The Pleasure of M (10 page)

“Dearest
 Catherine
 
allow
 me
 to
 continue
 satisfying
 my
 obligations
 with
 the
 following
 piece.
 

We
  start
  out
  sitting
  at
  a
  small
  table,
  sipping
  a
  little
  champagne
  perhaps,
  I
  clothed,
 
you
 not.
 I’ve
 laid
 on
 the
 table
 the
 soon-‐to-‐be
 familiar
 purple
 velvet
 sleeve
 with
 the
 
black
  satin
  blindfold
  in
  it.
  I’m
  in
  no
  rush
  for
  you
  to
  put
  it
  on
  as
  we
  chat,
  but
 
eventually
  you
  are
  ready.
  The
  game
  is
  one
  of
  contrast
  and
  pleasure.
  Two
  simple
 
objects…
 

…ten
  short
  contacts
 
with
  your
 
skin,
  just
  strategically
  placed.
  The
  point
  of
  the
 
blindfold
  is
  to
  increase
  the
  intensity
  of
  the
  sensations
  by
  making
  them
 
unpredictable.
 The
 goal
 is
 to
 see
 how
 still
 you
 stay
 throughout
 the
 exercise...
 

…
 and
 therefore
 the
 challenge
 is
 to
 see
 how
 well
 I
 read
 you.
 That
 you
 do
 not
 know
 
what
 the
 two
 objects
 are
 might
 have
 allowed
 us
 a
 guessing
 game
 had
 I
 not
 chosen
 
the
 obvious.
 

The
 first
 contact
 is
 a
 fleeting
 and
 soft
 caress
 to
 your
 right
 shoulder
 blade,
 from
 top
 
to
  bottom,
  just
  a
  few
  inches.
  For
  a
  moment
  you
  think
  of
  fabric
  perhaps
  but
  the
 
second
 contact
 makes
 you
 realize
 it
 can’t
 be,
 a
 gentle
 rolling
 of
 something
 definitely
 
very
 soft
 down
 your
 inner
 left
 thigh,
 but
 it
 is
 so
 close
 to
 tickling
 you
 that
 staying
 still
 
takes
 away
 the
 fleeting
 sensation.
 

Third
  contact.
  A
  yelp
  for
  sure,
  but
  do
  you
  move?
  In
  the
  small
  of
  your
  back,
  that
 
sacred
 spot,
 the
 piercing
 sensation
 of
 something
 very…
 cold!
 And
 the
 drop
 of
 water
 
that
 rolls
 down
 the
 middle
 to
 nest
 itself
 at
 the
 top
 of
 the
 opening…
 a
 tell-‐tale
 sign,
 
really.
 Yes,
 an
 ice
 cube.
 

Fourth
 contact,
 the
 ice
 again,
 this
 time
 on
 your
 left
 nipple,
 short
 still.
 Fifth
 contact,
 
the
  right
  nipple,
  but
  this
  time,
  the
  ice
  cube
  circles
  it
  several
  times,
  leaving
  it
 
gleaming
 in
 a
 thin
 sheet
 of
 ice
 water..
 

Sixth
 contact,
 something
 cups
 and
 presses
 against
 your
 left
 nipple,
 still
 numb
 from
 
the
 cold,
 moving
 in
 a
 very
 soft
 circular
 motion.
 I
 bring
 it
 closer
 to
 your
 nose
 and
 the
 
unmistakable
 aroma
 of
 a
 rose
 wafts
 to
 your
 nostrils.
 Seventh
 contact,
 the
 ice
 cube
 at
 
the
  base
  of
  your
  neck,
  briefly,
  eighth
  contact,
  the
  rose
  against
  your
  forehead,
  back
 
and
 forth,
 slowly.
 
 

Yours,
 
Michel”
 

He
 liked
 to
 turn
 her
 compliments
 about
 his
 prose
 into
 a
 discussion
 of
 the
 references
 
that
 so
 easily
 drifted
 into
 it.
 Movies,
 books,
 music,
 stories
 and
 legends
 from
 around
 
the
  world
  inspired
  them
  both
  and
  sometimes
  it
  was
  she
  who
  surprised
  him
  with
 
something
 he
 did
 not
 know.
 
“Dearest
 Catherine:
 

Your
  short
  day
  and
  the
  time
  difference
  will
  not
  allow
  me
  to
  do
  justice
  to
  the
 
medium,
 but
 I
 wanted
 to
 confirm
 your
 suspicion
 about
 the
 Mickey
 Rourke
 flick.
 I
 am
 
off
  to
  the
  Wednesday
  edition
  of
  the
  local
  farmer's
  market:
  all
  'organic',
  where
  the
 
best
  chefs
  come
  to
  stock
  up.
  I
  haven't
  been
  there
  in
  ages
  (not
  usually
  available
  on
 
Wednesday
 mornings...).
 If
 you
 write
 back
 (I
 am
 hopeful,
 of
 course),
 do
 forgive
 me
 if
 
you
 do
 not
 see
 my
 reply
 until
 your
 return
 from
 the
 holiday
 break.
 

Yours,
 
Michel”
 
“Dearest
 Michel,
 

That
  sounds
  like
  a
  wonderful
  way
  to
  spend
  your
  morning.
  It
  makes
  me
  think
  of
 
Isabel
 Allende's
 book
 'Aphrodite'
 which
 is
 filled
 with
 stories
 about
 the
 love
 of
 food
 
and
 the
 food
 of
 love.
 I
 would
 highly
 recommend
 it
 if
 you
 have
 not
 already
 read
 it.
 As
 
a
 matter
 of
 fact,
 I
 think
 I
 might
 have
 to
 delve
 into
 it
 again
 myself.
 

Yours,
 
Catherine”
 

And
  so
  as
  he
  read
  Allende,
  she
  watched
  9½
  weeks.
  This
  of
  course
  led
  to
  rather
 
feverish
 sex
 with
 her
 husband,
 as
 she
 had
 had
 to
 watch
 the
 movie
 in
 his
 company,
 
 
and
 it
 was
 after
 this
 that
 she
 started
 to
 feel
 a
 subtle
 shift
 which
 at
 first
 only
 puzzled
 
her
  mildly.
  During
  her
  first
  affair
  already
  there
  had
  been
  a
  marked
  change
  in
  her
 
marital
  sex
  life,
  well,
  a
  dramatic
  increase
  mainly.
  But
  this
  had
  not
  been
  an
 
unqualified
  source
  of
  pleasure
  mainly
  because
  it
  was
  in
  good
  part
  inspired
  by
  a
 
thorough
  misunderstanding
  of
  her
  husband’s
  motivations
  and
  reactions
  to
  her
 
sudden
  advances
  after
  years
  of
  neglect.
  This
  time,
  however,
  there
  was
  not
  only
  a
 
renewed
 increase
 in
 the
 frequency
 of
 marital
 sex,
 but
 also
 an
 undeniable
 change
 in
 
the
 quality.
 She
 was
 finding
 out
 that
 there
 can
 be
 many
 distinct
 layers
 of
 inhibition
 
carefully
  wrapped
  around
  one’s
  quest
  for
  pleasure
  in
  sex,
  and
  this
  of
  course
  by
 
discovering
  that
  she
  had
  shed
  yet
  another:
  she
  was
  now
  letting
  free
  reign
  to
  her
 
curiosity
 and
 fascination
 with
 her
 husband’s
 body.
 Or,
 rather,
 a
 man’s
 body.
 She
 was
 
not
  in
  any
  way
  shedding
  the
  natural
  need
  for
  the
  greatest
  intimacy
  with
  a
  sexual
 
partner
 as
 a
 prerequisite
 for
 the
 act,
 but
 absorbing
 the
 fact
 that
 there
 were
 two
 men
 
in
 her
 life.
 Michel
 often
 took
 care
 to
 distinguish
 between
 himself
 and
 his
 gender
 as
 a
 
whole,
 but
 because
 of
 their
 very
 tenure,
 his
 descriptions
 of
 male
 pleasure
 carried
 a
 
universal
  tone
  to
  them
  which
  she
  inevitably
  projected
  onto
  her
  husband.
  Erection
 
was
  a
  case
  in
  point.
  Since
  her
  husband
  rarely
  if
  ever
  initiated
  things,
  she
  had
  the
 
luxury
 of
 planning
 her
 sexual
 encounters
 with
 him
 and
 varied
 the
 approach
 so
 as
 to
 
observe
 his
 erection
 under
 different
 conditions.
 She
 came
 to
 him
 after
 his
 shower,
 
after
  dinner,
  woke
  him
  in
  the
  middle
  of
  the
  night,
  and
  she
  unashamedly
  observed
 
him
  and
  his
  erections
  to
  his
  obviously
  great
  delight.
  She
  wanted
  to
  master
  the
 
subtleties
 of
 endowing
 the
 final
 inch,
 even
 if
 only
 on
 her
 circumcised
 husband;
 she
 
wanted
 to
 decide
 if
 she
 would
 do
 it
 or
 have
 her
 husband
 do
 it
 for
 himself,
 and
 other
 
such
  variations.
  Much
  of
  her
  experimentation
  amounted
  to
  delineating
  what
  was
 
caused
 by
 the
 man
 in
 him
 and
 where
 the
 difference
 between
 he
 and
 Michel
 laid.
 And
 
as
  things
  progressed,
  she
  was
  more
  and
  more
  interested
  in
  the
  pleasure
  that
  she
 
was
 giving
 him
 rather
 than
 in
 giving
 him
 pleasure,
 just
 as
 she
 grew
 more
 interested
 
in
  the
  pleasures
  that
  he
  did
  or
  did
  not
  give
  her
  rather
  than
  in
  him
  giving
  her
 
pleasure.
 
 

To
 end
 our
 weekend,
 my
 husband
 and
 I
 went
 out
 for
 Sunday
 breakfast
 and
 a
 walk
 
along
 the
 canal.
 We
 decided
 that
 there
 was
 still
 time
 to
 get
 home
 for
 a
 little
 ‘morning
 
delight’
  before
  our
  daughter
  returned
  from
  her
  part-‐time
  job.
  The
  sun
  floods
  our
 
bedroom.
 It
 is
 so
 easy
 to
 shed
 my
 clothing
 in
 this
 warm
 weather.
 (Just
 think
 of
 what
 
I
  might
  be
  doing
  if
  I
  lived
  in
  California!)
  My
  tanned
  limbs
  contrast
  nicely
  with
  the
 
pale
  smoothness
  of
  my
  breasts,
  belly
  and
  buttocks.
  We
  stand
  naked
  before
  the
 
mirror
 and
 I
 turn
 my
 head
 to
 gaze
 upon
 the
 sight
 of
 my
 long,
 lean
 body
 pressed
 up
 
against
  him.
  I
  kneel
  at
  his
  feet
  and
  begin
  to
  slowly
  lick
  his
  cock.
  It
  needs
  little
 
encouragement.
 

After
 a
 time
 I
 lead
 him
 to
 the
 bed.
 His
 mouth
 tends
 to
 my
 breasts
 while
 his
 fingers
 
begin
 to
 stroke
 my
 opening.
 I
 gently
 push
 my
 husband,
 who
 slides
 down
 the
 bed
 to
 
bury
  his
  face
  in
  my
  cunt.
 
  I
  believe
  I
  have
  already
  told
  you
  how
  much
  I
  enjoy
  this
 
particular
 action.
 And
 here
 is
 where
 you
 come
 into
 the
 story.
 You
 are
 watching
 from
 
a
  nearby
  chair
  -‐
  an
  avid
  student,
  eager
  to
  learn
  all
  you
  can
  about
  how
  to
  pleasure
 
me.
 My
 gaze
 moves
 from
 him
 to
 you
 and
 back
 again,
 seeing
 myself
 as
 you
 are
 seeing
 
me,
 my
 legs
 spread
 wide,
 my
 hands
 across
 my
 chest,
 fingers
 caressing
 my
 nipples.
 I
 
know
 that
 your
 cock
 is
 hard
 and
 throbbing,
 as
 is
 his.
 I
 think
 about
 how
 you
 will
 take
 
me
 when
 it
 is
 your
 turn
 and
 I
 can
 hold
 back
 no
 longer.
 Waves
 of
 pleasure
 swamp
 me
 
as
 I
 surrender
 to
 the
 orgasm.