Tea Keeper

"This water is from a well to the West of here, and South, in a mountain valley covered in clover. I can't stop thinking about your mouth. Tell me about your mouth."

I wasn't sure how to talk about my mouth. You put the kettle on the stove and set it warming. "I, um, I swear."

You laughed, sat at the table and unzipped your trousers. I leaned toward you, but I didn't move. You didn't invite me.

"Go on."

"I like ice cream and cocktails and chocolate and kiwi and I recently swore off coffee."

"Recently?" You said.

"Yesterday," I said. "And I like fresh bread with butter and honey."

"Honey. I wanted you to say it first. Say it again," you said.

"Honey," I said, quietly. "I make it when I'm..."

I wanted to let that thought trail off, but you wouldn't let it. You waited for me to say it.

"I make it when I'm aroused."

You stood, turned your back to me and faced the small, high window. "Go on."

I ached and squirmed. This is the fear. I wouldn't let it stop me. "I'm dripping right now."

You looked at me with interest. "Show me your honey," you said.

I turned a little and the light from the window fell on me. I spread my knees more.

You sat cross-legged in front of me, your fly gaping. I pulled my eyes away from it. I found your eyes crinkling at their corners.

"Is there anything I could tell you to do that you wouldn't do?"

I clenched my hand around the vial. I thought I'd do anything.

"I don't know," I said.

You touched my nose with the tip of your finger. I opened my mouth. You spoke first. "I wanted to see the honey in your hand, and you offered something better. More fascinating. Tell me. Do you feel invisible right now?"

I shook my head.

"Speak. I don't want you hiding."

"I don't feel invisible," I said, "You're looking right at me."

You put a hand on my knee and slid it up my thigh. "How does it make you feel?"

"Excited," I said, "Afraid, curious." Fuck. Ravenous.

"I feel ravenous," I said. I wanted you to know.

Your fingertips touched my pussy and I drew in a breath. I hadn't been breathing.

You slipped a finger into my warm and wet. I felt like I was scenting the whole room. I think you wanted that.

You removed your fingers, held them up in the sunlight and watched how they glinted and sparkled with my moisture. "Honey," you said. "I was right. Take my cock out. I want to make something. If you can catch me, you can do anything you want."

I reached into your fly, snuck my fingers into your boxers, and felt your hard and heat. I knew I must be smiling voraciously. I wanted to make you come down my throat. I wanted you in my control for just one moment.

But you were off as soon as I pulled you out, your cock bouncing and swinging. Collecting ingredients, crushing them in your hands. I chased you on my hands and knees. Your cardigan slipped off one shoulder, then the other. I caught you once, got my tongue on the tip of your cock for a second before you turned to keep the water from boiling. You laughed. I scrambled around in front of you, kettle in your right hand, teapot in your left. You poured hot water into your potion and I got you in deep, swirling my tongue around your flavour. Your body relaxed, your eyes closed. You stood still, the kettle in one hand, the teapot in the other, the scent of tea beginning to fill the room.

I had you for a moment. You were mine. You sighed and let your head fall back while I scraped my fingernails over your balls and hummed happily around your cock.

"I am changing your name," you said.

The scent of the tea brought tears to my eyes. I teased your cock. I wove a spell with my lips, my hair tickling your thighs. I couldn't remember a time I hadn't longed for this.

My name was on my driver licence in my bag downstairs. I couldn't remember it. I was happy.

You put your hand on my head and pushed me away. I must have looked like a toddler whose lolly was jerked out of her mouth.

"You'll like it," You said, and it took me a moment to figure out what you were talking about. I was already liking it.

"Lie back. Flat on the floor."

I was a little disappointed. I wanted to see your head thrown back, your jaw clenched. I wanted to hear you swear.

I obeyed. What was it about your voice that made me do whatever you said? Maybe it wasn't your voice. Maybe it was you, cardigan and glasses and apron and your loft. Was there anything I wouldn't do?

"Naming requires a christening. This is a solemn ritual. Please behave accordingly."

You sneaked a hand up my ribs, tickled me, made me squirm and giggle. You stopped my giggle with a hard kiss. "Don't test me. I can make you scream," you whispered and my eyes widened. Fuck. I'd been trying to get you to make me scream.

I laid back, my face in the shadow, my breasts in the sun. You untied the red ribbon from my hair and pulled it out slowly, watching my eyes. You straddled my waist.

"Can you hold still?" You said.

"Of course," I said. "I think I can."

I squeezed my eyes shut. "I don't know."

"I want you to try," you said, and you laid the ribbon across my throat. You took my hands and raised them up alongside my face. You let your cock rest on my belly. It moved on its own, bumping its head as you looked down at me. You wrapped the ends of the ribbon around my wrists.

You set two little cups on the ribbon between my neck and my hands.

"Don't move. I don't want you to spill."

You poured into the cup to the left of my face. "This one is yours," you said. "You won't get anything if you spill it."

Then you poured into the cup to my right. "This one is mine. If you spill I will extract compensation."

I already felt like wriggling, but your weight held me down.

"Financial?" I said.

"Emotional," you said. I tried very hard to hold still. You stood over me then, admiring my predicament, how you had trapped me with my own ribbon. You unbuttoned your shirt, taking your time, your eyes on me. You dropped it and undid your trousers and let them fall. The sun streamed through the window behind you. You pulled your boxers off.ri

You knelt next to me, took the honey from my hand and held it where I could see it.

"Look how well you've warmed it," you said. "It's flowing free now."

You uncorked the vial and breathed the scent of the honey in.

"Remember, this is not a title. This is not a 'term of endearment." This is not a pet name. I am giving you a new name. Do you understand?"

I couldn't nod without spilling tea. I said "Yes." I wished for a name for you. I wanted to have an anchor. No. You were the anchor. I wanted to have a word I could savour in my mouth for you. I wanted to be able to call you something.

You poured a drip of honey on each of my breasts, and one on my lips.

"Your name is Honey," you said, and you licked the trickle from my right breast.

"Your name is Honey," you said, and licked the sweet stickiness from my left breast.

"Your name," you said, smiling into my face, "Is Honey."

I still wanted your cock in my mouth, but your lips crushing mine, pressing the honey into my mouth made me sleepy and alive at the same time. I couldn't move.

"Hold still," you said. You corked the vial and laid it in my navel. I couldn't see it, but I could feel its warmth from my hand, from my own body. You kissed my belly below the vial and I squealed. I couldn't move.

You nudged my knees apart, your body warm between them and you kissed lower, your chin drawing circles on my skin, your nose tickling the edges of my tuft of hair.

"What's your name?" you said.

"Honey," I said. It felt like I had been saying that all my life.

"Honey, I'm going to taste you," you said, then you didn't. You hovered over me. I could feel your eyes on my breasts, your breath condensing on the skin between my legs.

Then you dug into me. Not a taste, not a lick. You filled every part of me your tongue could reach and I held still, because you had told me to. You hadn't told me to be quiet though. I squealed through clenched teeth.

"What is your name?" you said again, your chin weighing my clitoris down. I could hear a smile in your voice.

"H... Honey," I said. My hips were bucking, trying to bump your face, trying to catch your attention.

"Honey," you said, "how are you so wonderful?"

I had no answer. I didn't have words or ideas. I only had the empty place where your tongue had been and my name.

You smoothed me with your tongue then, and I felt you laugh. "Do you know your name in Spanish?" you said, and you licked me and I couldn't think.

"Um?" I said.

You sucked my clitoris into your mouth and smiled. "Miel," you said, your tongue never leaving my skin.

"Miellll," I said, but you had me desperate, trying not to curl around your head and come. Damn the teacups.

"Miel," you said, speaking to my pussy, your tongue warm between my lips, electric. "Miel, miel, miel..."

I whimpered, "Please," I said, and I don't know if I wanted to come or if I just wanted you to give me my tea. Maybe it didn't matter.

You were merciful and cruel. You stopped, knelt over me, your cock bumping my left breast. You took the cup next to my head and sipped it. You closed your eyes and your cock floated over my skin, hard and ready. You took another sip and kissed me, dribbling the tea into my mouth. I relaxed and let you fill me like this. You saw me. This was my portrait directly from your body into mine.

We traded sips, you taking one for yourself, then giving me one. You emptied one cup, then the other. My tea was flavoured with the taste of your mouth and my pussy and I realised you knew you would do this. You had blended my portrait with my honey and your own saliva as ingredients. I felt seen again. Not like yesterday- sketched. I felt thoroughly explored.

You took the ribbon off my throat and wrapped it around my wrists.

"What is your name," I said. "I want to be able to say it when I come."

You kissed me and you must have tasted honey on my lips. "I want to keep you," you said. "I want to be selfish with you. I want everything you have to give."

"You can have my mouth," I said. You can have my eyes, my nipples, my lips. Please- anything."

"Call me Keeper then. That is a title, not my name, but it is yours. Nobody else can call me that." You touched each place I mentioned with two fingers. My eyes, my nipples, You covered my pussy with your whole hand and bit my lower lip. "Go on," you said, "What else do you want me to have?"

Your palm pressing my pussy had me melting, burning. You were claiming me, and I wanted to be owned. I bucked against your hand, hoping for more, for less. I wanted anything but the dull aching pleasure of the heel of your hand. I wanted you to break and I was surprised, when I looked into your eyes, to see that you wanted it too. You wanted to boil over.

"Fuck me," I whimpered.

"I was beginning to think you lied about swearing," you said, and your cock finally rested between my legs. "Do it again."

"Ugh. Fuck my cunt you arrogant bastard. Please."

You laughed and held my hands over my head, wrapped in ribbon.

"Never say 'please' to me," you said. "We are new, unexplored. We will make our own courtesy and our own rudeness."

You slipped your finger into me slowly, deliberately. "Ffffffuck meee," I said.

I thought you would explode. I didn't know what it would look like though. You stopped, your smile vanished. You stared down into my eyes and I saw heat. You were nearly boiling like your tea water. You opened your mouth and inhaled. Your cock bumped the inside of my thigh once, twice, with the beating of your heart.

You pressed into me slowly and I gasped. You were so hard. I watched your eyes half-close and you moaned, like you had found a new flavour, some essence that only I could express. You were addicted to me, immediately.

I have been the addict before, craving, manoeuvring, scheming for a fix. Chocolate was my drug of choice, and honey. I could see you getting hooked. Your pupils dilated, without any thought at all except consumption, and I was your consumed.

You can't imagine how full I felt. You can't imagine the way it feels to suddenly be the obsession of an artist. I became your muse at that moment. It took me days to tease it out of our tangled lovemaking. We did not stop for reflection.

You fucked me then. I barely had breath to squeal, I was so inundated in your fascination. You pounded me senseless, voiceless. The vial of honey rolled between us, slipped between our bodies. You bit my earlobe, my throat, the edge of my breast before I arced up under you, my eyes wide open, startled and blind.

We were pure flavour in your loft, we were light and all music. I could smell my pussy on your breath along with my tea. Maybe you thought of that ahead of time too. No. You had no thoughts then, neither of us did. I flew sharp and sweet under you, discovering your truth, your unguarded joy.

"Keeper," I whispered into your ear, then I caught your earlobe between my teeth and held it for a moment. I let you go. "Keeper."

You weighed me down, rolled into me, held my arms over my head. "Keeper, I..." I gasped, "...Kee... K, K..." Our noses were almost touching when I curled and came. You saw what you had done to me and I felt you shudder and explode. There it was, your eyes squeezed shut, exploding, grunting like a beast, and coming into me.

~~~~

The sun had moved and it blinded me when you rolled off and flopped boneless next to me. I touched your leg with my foot and you laughed. You unwrapped the ribbon from my wrists, wrapped it around your own wrist, and held it to your nose. I was suddenly aware of the sun on my skin, the lush rug, the sound of your breaths slowing, the ticking of the cooling tea kettle.

"I've never..." you said, and stopped, and I rolled toward you, curious.

"Don't tell me I've just had your cherry," I said, smiling, tickling your chest with my fingernails.

You laughed. "No, not that. Not exactly. Maybe. I've never been like that before."

"Me either," I said. "I... want to tell you the truth. Give me a moment. I don't know what it is."

You turned toward me, gathered my hair in your hand, gripped it so I could feel the gentle pull on my scalp. "Do you have a brush?" you said, gently making my head nod, as though no answer was required of me.

"In my bag. Yes." I said.

"I would like to brush your hair. Will you fetch it?"

I turned, but not before I saw you pick up the little vial of honey. I padded to my bag, comfortable in your loft, surrounded by spice and fabric. I hadn't noticed before how many textures you had in your space; burlap to silk, raw wood to glass. You went to a shelf and chose two tumblers and picked up the big jug of well water. You sat leaning against a couch when I got back to you. I traded the brush for a tumbler of water.

"A palate cleanser," you said, "It's good water. Enjoy it."

I sat between your legs and sipped. The water was cool, not cold and it felt smooth on my tongue, not hard like tap water. There was no hint of chlorine in it. It was pure without being antiseptic. You brushed the tips of my hair, slowly so you wouldn't tear if you hit a tangle. The simple pull, release, pull, release made me sigh and relax. I sipped again and let the water swirl in my mouth. I swallowed and began to talk.

"In my life... outside... I have to decide everything. What suppliers, what advertisers, when to bill, how to deliver. I have a couple of employees. One asks too many questions and the other doesn't ask enough. So I'm either hand holding or fixing a fuckup. So everything becomes about averting disaster and I'm just always there, always dependable, taken for granted and invisible at the same time."

You turned the brush upside down and smoothed into the hair at the nape of my neck. I sipped.

"Honey," you said, "why are you here?"

I took a deep breath. "I walked into your shop and I didn't have to do any of it. You just... took control. You have no idea how relieved I felt. You told me to put down that drink and I liked it. I liked putting things down, letting go. You asked me if there was any command you could give me that I would disobey and I lied. I said I didn't know. I should have said 'I don't think so' because that's what is true. It feels good to do what you say."

"Even if it frightens you?" you said, "Even if it might hurt?"

The brush massaged my scalp. You had my hair silky now, brushing with long strokes from my forehead all the way to the tips halfway down my back. You were slow, relaxed, luxurious.

"Maybe..." I said, "Maybe especially then. You treated me like your tea. Heated, crushed, bloomed into fragrance, delicious. You told me you would not waste my fear, and I believed you. And you haven't wasted it."

I drank more, let my eyes close as you began to braid my hair. You were precise, making a perfect braid. I could tell without even looking. You were careful not to leave strands out. Then you picked up a sprig of lavender from the table and I felt you weave it into my hair. You crushed it a little, then added a sliver of cinnamon bark. You unwrapped the ribbon from your wrist and weaved it into my hair. You wove in a dried cardamom pod, a fresh mint leaf, the little honey vial.

"Keeper?" I said, feeling a little shy, "What was new for you?"

You paused for a moment, tightened the strands of hair between your fingers. "I'm never really in charge. In the store, in the world, I have to do what others say. Not because they know better, but because they have financial control. They don't think about flavour first, or beauty. Those are just charming selling points to them. But beauty is everything to me. Then you walked in, beautiful and confused, an unknown quantity with enormous potential and a plastic cup of despair."

"I don't know what came over me, but when you set that drink down I started to wonder what you would do, what you wouldn't do. I did what you said. I treated you like tea, with command and with affection. I didn't know what would happen."

"Do you remember how you made my tea? Can you tell me how to make it?" I said.

"No. I remember, but I won't make it again and I won't tell you," you said. "Next time it will be different because the light will be different. Your eyes will be different. You will smell different. That was today's tea."

You dipped your finger in your water and began to make shapes on my back with your finger. I felt the chilly traces, the occasional drips. "What is that? Are you writing?"

"Yes. It's today's recipe. Because I want you to feel it too, the proportions, the ingredients, the temperatures," you said.

"But I can't read it," I said.

"It's Mandarin," you said, "and it will evaporate. Everything beautiful is volatile. We only capture it in moments. Tea is like that, and coffee too. Good coffee, anyway, wine, whisky, orchids, eclipses.

You wrote and I shivered, trying to understand why you would not let me have this one small thing.

"Honey lasts," I said, "if you keep it well."

You laughed and kissed my shoulder. "Honey may be the only exception. There was no honey in your portrait."

"There was bergamot though, right?" I said.

"Of course," you said. You did not stop making shapes on my back, well beyond what it would take to write a recipe.

"What are you writing now?" I said.

"Plans," you said. "What I want to do with you next."

I shivered suddenly, with nerves and excitement. "Right now?"

"Now, later, much later." you said. "How do you feel about blindfolds?"

"You don't trust me to keep my eyes closed if you tell me to?" I said.

"Of course I do," you said, "but you would have to struggle to keep them closed. You would be focused on the wrong thing."