fingers down the inside of my legs and lightly touched me. I let out a groan, which I worried sounded weird, but it was too late to care. He used his middle finger to press my clit, without moving; the pressure was unbearable. I fought the urge to buck my hips and start a rhythm. He moved his fingers down to my very wet place, grazing it, then held his fingers up and licked them.
I let out another moan. I couldn’t help but lift my hips up, trying to get to his face if he wasn’t going to bring it down to me.
“Stop,” Daniel leaned away, sitting back on his heels on the bed. “What did I say about moving?”
“You said don’t.”
“That’s right,” he sighed, looking down at me in a way I could only describe as amused. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“I’ll try.”
“Shush,” he said, running his hand down my forehead to close my eyes. “Relax.”
That was impossible. My whole body felt on edge, tingling, with all the sensations centered on my pulsating, clamped clit.
He took out his phone and took pictures of my spread-open legs. I wanted to be on display for him. It excited me that Daniel might look at the photos and get turned on by my intimate places. He might have control, but I felt powerful.
“They’re private, just for us,” he said when I opened my eyes.
“OK.”
So now we had another secret.
Then he bent down and used his teeth to ease the clothespin off my skin, releasing the blood flow, bringing in a rush of heat, the sensation washing so fully over my body that I knew if I touched myself, I would immediately orgasm.
Daniel made me wait. And wait. And wait. I felt myself becoming more wet under his steady gaze.
I wanted his tongue, but instead, he used his fingers to stroke just inside the lips of my very wet entryway, the spot that throbs under the friction of a thrusting penis. Instead of rubbing the spot, he flicked it with his fingers, flicking, flicking.
“You have a really big squirter,” Daniel said, clearly admiring it.
I knew what squirting was, but honestly thought it wasn’t something that could happen to me. Wasn’t it just pee that shot out? But as Daniel kept flicking the nub of nerves, it became harder and hot and as sensitive as my clit.
My breathing became heavy and I began to pant. I wanted to move my hips toward his fingers but didn’t dare move, because that might make him stop. After a glorious few minutes, I pulled my own knees frantically open and warm liquid sprayed out of me, a small gush, an arc right into the air.
Daniel gave a light, satisfied laugh.
“Good girl.”
“Holy crap,” I said. “What was that?”
“That was squirting, honey, and you did it very well for a first-timer.”
“Did I pee on you?”
Daniel laughed harder. “No, I didn’t make you pee. I made you come.”
“I thought coming only happened with my clit.”
“Well now you know,” Daniel looked down at me, clearly amused. “I’ll make you come many ways, over and over, until you don’t know where the orgasms are coming from.”
I closed my eyes and shuddered. No one had ever said anything like that before; no one had been that confident. I loved that he never hesitated. He knew exactly what he was doing. No fumbling around like guys often do, uncertain and nervous. I felt more relaxed, knowing he was in charge.
He placed the two clothespins down on my nightstand.
“You’re such a newbie, my Jess,” Daniel said. “What did you do when you were married? Missionary?”
I chose not to answer that. I had been in two consecutive marriages in which the sex had fizzled out. Then I had some mishaps along the way. I’d had plenty of sex with Hudson before he broke my heart. But I hadn’t been ready for this kind of adventure until Daniel found me. Now it seemed I would be open to just about anything.
“Next time I’m going to tether your wrists to keep your hands over your head, and tie your legs open,” Daniel said. “You’re going to like it, a lot, my sweet AriesGurl.”
I knew he was right. I believed him. I trusted him. It was my pleasure to hand over control.
75
“What’s up with you lately?” Eddie asked a week later, over an early sushi dinner.
“What do you mean?” I asked, blowing on my green tea.
“For one thing, you never call anymore, and when I call you, you’re always busy.”
“Work has been busy, and I’m trying to hit the gym more often.”
“Right, work and gym. Then why do you seem different?” I dribbled a bit of cold rice down my chin. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I shrugged. “Same old.”
Eddie narrowed his eyes at me. I prayed I wasn’t blushing.
“You hiding something? Or maybe someone?”
I felt my entire nasal system burn as I ate too much wasabi. Choking, I emptied my water glass. My secret life with Daniel had to stay just that. If Eddie found out—or, God forbid, the kids—it would horrify them, make them think I had lost my shit altogether. It was the kind of secret best kept that way. That was part of my fixation with Daniel. Only he and I knew.
I excused myself from the table and went to the ladies’ room. A text came in from Daniel, this time a selfie of him blowing me a kiss. In return, I opened my knees and sent a quick shot of my navy-blue panties.
“Well, now I’m hard at my desk,” he texted back
I smiled. The more photos I sent Daniel, the freer I felt. I felt a connection with my own body and a sense of pride that someone wanted to see every feminine part, that it turned him on just to look. That made me feel gloriously sexy in a way I’d never felt before. Something to be admired, maybe drooled over.
“
Gotta go,” I texted.
“Talk later, Jessica.”
Eddie was still shaking his head when I got back to the table. “There’s something going on, and you may as well tell me now, because I’ll find out eventually,” he said, finishing his tea.
I just smiled and shook my head.
76
Whole days went by when I didn’t hear from Daniel, and I tried not to read into it. Just when I’d begin to agonize, a message would come through from him.
“What else are you interested in? Tell me something you’ve never done,” Daniel texted one night as I sprawled on my bed with Pen.
The list of what I hadn’t done was too long to even begin. It would be easier to list the short number of things I had done, although that tally had grown considerably since meeting Daniel.
“I don’t know,” I texted. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t think you’re ready for my list.”
My heart leapt. He knew how to capture my full attention.
“Try me.”
“Hold on,” Daniel texted. “I have a call from my son coming in.”
I didn’t hear back from Daniel that night or the next day, and I tried to keep busy and not panic. The second night, a text came through as I was at my dining room table, trying to come up with an enticing blog topic for a company that made backpacks from recycled plastic water bottles.
“Threesome?”
I shut down my computer. No one was home, but when I got this text from Daniel, I shielded my cell and looked around to make sure no one was reading over my shoulder.
“Well hello, Daniel. Nice hearing from you. How’ve you been?”
“Good, you?”
“Also good.”
“So, threesome?”
“What about it?” I texted.
“Ever had one? Ever wanted one?”
I held my thumbs over the letters on my cell, but found myself unable to form a response.
“Jess?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“When in doubt, default to the truth.”
Truth be told, I had thought about being with another woman and a man, but my fantasies were very selfish: in them, the woman, unusually beautiful, was playing with my nipples while the man, spectacularly built, was stroking himself, watching us. If anyone got into oral, it was the woman licking me, not the other way around.
And there was always alcohol involved.
“Yes. I have thought about it.”
“You and two men?”
God no. It was enough to work out the logistics of having sex with one man, much less adding another penis to the equation.
“No. Another woman and a man.” Then I began to picture being with Daniel and a second woman, and I knew I would want to slap her if she tried to kiss him or touch him anywhere. Share Daniel? No thanks.
“Would you ever do it? Would you want another woman to join us?”
“No,” I texted back immediately. “It’s not something I’d like.”
“Why not?”
“I wouldn’t want to share a man with another woman.”
“Ah,” Daniel texted. “Are you a jealous girl?”
I hesitated, then typed, “I guess so.”
“Hmmm. What if you made the rules about what would be done? How the man could touch the woman?”
“Or not at all?”
“Or not at all,” Daniel said. “That would be up to you.”
“I wouldn’t be able to make the rules.”
“Why not?”
“Because you set the rules,” I said.
“Good girl.”
“You know, I kissed my roommate in college.” I wanted to sound like I’d at least pushed the envelope.
“Every woman kisses another woman in college, sweetie.”
Damn. So much for sounding more unconventional then I’d already shown him. Clearly, he was far more experienced. I was the eager student.
“I’d like you to give it some thought,” he texted.
“Think about what? Kissing a woman?”
“I’d like to see you doing more than just kiss her.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. Where did he fit in his threesome scenario? Would he be the director, telling us what to do? The center of attention? The cameraman?
“Just let these ideas sit, Jess. See if they resonate. Play with them.”
77
Four days went by without Daniel answering my texts, so I tried calling, but it went right to voicemail.
I rehashed everything I’d said and done to try and figure out what was wrong. Was it because I balked at the idea of a threesome? Worst of all, I hadn’t told anyone about Daniel, so I had to fret alone over his silence. The whole thing was way too complicated, and secretive, to share. But it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Why are you moping around?” Ian asked, packing his gym clothes to head out.
“I’m not moping around. Why do you ask that?”
“Geez, Mom, you’ve moped on and off for a year. Do you really think I don’t know a mope when I see one?” He gave me a hug before heading out the back door. “Stop moping,” he called out before the door shut.
I spent the rest of the night flat-out moping.
“I’m so worried about you,” I texted Daniel on day four.
“Don’t be,” he answered.
“My god, you’re there? I thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth!”
“I’ve been under the weather.”
“Under the weather? Sick?” I picked up Penny and started to pace.
“The Lyme flared up. I was in the hospital a few days.”
My stomach lurched at the thought of Daniel in a hospital bed, maybe even wearing a paper-thin, undignified hospital gown tied wrong in the back.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I texted quickly.
“I didn’t think it was something you needed to know.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. I didn’t have to know? What was I, a casual friend? I looked around for Kleenex but settled on a dinner napkin.
“I was so worried,” I said again, wiping my eyes.
“No need. I’m fine.”
I sat back down, hard, at the table. The playing cards were still out from the heated game of Crazy 8s the night before. I picked them up and shuffled them, on auto-pilot.
“I’m glad you’re better,” I texted a moment later.
Daniel didn’t reply. Not that day, or the next, but three days later, he texted while I was walking Penny toward Lily’s house, just in case she was outside. It was still chilly, so I’d put a little sweater on Pen that said “When all else fails, hug your dog.”
“How’s it going, doll?
Pen sniffed around then lifted her leg to pee. I swear, sometimes she thought she was a boy dog.
I took the high road. “I’m really good. You?”
There was no sign of Lily, so we turned back home.
“Busy, busy. But hey, I’m getting that thing set up for you.”
“What thing?”
“The threesome. I have an old friend who said she might be willing.”
An old friend? What the hell did that mean? A former girlfriend? Lover?
An image came to my mind of Daniel stroking the other woman to orgasm, while I sat at the foot of the bed watching. All I could picture was a younger, more fit woman with perkier tits than mine stripping for Daniel as he got the world’s biggest hard-on. Or both of us sucking him. Was he setting this up for me? Or for himself?
“You still have those clothespins?”
Thoughts of a threesome left my mind immediately.
“Yes.”
“I want to show you something. Hold on.”
My breathing sped up, and a few seconds later, an image came across my phone.
It was a woman bound to a bench, hands over her head and legs splayed apart. Surrounding each nipple was a circle of clothespins pinching the skin; there was a trail of them leading
down her stomach, then a row clamped inside her thighs. In the corner, sitting in a leather desk chair, was a man in a dark business suit drinking a martini. Just watching her.
There were dozens of clothespins on the woman.
It was an assault on my senses. I closed my eyes.
“So, what’s your sched like next week?” he texted a moment later, and I could almost hear the impatience behind his words.
“What? For what?”
“For some play time with another woman.”
“I’ll have to get back to you,” I texted. It was the first time I’d stopped messaging him first.
The image of the clothespinned woman and the man casually watching her stayed with me all night. She was no more than sexual entertainment for him, an object that wasn’t beautiful or artistic or daring. It was more of a mockery, knowing he was enjoying watching what he had done to her with the tight clamps along the length of her skin.
I tried to keep my mind occupied the next day, and then the day after that. By the third day, Daniel and I hadn’t texted a single time, which wasn’t rare, but the thing was—I realized I had nothing to say.
* * *
“Hey,” he texted after four days.
“Hey back,” I answered after several minutes. I had to tell him how I felt about the clothespins.
“How’ve you been?”
“Good. Busy.”
I cleared my throat. I had the texting equivalent of speechlessness.
“Listen,” Daniel texted. “If it’s the threesome thing, we can back off for now. I have other things to work on with you.”
“Like the clothespins?”
“Hahaha,” he texted with the devil’s face emoji. “So, you did like that.”
“No, actually, I didn’t.”
There was a long pause.
“She wasn’t being hurt,” he texted.
“Looked to me like she was.” I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hands.
“You tried the clothespins. You liked it.”
“I tried two.”
“And?”
“There’s a difference. She was clearly in pain, and he enjoyed it. The clothespins on me didn’t hurt.”
“She was putting on a show. That’s all.”
A Girl Like You Page 26