Devoutly to be Wished Ch. 04

The red kimono had fallen further open, and her arms were all that blocked the view of her breasts, now mostly exposed. But what took his attention, besides those incredible, doe-like eyes, was the fact that her mons was now exposed, framed by the red silk. The dark blond patch of her fur was wispy and entrancing, and he finally tore his eyes away again and looked at her face, which had not changed. She looked like a startled deer, lithe, delicate and frozen in panic.

His body took over, thank god. He walked the two steps to her, and without hesitation wrapped her into his arms and bent down, and he pressed his mouth down onto hers as he had wanted to do, for years, for his whole life.

***

Bijou, driving, wondered for a moment where she should go. Part of her ached for release; she was so hungry, so over the top horny now, not just because of her moments with Sara, but because of the preoccupying idea that It was happening right now, or at least she hoped so. She did have a choice or two, someone she could call and go to, playmates who would welcome a visit. But hungry as she was, she didn't want to change her focus, and didn't think she could. Will and Sara were the only thing in her mind now, and she didn't want to be distracted from them.

She sighed and resigned herself to surfing this immense lust. It was all she could do not to turn back around, not even to join them but simply to hide and watch, to be secret witness to this encounter she had done her best to build. But she turned west instead, heading for her favorite coffee shop, where she could pretend to write, perhaps distract herself with conversation. How long should she stay away? Two hours? Three? Four? She decided not to decide. She'd stay away for as long as she possibly could, and her mind would be nowhere but there, every moment.

***

He kissed her and she melted, whimpered, a delicate sound, and at this one tiny noise something snapped in him and he stopped thinking entirely. His hands gripped her everywhere, and he pressed the kiss deep, tasting wine and musk, and the faint scent of ... god, he recognized it. Traces of Bijou's scent on her face, on her mouth. That meant...

He groaned, completely overwhelmed, and he gave up any sense of control over himself. He abruptly turned her around – something stopped him before he actually just picked her up, although that was his first instinct – and walked her toward the bed, and as she stood there, barely breathing, he tore off his shirt and sank to his knees in front of her, leaning forward to bury his face in the smooth scent of her pussy. She was already juicy, and the momentary, distant realization that Bijou had just been here, doing just this, sent him over yet another edge. His face pressing in, he inhaled and tasted, and Sara whimpered with hunger, staggered and nearly fell.

What the hell am I doing? I haven't even said anything to her yet. Jesus, this is crazy.

He leaned back and looked up at her, his hands holding her hips securely. He opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of a single word to say. Every time those intense, bright eyes looked at his he felt a shock, a sensation he couldn't name, a volcanic mixture of tender affection and raw desire that drove every word from his mind. She. Sara. She. This.

Finally, his mind momentarily took over and he managed to speak.

"Jesus, uh, I suppose I should have asked you before I did that," he said. He was suddenly horribly self-conscious. But there was something in Sara's manner, something strangely quiet that seemed to invite one to simply take her. It was not a lack of will, or even a submissiveness. It was a sense that she wanted to be released, to be opened up by someone else's hands. Force pleased her, inspired her, drew her out of her controlled mind and let her surrender. Will sensed all of this, and yet he was unsure of how far that went, or what exactly he should do about it. And he wasn't thinking well at all. Not at all.

Thankfully, thank whatever god there was, she smiled. And she sat down at the edge of the bed, so that her face was close to his.

"Shut up," she said, in a tone so affectionate and tender it clearly meant 'I love you.'

"And kiss me," she added.

He did. He moved up onto his knees and wrapped his arms around her, and her spine yielded to his hands. Something in him responded powerfully to the willowy way she surrendered under his embrace, and he gripped her hips and drew her closer to the edge of the bed, so that her legs spread around him. He pressed in against her body, feeling the strange extra shape of her bound arms between them. A fiery heat radiated onto his crotch from where her mound pressed against him. Even through his slacks he could feel moisture and incredible heat, and his trapped cock pressed hard against her. She whimpered, and turned her face up to him.

I have waited for this exact moment my whole life, he thought. And then her eyes captured him again, those extraordinary, electric eyes, and his hand moved up to take a handful of her hair. He braided his fingers into it, gently, and felt her head press back, almost imperceptibly, onto his hand. Harder. His hand tightened on her hair, and at the grip she cooed, and her lips opened. He let his other hand strengthen, let it communicate his hunger, gripping her hard around the waist, and she moaned hungrily in response.

Yes, then. I can just tell her. I can just show her. I don't have to hold back any more.

He looked once more at her ripe, perfect lips, almost reluctant to obscure the sight of them with his own, and then he pulled her face toward his and sank into her receptive mouth like a baptism.

She tasted like honey and deep musk, like warmth itself. She tasted familiar, somehow, as if he had known this particular mouth his whole life. He pressed her whole body against his and she seemed to open from the inside and encompass him, not just the tip of his tongue, which she drew into her mouth and sucked delicately, but his whole body, embraced in her. Her legs moved to wrap around him, as if to make up for her bound arms. He moaned at the feeling of her pussy against him, pressed tightly and moving, rocking as their mouths engulfed one another. He could feel the vibration of her voice as she whined each time he moved his hands, and her warm breath mingled with his.

His hand moved to her throat, fascinated by the line of her neck. He felt the flutter of her pulse, the way her voice hummed under the delicate skin. His fingers moved up to her jaw, tracing the soft flesh up to her mouth and learning the curve of her lower lip, exploring the way their mouths met, now almost motionless. She traced his lip with the tip of her tongue, and he groaned. He felt as if he were on fire. His cock had been so hard for so long it actually ached.

This, just this, forever, this mouth, this body, just like this, here around me, he thought. But already he wanted more. So much more of her. He wanted everything, to dive into every space she had, to wrap her around him. His hand moved to grip her leg and pull it up more tightly around him and she groaned, her hips pressing hard against him, writhing in hunger. She wanted him, it was obvious. He thought fleetingly about what bijou had said, that she was offering him as a gift to Sara, that he was what she wanted. And he thought about what must have been happening in this very room earlier, and realized that she must be as hungry as he, as desperate for release.

He released her, reluctant to leave her mouth, but needing to look at her face again, to try to know what to do. She looked up at him, her face open, trusting, but still sharpened by that slightly sassy gleam that was always in her eye. Say something, for god's sake, his mind shouted, but now, suddenly, he was preoccupied with the bond that held her forearms. He saw the contrast, the rich black against her pale skin, framed on either side by the red kimono. Silk, silk, and silk. The clean, singular black line of her forearms contrasted with the extraordinary curves of her breasts, and the binding brought her arms tightly forward, pressing them down, bringing her breasts together in the middle like a corset. A parabola of shadow ran along the velvet depth of her cleavage framed by her upper arms, so deeply perfect, inviting.

***

Bijou, arriving at the coffee shop and opening her notebook, stopped for a moment and smiled. I've always wondered how esthetically driven he is. If he's as affected by pure sensory data as I am, deep down, then just about now he will have ceased to be able to think straight at all. Even that giant controlled Mind can't hold out forever against what she looks like right now.

***

His hands ran up and down, understanding the way the fabric was wrapped, and he noticed that there was no knot. He recognized Bijou's style; though they hadn't played much with bondage, he knew that she tended to bind more with voice and idea than rope, always leaving someone with a clear escape. It was more of a mind fuck, she'd said, to make it clear that someone chose to be where they were.

Sara was clearly choosing this. The ends of the cloth were secure between her two hands, which now met so that her fingertips pressed to her lips, as if she were under a vow of silence. She had only to part her hands, open them like a lotus, and she could easily free herself. But she hadn't.

Sara, for her part, felt very much like the gift Bijou had promised she would be. She had never seen Will like this, so completely out of control of himself, so raw, so speechless. If she had had any doubts about whether he truly wanted her, they had shredded and disappeared the moment she saw the look on his face. She felt beautiful. She was beautiful. She was, indeed, perfect. Perfectly herself. She could be nothing else. And apparently, that specific creature sent Will completely off the deep end.

But there was an edge to the flattery. This was all so unlike Will, who was never without a clever remark, who never showed anything but shy respect for her and women in general, whose restraint and diplomacy in every interaction was unrivaled. He seemed nearly mad, at the moment, as he stared at her, kneeling there at the foot of the bed, running his hands lightly over this place and that, as if he were examining a sculpture. His face changed radically depending on where he looked. When he met her eye, his face would open and surrender, full of adoration and amazement. And when he looked down at the rest of her, it would shift, become pure hunger, direct and open-mouthed, primitive.

And the hunger was winning. His hands gripped her harder now as they traveled, learning the curve of her waist and hip, tracing down to her bare thighs and in, and up, to flicker along her mons, making her squirm and sigh. Every noise she made seemed to drive him even higher. It was her habit to be relatively quiet, since over the years there had been family, neighbors, open windows to consider. But here she was safe, and she felt like a musical instrument being played, each touch eliciting a different breath, a sound, a hum, a whimper. And every time she moaned, or gasped, he seemed to shudder, and his breath would quicken.

***

Bijou wrote, 'Kiss, for me, these gifts I have left you. With my own lips, taste them...' and then stopped and laid down her pen. Her stare was a thousand miles away. The young man about to approach her hesitated, and sat back down. She looked so intense; he didn't dare invade whatever reverie she indulged in. But he watched her, as she then dug around in her bag and pulled out a tarot deck.

Is it working? Are they on their way? The Moon: lunacy. Well, of course. The Emperor: a powerful man. Perhaps Will was, after all, finding his strength, figuring out that she needed him a little dominant. The Ace of Cups: sexuality, femininity, nourishment. Sara sara sara. Sara coming, pouring out of herself like the fountain on the card. Ace of Wands: libido. The World. Yes. Yes. Yes.

She smiled. Thank you. Yes. As she laid the deck aside, the young man saw his opportunity. He walked to the table. "Excuse me. I don't want to disturb you, but are those tarot cards?" He pronounced it to rhyme with "carrot."

She smiled up at him. "They are. You're welcome to look at the deck, if you want. It's a pretty rare one."

"I've never seen a deck before. Heard about them. Does that stuff really work? I've always sorta wanted to try it."

"Depends on who you ask. It might be all bullshit, of course. But I haven't had any complaints over the last 30 years or so." She'd been reading since she was eleven, when she had secretly drawn her own fortune-telling deck, just making up the pictures and drawing them on index cards with colored pencils. The young man stopped, startled. Thirty years? How old was she? It was hard to guess. He wanted to ask, but didn't.

"Do you... would you read those for me?"

Bijou smiled. "My deal in places like this is a reading for a beer. Usually it's sixty bucks an hour. But I'm sorta in the mood tonight. I'd go there, if you like."

"What are you drinking?" So far, all she had was coffee on the table.

"Guinness," she said. "And you can tell them it's for me. They'll pour it better."

"Uh, I'm Adam," he said, and stuck out his hand. "Guinness, huh? Okay. I'll be right back." She took his hand and smiled. "I'm Bijou," she said. At the inevitable look of confusion on his face, she added, "But you can just call me Skunk. Everybody does, here."

"Skunk," he said, looking a little dazed. "Okay. I'll be back." He turned toward the bar, and she moved her notebook out of the way and began shuffling her cards. Thank the gods, a distraction. She hadn't gotten a damn thing done anyway. Then, as a quick afterthought, she opened her notebook once more and scribbled the line, 'Your hands are my hands also, and they know what mine already know." Then she closed it again, and waited.

***

Sara could not wrap her mind around this very different Will, uncontrolled and fierce, barely able to keep from ... doing what? She had no idea what he might do. That too, the beautiful suspense of it, the idea that as a gift she had surrendered to him, that he could do whatever he liked to her, was part of what made her so crazy at this moment. Whatever his mind was doing, his hands spoke increasing ownership, and it seemed that he also perceived her as a gift, as his, for the moment, to take.

Will felt it too, that rising mad root of desire that overwhelmed his mind completely, made him forget everything. In one last, desperate attempt to come to some kind of control, he sat back a bit, took his hands away from her (at which she moaned, almost petulant, and he nearly lost it again at the sound) and breathed deeply.

"Sara," he said and then looked up, meeting her gaze. His hands gripped the bedspread on either side of her. Hearing him say her name made her gasp. She wanted to hear him say it again and again. "May I..." His voice cracked, and he paused. Think, goddammit. Make some words. "Do you..." His expression was almost pleading. Help me. I can't remember how to speak. I can't bring myself to actually ask.

She knew. Of course. And she knew there was a single answer to every one of his questions.

"Will," she said, and hearing her say his name made him nearly crazy, "Say this: I love you."

"I do. My god, I always have. I do. I love you."

"Now," her eyes flickered between terror and hunger. It was so hard, to ask for what she wanted, but she forced the words out, needing to be sure, needing for him to know. "Say this: And I am going to do everything I've always wanted to do..." she gulped, "to you now."

His mind blew completely to bits. Something hot and powerful began to engulf him. He couldn't possibly have spoken, not if his life depended on it, but her words seemed to echo as if a bell had been struck. This time, when he kissed her, it was with all of his strength, all of his endless, incredible hunger for her flesh, his hands gripping hard on her shoulders and her thigh. She moaned, high and desperate, and her thighs clamped around him. She was his pet goddess, powerful and bright, but willing, even begging, to belong to him, entirely surrendered. A toy angel, his own little spitfire that he adored beyond words.

Presented with a sumptuous feast, what is more natural than to eat? He moved back a bit, but his hands still gripped her, still and strong. Her breath was ragged as she waited and she looked into his eyes, wordlessly begging him to understand.

And he did understand. At that moment, all his words came back to him. "Everything," he said, his voice low and affectionate. "Everything I've ever thought about, wanted from you, for you, I intend to do. Slowly, a little at a time, because I want to pay close attention when it happens." At the sound of his decisive tone, her eyes closed and her body writhed. A beatific smile, the look of a hungry angel, spread over her features.

"I want it to last a very long time, and at the moment I can think of dozens of things I want to do to you, over and over," he murmured, loving the way she seemed to get higher and hotter with every word he spoke. Her responses inspired him, and he felt his confidence flowing back in, as all the things he thought and spoke drew such beautiful, instant reaction. "You are about to be very occupied, for a long time. There are so many places I'd like to go, you astounding goddess, you beautiful woman, and with your permission..." here he took hold of her folded hands, letting her see that he understood that she controlled her own binding.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Will. Yes. All of it. Yes." And by the time she had finished speaking the words, he had knelt forward, parted her thighs, and driven his tongue into her, so that she ended with a yes that was a bright cry, as she arched back and opened to his hungry mouth.