Agreement

"Our agreement hasn't been, shall we say,consummated? Not even sealed with a kiss."

She knows he's right. She laughs and turns away.

She doesn't like to let him observe her so artlessly for too long. When she does meet his gaze, she tries to close the doors behind her eyes and block entrance to what she wants to keep private. There's something in his stare- more intimate than any caress, penetrating deeper than any cock- she's afraid he sees too much. Funny, though, that she almost wishes hewould discover those secrets. It would spare her the trouble of hiding everything, of playing it cool.

Her mind wanders. She imagines this consummation he teases her about. She sees the two of them, sitting quietly somewhere else, face to face. Her hand reaches out and her fingertips brush his jawline. "All right, then," she murmurs, "sealed with a kiss." She leans forward and lightly kisses his forehead. "And a kiss," touching her lips to his left eyelid, "and a kiss," this time on his right eyelid, "and a kiss," as she completes the consecration by gently pressing her mouth to his. She wonders if he will remain still and impassive as always, and increases the pressure. When he doesn't resist, she lets her tongue break the barrier and hesitantly flick his lower lip. Although he hasn't moved perceptibly, she feels his response and dares to push further.

He's saying something- her attention snaps back to the present, to reality. They're sitting shoulder to shoulder.So close, she thinks, while it probably doesn't seem that way to anyone else. Every physical contact is logged in her mental diary, and not a single occasion goes unnoticed. She is reluctant to open up and be truly unselfconscious with people but her casual manner often belies that. She knows she's confusing with her back-and-forth nature and wishes she could ever find the right words to explain it.

She wants to be dominated by him, but in the end she wants him to be the one to yield. The chant pounding in her brain, the rhythm coursing through her blood,Claim him. Take him. Make him mine. So that were he to travel beyond the farthest sea, he would nonetheless think of her and yearn for her and wish for coalescence. She wants to take his heart and keep it for her own, knowing that she would say it was for his protection but accepting the truth that she is a collector. Never unkind to her captives, she surrounds herself with them to remind her of her own value; to be able to say that, for at least an instant, she was thought worthy by each of them.

She realizes that no matter how long she has been running from it, no matter what she's done to try to repress it, she has the soul of a writer. Quick to passion and fully immersing herself in each new object of desire, yet always searching for some new excitement.

He's different from so many of the others. He has staying power. She could hold him for a thousand years and never be tired of him- never tired of the angles and curves and expansion of his mind. Shewouldkeep him if she could, but she believes he is too far beyond her; that he will tire of her and cast her off before she's ready to be parted from him with such finality.

She cannot hope to be his muse. His inspiration comes from sources much greater than she will ever be, and she is not necessary to his continuation. She, however, has become addicted to him. He is both new to her and completely familiar, and the contrasts dance about in her thoughts until she no longer knows what she should say or not say to him and so she writes it down.

***

For years she has slept naked. She's been tossing and turning in her slumber since time out of mind and found that nightclothes of any sort wrap and wind around her in the most uncomfortable configurations. When she lived alone, she might have simply been nude but now that she shares her bed with her beloved husband she is confident to be naked; to leave herself open to the eyes of another.

At night, her hands often run over her body. She's well-acquainted with the high and low places, the soft and hard places, the warm and cool places. Everything is always as it was, but still she conducts her nightly checks- it's her way of reassuring herself that nothing has made a drastic change for the worse. She knows she is greatly flawed in the eyes of many but in the heavy, smooth darkness she's free to revel in herself. Her breasts are large, her legs are long, her hips and shoulders curvaceous, her belly silky and welcoming. She is strong and flexible, and fucks well because of it. Her muscles extend and tighten, showing their contoured planes to the eyes of her palms.

Now she imagines they are his hands. There is a tiny, hidden ache in her when she thinks of him, a glimmering of the impossibility of being fully satisfied without him. She wonders if revulsion would replace his appreciation if he saw her without any concealment. She stops caring and lets their hands roam.

He cups her breasts, hands overflowing with them, and she thinks she should apologize. She knows he prefers smaller- a mouthful, he says- but she doesn't want to be sorry for what she is. She thinks he would encourage that defiance, if he knew. She lies stretched lengthwise with her arms above her head and feels a morbid sense of pride when his fingers slide over her now-prominent ribs. He moves to her abdomen and she cringes, knowing he's certainly reached the stretch marks that cover so much of her lower torso. He says nothing- doesn't even pause- and slips down to her thighs. She'd hoped he would continue on the path that would have brought him to the hot, wet core of her, but knows he plans to wait. This pass is just a fact-finding mission, learning the lay of the land in order to chart his course. His hands run over her calves and she flexes her feet with delight. He's slow and deliberate, but after all just skimming her surfaces. She tries to be patient even as she knows it's not up to her anymore- that he has control.

Working his way up now, he stops at her neck and kisses her throat. His right hand settles into the spot where her shoulder meets and he presses a thumb against her windpipe- gently at first, but more firmly after a moment. Neither speaks but she can feel her pulse in her stomach beat faster and more powerfully. He watches her face for any sign of true discomfort and, seeing none, strengthens his grip. Now she can hear the blood rushing in her ears and her face feels a bit swollen. She had been breathing calmly through her nose but suddenly her mouth opens and she gasps. He immediately lets go of her, bends down, and kisses her hard. Although feeling a little dizzy, she eagerly returns the forcefulness and lightly bites his lower lip. He snakes his hand around her head and grabs a handful of her hair at the roots and pulls her away. With her chin now pointing up, he bites the point where he had throttled her and she makes a sound like she's growling. He nips at her again and this time elicits a low moan. She tries to be careful not to let on just how much she's enjoying this, since she knows he'll stop to tease her more. She isn't cautious enough, however, and he smirks at her in the dark and sits back.

There's a strange rasping, slithering sound and she's both curious and nervous. She thinks she knows what it might be, but until the cord glides over her wrists she can only presume. He deftly secures the binding and she hears metal click against metal- when she tugs downward she finds she's held fast. In her excitement she is yet dismayed as she's unable to touch him at all now. When she feels him take her ankles and wrap the same satiny but unyielding rope around them, she forgets her disappointment and gives herself over to anticipation. She twists minutely, testing the bonds, and giggles- her arms are tied together over her head but her legs are tied separately and somewhat spread apart. There's enough slack for her to move a bit if she starts to hurt but no more.Oh, he's good.

In their mutual silence, they come to the understanding that there will be no safe word. She will either bear this or not. It is more than a simple game, flirting with the boundaries of depravity but not really risking anything. There is much at stake here but she expresses no fear and so he continues.

He sits near her but doesn't stir for several protracted minutes. She begins to wonder if he's left the room and she hadn't heard when softly, slowly, a finger traces the line of her lower leg. He exhales- not quite a sigh but more than just a breath out- and takes his hand away. He stands and steps closer and it's her turn to breathe harder. The bed gives under his weight and now he is sitting right next to her. His hand drops to her left shoulder and runs down the length of her arm to the tips of her fingers. Without losing contact, he continues around and crosses her palm to go up the inside of her arm, stroking the inner elbow with his thumb. He reaches her chest and delicately grazes his own palm over her breast, over the hardening nipple, across the taut skin of her breastbone to her right breast and the already-erect nipple there. She refuses to break so easily, and clamps her teeth down on her tongue to keep from whimpering. He shifts toward her a little more and puts a hand directly above each breast and the warmth is almost more than she can stand.

As she tries to arch her back to intensify the pressure, before she can notice and attempt to brace herself, he pinches both nipples and smiles when she yelps in surprise. Maintaining his hold, he waits until she stops panting and squeezes again, more sharply than before. She sucks in her breath and only lets slip a short groan. His grin broadens and he pinches once more, as hard as he can. Now she screams, and when she catches her breath she screams again. When she's finally quiet he releases her and dips his head to take each throbbing nubbin of soft skin into his mouth. His tongue swirls around and over, every swipe seeming a subtle demand for forgiveness. She sighs and relaxes, whispering a wordless agreement.This is an excellent culmination of pain and pleasure, she thinks, and steadies herself for what's to come.

(to be continued)