Merenda

"It's better for me if she watches and makes sure." She could see my look of uncertainty and she went on. "It's just better that way."

I was very intrigued. To say I was aroused wouldn't begin to describe the feeling. It was more like being transported to an alternate universe, my own little Danish fantasy world in fact.

"Does anyone else have the combination?" I asked.

She smiled. "Maybe" was all she said, before she lifted herself up, swung her legs around so her locked-up pussy was right above my face, and in this "69" position, with her on top, she began to eat me again, with abandon, until I came in her mouth.

When she stood up, she was shaking a bit. "Cold?" I asked.

She just smiled, a bit meekly. "Time for you to go," she said, as she put her clothing back on. She added, "today's Friday. Have a good weekend."

Then, in an extra American-sounding accent, she made fun of what she had just said, and added, "have a nice day!" And smiled a big, fake, department store smile as she opened the door for me to leave.

5

During the weekend I spent more time than I should have catching up on email when I should have been doing things with my family. Normally I'd spend an hour walking and several hours on the computer. Last week these numbers were more than reversed. The following week it was the same.

The routine was the same, too. Walk to the swamp. Wonder if Merenda would be there. She would. Walk around the swamp, talk, smoke a European joint oftentimes. Go to her room, where without fail, she'd reach for my belt and ask, "do you mind?"

I've had limited real contact with the kink community. I mean I've got an account on FetLife, but I don't do much there. I've never been to any kind of kink-related event in the real world. If there's a particular thing among women imposing chastity belts on themselves while obsessing with fellatio, I've never run across it. I was so glad to have found it – her – though.

At first I wondered often what she got out of this. What I got out of it seemed altogether too clear. At first I wondered what she wanted from me, aside from friendship, conversation, sperm in her mouth, and a completely mutual obsession. Mutual obsession, but the very definition of a relationship lacking in certain obvious mutual qualities.

After a while, though, I stopped wondering so much. I got very used to treating her stunningly beautiful body as my plaything. A work of art to gaze at, or to undress and lose myself in for a while, before allowing her to fulfill what seemed to be her strongest desire, sometimes lying on the bed, looking at her locked pussy, sometimes sitting on the chair, looking down at Merenda kneeling on the floor.

At first I would sometimes ask questions. "When did you start wearing a chastity belt all the time?" She'd respond with some variation of, "Sorry, I can't talk when your dick's in my mouth." Even though she hadn't just been eating me. But then she would be, at least partially to avoid responding to my query.

I was just curious. I did want to fuck her, but mostly I just was happy to embrace my new reality as it was, and after getting "maybe" for an answer anytime I brought up the question of anyone else having the combination to the lock, I gave up on that line of questioning.

I knew very few people I could really talk about this situation with. Mostly I figure people just wouldn't understand, or they'd be terribly jealous, or both. I had one friend I could talk to, a fellow musician of an older generation who had seen and done a lot in his life. It was during the third weekend after meeting Merenda that I emailed Tim.

I met a shockingly beautiful Danish college student named Merenda who seems to derive great pleasure from taking walks with me and performing fellatio on me every weekday afternoon. Never any other time. And she wears a chastity belt, and has never taken it off in my presence. In fact, she says it's locked and she doesn't know the combination. The only person who seems to have the combination is a girlfriend of hers. Any thoughts?

Tim wrote back quickly.

Definitely sounds like she gets off on giving pleasure and denying it to herself. If it feels good, do it, they say! I don't know about the mid-day thing, but what does jump out at me with regards to that is her name. In Latin, "merenda" is "lunch" or "luncheon."

I saw her every day, so I didn't normally feel the need to email her. But I did have her email address, and quite a number of "yum" emails saved up.

Your name means "lunch" in Latin?

She answered back within minutes.

My name is Merenda Tuur, Steve. Your lunch, Steve. I'm your lunch. So that makes you my dessert, perhaps...?

This was all seeming even more like a wild fantasy than it had a few minutes earlier. I was gazing at her latest email. I was trying to hit the "reply" button but missed and clicked on the little ellipses that makes the signature line expand. There was her name, Merenda Tuur. Her phone number, a quote from Emma Goldman. I had noticed these things before.

But suddenly it jumped out at me that there was a hyperlinked word at the end I hadn't noticed before. The word was "combination." Before I even clicked on it, I had to know if this was in earlier emails from Merenda. Sure enough, it was. Starting with the first one. I just hadn't noticed it til now.

I clicked. The website I arrived at was a very simple one that just wanted me to verify my email address, specifically. I did, and was sent another link. Clicking on that link just led to a page that was entirely blank aside from a three-digit number.

I emailed Merenda again.

I found the combination!

Again she answered within minutes.

That took you a while!

6

It was Saturday evening when I got the number, so I had two nights and one full day to wait before another walk to the swamp. I was excited. Though I had a bit of trepidation about how this three-digit number was going to change our relationship.

Was all this chastity belt and fellatio stuff like a sort of extended form of foreplay, leading up to a more normal kind of relationship...? To the extent that mid-day sexual encounters with a punk rock Danish tree nymph could be considered somewhere within the realm of "normal"...

When I got down the stairs to the swamp, Merenda was sitting on the picnic table, again. The day was unseasonably warm, and she wasn't wearing a jacket. Either way, she looked even more beautiful than ever. The notion that I now had the ability to strip her of that final article of clothing was almost too intense to handle. Despite the fact that we were still both clothed. And despite the fact that I had had a very satisfying love-making session with Sachi the night before.

"My lunch, eh?" I said.

She smiled. "Your lunch."

I had a strong desire to suggest that we break with tradition, skip the walk around the swamp, and just head to her bedroom. But I was starting to feel superstitious about the idea of doing anything differently here, lest this wonderful spell be broken. Maybe Reed tree nymphs require a walk around the swamp before they can do anything else, who knows.

She seemed to have something on her mind, too. I had been learning that the most forward approach isn't necessarily best with Merenda, so I didn't ask her about what it was that might be bothering her directly. I beat around the bush.

"It's been an eventful weekend in the world, eh?" I said.

"Situation Normal – All Fucked Up. That's my favorite American saying."

I knew we had both watched the same news broadcasts about the escalation in the slaughter in Iraq and Syria, the assassination of the human rights lawyer in Pakistan, the mass stabbing at the train station in western China.

"A friend of mine in Copenhagen was caught by the police and deported back to the Ivory Coast yesterday. And they beat him in the plane."

The xenophobic policies of Denmark's rightward-moving social democracy intruded on our bucolic reality by the swamp. We talked about European politics, one of our favorite topics of conversation on our daily walks. When we had done one loop we stopped, held each other, and had a long, lingering kiss.

"Let's go," Merenda said, as she once again led me up the stairs toward her room.

For a moment I couldn't remember what those three numbers were. I hadn't even written them down. I figured I'd remember them – there were only three of them. Knowing that Merenda wouldn't know the numbers either didn't help. But then they came back into my head – 3-6-7.

I was again feeling overwhelmed by this new situation. It had been overwhelming enough as it was – in an entirely positive way. Would our new reality be entirely positive? I wanted to fuck her so much, but I also wondered about if or how the dynamics between us might change.

I sat in the chair, and Merenda knelt in front of me. This was reassuring somehow. A familiar, lovely pattern. But I didn't let her unzip my jeans. I was too impatient. I lifted her lithe little body and guided her onto the bed beside us. I pulled her shirt up, and she did the rest, undressing herself down to her chastity belt. I took my clothing off, too, until I was just slightly more naked than she was, as usual up til now.

Her body silently beckoned me to touch it, kiss it, bite it, which I did. But not for long. I had to try the combination. The numbers on the lock were small, almost too small for my big fingers to fiddle with, but I managed to scroll them until I had the right combination. As soon as the numbers were lined up, the metal latch beside them clicked quietly, and the belt came loose.

I pulled it off of her and looked for the first time at her short tuft of blonde pubic hair that looked like it was frequently trimmed. I saw her pink labia for the first time, and the pink, wet entrance to what looked like a very tight little vaginal tunnel. I descended toward it, after putting her chastity belt on the chair.

I thought perhaps I would now eat her, for the first time, as she had been eating me daily for weeks now. I wanted to, although at the same time I was already mourning the loss of what had been til now a completely lopsided sexual relationship that some people might consider to be extremely lacking in what they might call mutuality. (Aside from the fact that everything we were doing were acts between very mutually consenting adults. But the fact remained, til now there was only one of us having this little thing a lot of people tend to obsess about, called orgasms.)

It was only when I went down to her pussy and my face was a few inches from it that I noticed her piercings. There were little rings on either side of her clit. And they were connected to a shell-shaped thing whose color was very close to the color of Merenda's skin, which was completely covering her clit.

"A clit shield?" I asked.

She smiled. I had never seen one on an actual person. Only in pictures on fetish websites. I investigated it with my tongue. There was no way to to squeeze it between the shell and her clit. But her pussy was clearly already very wet. I abandoned the effort at cunnilingus and slid my cock inside her.

She was so tight, that despite being very wet, I could barely get into her. I pushed in slowly until I was all the way in. Her pussy was pulsating, like a heartbeat, and with each beat it tightened a bit more.

I had to relax for a while in order to avoid just coming right away. I lay down on top of her, feeling her gorgeous, warm, lean, naked body beneath mine. Naked except for a little bump that I felt just above my pelvic bone, the bump that covered her clit.

I gathered myself together, got up on my knees, and fucked her hard. Merenda gasped. Whether with pleasure or pain I couldn't tell. I was trying to decide whether I should ask her if it felt good, if everything was OK, but then she braced her hands on the wall at the end of the bed, sending a very clear nonverbal message – you keep fucking me like that, and I'll brace myself so that I don't keep drifting up toward the end of the bed. I'll keep myself right here in place, where I clearly belong, her body was saying.

Having received that signal, I relaxed into the situation and fucked her with abandon. It felt like I was making up for lost time. I had to move her into several different positions, experiencing all of them for the first time, which felt simultaneously odd and miraculous.

Her whole body seemed so tense, but also so inviting. "Does anything make you come?" I found myself inquiring.

"I don't have vaginal orgasms. Only clitoral," she said, sounding suddenly a bit clinical, like she was talking about someone else's body. "And at the moment, I can't feel anything in my clit," she informed me.

"Can I take that thing off?" I asked. Not that I was at all sure I wanted to. But I wanted to know what the situation here was, exactly, for some reason.

"I suppose if you had the right kind of tools you could break the rings," she said. "But probably better to leave that up to a professional piercing artist, you know."

"Why don't you want to come?" I asked. I could have just as easily asked myself why I wanted to fuck her so much without making her come. Why did I enjoy the constant tension in her pussy, the throbbing, the obvious desire that was not going to be satisfied, the meal that could never be eaten, not by her, given this state of affairs.

"Fuck me harder" was her only reply. Which I did.

The days and weeks after that day followed a similar pattern. Merenda got clearly more worked up by intercourse than she had when she was constantly wearing the chastity belt. Her nipples were hard, her pussy so wet, tight, pulsating. Sometimes when I lay on top of her and fucked her, facing her, it seemed like her clit was getting stimulated a little, from below. But never enough for her to come.

The tension and the arousal were clearly constant, though. I marveled at how she could maintain this state. For me it was a fantasy experience I thought I'd never have, and also beyond anything I might have imagined. But here she was. Where she came from, I hadn't a clue.

Months passed, and Merenda and I grew closer by the day. I looked for signs that she was tiring of any aspect of our arrangement, but the idea that we should ever see each other aside from mid-day during the week, or whether we should ever change our routine, walking around the swamp and talking, then having some kind of sex, never came up.

I thought about buying a bolt cutter or something and removing her clit shield. But I don't even know what a bolt cutter looks like. And she told me someone else should do it anyway, if it were to be done.

Eventually the time came when I would be leaving town for two months for another tour. This time in Europe, traveling with Kim. I was looking forward to being with Kim immensely, and to the whole touring experience. I like traveling, and I love Kim.

But I would miss my family, and my tree nymph, and I was feeling especially philosophical one day before I was going to be leaving town, on one of my last mid-day escapades with Merenda.

"How did you get this way?" I asked her one day, while we were walking around the swamp.

I had learned not to ask such direct questions with her for the most part, but this day I did. She looked like she was thinking about saying something pithy, and dismissing the question, as she usually would. But then she seemed to think better of it, and answered a bit more directly.

"I used to get bored sometimes. I felt directionless sometimes. The world seemed to be too easy, oftentimes. I found a challenge. I found it on the internet, actually. It's helped me focus a lot, given me structure. And purpose. Maybe it's weird, but I don't know what that means. I just know I like it."

"What is it, in this case, exactly...?" Another direct question. Too direct, apparently. Merenda just smiled.

That evening I found another email from Merenda. Subject line "yum." Sometimes I almost don't look at the content of these emails, because the vast majority of the time there's just that subject line. The emails still have a therapeutic quality in their regularity and predictability, but there's generally not much to them.

But I opened it, just in case, and I was glad I did.

It is being your lunch.

And then the email continued, with another somewhat cryptic line, which was made much less cryptic by what followed it.

I found your FetLife profile on the internet. Soon after I moved to Portland. I figured out it was you. I didn't really have a clue what I was doing. But I liked the challenge very much, and I improvised.

Beneath that there was a screen shot of a brief journal entry I wrote one time, in the hope that by articulating what I was looking for, I might be more likely to find it. I had posted it on one especially lonely weekday morning, and promptly forgotten about it within a few days. It read:

My Lunch

What I'd really like is to become lovers with someone who only wants to see me mid-day during the week for walks, conversation and sex. She should ideally be brilliant, beautiful, mysterious, polyamorous, and obsessed with fellatio, chastity belts and female orgasm denial.