Elliot Mabeuse (22 page)

Breasts would be fantastic even if they weren't erotic. The fact that women love to have them played with just makes them miraculous, a reason to be glad to be alive.

As I nuzzled and kissed her flesh, Emma sighed and her face took on an innocent look of sensual pleasure, She closed her eyes and touched my cheek with her fingers as if welcoming me to her boobs, as if I'd been a stranger. I understood. After all this time of being focused on her, it was as if, who was this man? Who's coming to use this body?

But it was my turn. It was time.

I stood up and slid off my shorts. I was hard and ready. I kneeled back down on the floor and picked up the silver chain and found the clamp, slid it around her nipple and screwed it on. We both watched. Not too tight. I didn't want to distract from the main event. I just wanted her to be aware. We both watched as I affixed the hardware to her

body, the jewelry, putting my mark on her, no matter how temporary. First one, then the other. She winced, then relaxed, moving her shoulders back and forth. For now, these were Conner's. She was letting me use them. Her breathing increased.

We still haven't talked. In all that's happened between us, we still haven't talked, and it's important you know this in light of what happened next. Am I spoiling my story by telling you what an idiot I am? I hope not, because I think you should probably know that by now. At this point, after all that's happened, I still think Emma's going back to David tomorrow, and so does she. We have a sexual affair so perfect we can't get past the sex.

I lowered her down onto her back on the trunk. I brought her ass to the edge of the trunk and I stood up. I was rock hard and aching. She was absolutely beautiful lying there wearing my collar, despite the lash marks on her breasts and thighs or perhaps because of them, despite the uncertainty on her face, the trace of sadness and threat of tears.

I touched her knees to spread her legs.

"Please, Conner. I want you so much!"

"Yes."

I bent my knees slightly. I didn't even have to touch my cock. He seemed to know the way, and she was so swollen and wet and open it was like they were magnetized.

He found her and touched her and, with the slightest move from me, he parted her and she opened. He slipped inside, just barely, because I was holding him back.

Even so, Emma arched as if struck, gasped, her hands seized my forearms and her nails dug into my skin, Her knees rose. Despite my need, I forced myself to stop there just to torture us both.

"Are you ready?"

"Oh yes!"

I slid into her.

Despite all the attention and foreplay and bondage and whipping and orgasms and all the baroque and bizarre sex, Emma was still tight, hot, fresh, and quivering with need for this simple act of love. She spasmed when I entered, cried out with painful satisfaction, greeted me with animal heat as I plunged all the way into her with a pure, primal hunger of my own, pushing my weight into her.

"God, Emma! Christ, you're good! God, I forget how good you are like this!"

Her face was all sweet and creamy with lust. She smiled as she squeezed me with her buttery pussy. She made me groan.

"Fuck me, Conner. Fuck me!"

I pulled out of her and plunged back in, my loins whapping against her upturned thighs. Emma arched and squeezed me again.

I started to fuck her then, pumping into her, riding her, my ass rising and falling in steady rhythm, brushing her hair away so I can see my collar on her neck, that beautiful collar against her swanlike throat. She tought it was decoration. She doesn't know what it meant to me.

It would have been so beautiful, so easy. It fit her so well and she looked so fucking beautiful in it

Anger made me fuck her faster, knowing it could be the last time. My hands close on her whipped and beaten ass and I dug my fingers in. Emma winced, then squealed and wrapped her arms around me, her hips began to slap up at me.

"It could have been so good, Emma!" I whisper. "It could have been so good. I couldn't give you what he could, but there's other things, Emma. He can't give you this, can he? He doesn't do this for you, any of this—what I showed you in the dark and in the rain, the stories, the secrets between us…"

I get up on my knees and then on my feet. I picked up her ankles and hedld them in the air as I fucked her, held them as if she were a post-hole digger and I was the mad driller. She felt so good and I wanted her so much and I began to fuck her hard, slinging my hips at her, trying to hurt her with my cock, hammering my words home.

And suddenly I'm not sure what I'm doing, because I'm fucking her and I'm talking to her and I'm watching my prick run in and out of her, entering her and pulling out, over and over, but it's like I can't stop talking to her, can't let her go like this, and so I'm talking and fucking her and fucking and talking—

"Because I don't think you understand Emma, goddamn it! I don't think you know what we have between us or how special this is, to feel what I feel for you, you bitch! To go crazy for a woman like I go crazy for you, Emma. —Ugh!— To want to whip someone and hurt someone and love someone and die for them and fuck them to death like I do for you, Emma. — Jesus! — Do you understand me? — Fuck! — Do you know

what I'm saying, you bitch! Do you know how much I fucking love you, Emma, — Oh GOD! — You beautiful goddamned slut!? —CHRIST!—Jesus, Emma ! God! I'm close, baby! Emma! Fuck, I'm close!"

I'm hanging over her with my cock sunk all the way in her and her legs draped over my arms, absolutely at the point of tears and Emma gets up on her elbows and stares at me astonished and says, "Oh God, Conner, Conner! What are you saying?

God, what are you saying? I don't understand this! I don't understand any of this! All I want is for you to love me! That's all I want. That's all I ever wanted. Just tell me what I have to do for you to love me, Conner! Please! Because I can't stand this anymore. I don't want him! I want you, Conner, oh, God! Don't you know? Don't you know! Oh God, Conner! I just want you! You! You! Oh, Conner!"

And then she started crying, hard, which made her squeeze me inside with every sob.

"No!" I said. "No crying! Not now! Not now when I'm going to come, damn it! Not now damn it fucking shit fuck ass cock ball cunt dick! Oh, God, God! No, No!"

But she wouldn't stop, and so she lay there with her hands over her eyes crying with my dick inside her on the edge of orgasm and I'm on the verge of tears, and what can I do? My body, stupid thing, starts to come, to ejaculate, like it's weeping too, and I feel it and I'm delirious and I'm coming and holding her and weeping and snarling and filled with chills, shuddering, dissolving into her, spilling myself into her, because I had her, I had her at last. Emma! Emma! She was mine and she hardly noticed either what was happening sexually because we were just so all over each other, devouring each other and she was having some kind of emotional orgasm of her own, her arms

wrapped around me, kissing me, inhaling me, and then she really started sobbing and I was suddenly drowning in the sweet salt of her tears and I'm drinking them, licking them, eating her—God, I could never have enough!

And then I'm holding her and I have the world in my arms, soft and peach-faun colored and shivering and breathing with me and life is surging with me, so much life I feel like we're both going to explode so all I can do is hold her tighter her and knots of things are dissolving inside of me and exploding in great tears of relief and warmth.

Emma's touching my face like it's something precious and she's trying to tell me how frightened she was, how very frightened.

"Frightened? What? What?" I ask. "That I'd hurt you? The whip?"

She shakes her head, choking back tears. She can hardly get the words out. Her mouth doesn't want to say them. "That I'm a slut. A whore. A sub who's just good for this. For beating. For using like this. You'd never love a girl like this. Not really. Not really."

"Oh my God, my God!"

And I wrap her in my arms so tight, so tight I wanted to die with her there, wanted to squeeze her until she fused into my chest and I die with her there.

"And how many times have I been telling you how beautiful you are to me? How you bring me life, and joy, and excitement, and everything that's good and bright and brilliant and worth living and dying for? Oh my precious! My precious, precious, baby!

God, you rip my heart out!"

I hold her and hold her, and she tells me how ashamed she's been, certain I only wanted her because I thought she was a sub and a slut and a whore. And that's why she thought I'd offered her the collar and why I'd taken her to Dee's, and in fact, that's why I'd ever bothered with her, because I'd thought all along all she was good for was tying up and whipping and fucking. She says she's loved me from the start but she's been afraid to tell me because she knew I'd never want to have anything to do with a worthless sub.

And I tell her I thought all she wanted me for was as a master, someone to tie her up and whip her, that I thought she'd find me too old and weird to have as a real-life lover, and if I ever told her how I really felt she'd get horrified and run.

And so there we were, trapped in these ritualized sexual roles of Master and slave, unable to show our genuine feelings, afraid we'd scare the other one off.

Suddenly we're looking at each other without the masks now, and there's me, and there's Emma. She wants to know if this means she can't still be my slut, if I still won't tie her up, and I smile and say, "Don't be ridiculous."

* * * * It's really late now, like three-thirty in the morning, and the streets are quiet and empty, the lights all off. I'm sitting in an arm chair in the living room with my pants on and nothing else, a bottle of tequila about half gone, one end of a rope in my hand.

What's on the other end of this rope is my heart. She's naked, lying face down, hanging from a block and tackle attached to a beam in my ceiling. Her ankles are tied

against her thighs, her elbows are tied together behind her back. There are ropes around her waist, her legs, her wrists, her breasts, her arms, her chest. They're placed along her body so as to distribute her weight evenly such that no rope cuts into her skin and causes discomfort. In this way she can hang suspended for some time facing the floor as she wishes, her hair hanging down obscuring her face, anonymous but unmistakably female.

She might be an ornament, or a captive, or a fruit grown in my home, a gift of my own imagining, or perhaps just a mystery, suspended between heaven and earth. I sit and admire her, watching as she revolves very, very slowly in the darkness, like a dream in the mind of the sleeping city. I’m feeling all sorts of things, my heart and my mind filled with her, not sure what she is, thinking she must be everything to me. I never want to stop looking at her. In the background, John Coltrane plays, "My One and Only Love." It's a heartbreakingly beautiful song.

In a moment I'll go and untie her and help her down, help her stretch and massage out any cramps she might have. I might make her dance with me because I so love this song and I so love to dance with a woman I love. Moving your body together with someone you love through artistically structured time is one of the more beautiful things human beings do. Dancing is one of the ways we do that. BDSM is another.

I think we live our lives in other people's hearts and minds. Alone by ourselves we're not very much good at all. But when we let someone else in with their stories and all their sights and sounds and songs and smells and sensations, we suddenly start building up libraries, filling boxes and drawers with them, books and albums, shelves and chests,

Some of these books are pretty thin reading with faded ink, hardly any pictures and dull stories. And then others are nice, heavy little volumes filled with stories of whippings and weird, perverse sex, dark Vietnamese restaurants with strange food and drugs being dealt in the back, hot women coming in your hand in loud bars with brassy music playing.

It's nice when one of these books falls into your hands. It's nice when you read through the first few pages and realize it's going to be a good one, and you settle down, knowing you've got pages and pages to go. You settle into the sofa and put your feet up, feel all that thickness in your hand, and just wonder what it's got in store for you.

Chapter Nine

Sleeping with Emma that first night, I was assailed by dreams like a bunch of gate-crashers, as if the guardians of my sleep could no longer hold the lines against the hordes of omens and specters clamoring to get in, and why not? They'd been lining up like gawkers outside a nightclub opening ever since I first saw Emma in my class a month before, waving at me to catch my attention and pointing at Emma and at the stars and now it looked like all their auguries and prophesying had come true. I lay there sore and blissfully fucked out with my arms around her and my face in her hair, embraced in the arms of sleep, suffused with dreams of her, soaked in the ambience of Emma.

How does it come to pass that you find what you need without knowing you need it? Touch speaks to us on levels, so much deeper than the intellect can comprehend, going to the root of us, to levels of comprehension we can't ignore. This was my sexual inamorata, the girl of my conquest, and as I slept with her ,the gate-keepers of my dreams let these apparitions through one by one to pay homage to my changed life. I saw how things would be with Emma now, how I could make room for her, how she would become a part of my schedule, a part of my days and nights.