Beyond Limits

"God, no!" she said when she saw the look in my eyes. She caressed my cheek with her clean hand. "Russell, it was beautiful! A compliment! That you came for me like that? That you were that excited for me? Oh, Russell, Russell!"

She pulled me close and I lay down on her sticky belly, kissing her deeply, and in no time I was hard again and moving against her, hard enough to just slide inside her without ever breaking that kiss, and I fucked her slow and long on the sofa as she gasped and twisted and clawed my back and her legs spread wide to take me in, to open herself for me. My hips rose and fell and she met me, pushing up at me like a selfish beast, eager to give me her come, anointing my prick with it, and then I hammered her, getting up on my knees and holding her wrists down and slamming into her, sweat pouring off me, rubbing my cock raw and exploding inside her this time as she clung to me and shuddered and I saw her throat swallowing instinctively as I ejaculated into her, deep, deep, throwing my seed into her darkness as the white fog pressed at the windows and the blind birds sang their confused songs in a bewildered world. I felt myself entering her and it felt like chains, like I was throwing chains of myself into her, I'd never felt anything like it, so deep, so complete, such utter relief and satisfaction.

I was in love. We both were in love, as quickly and easily as that, a love that was every bit as intense as it was physical. I didn't know it when I left her house, but soon after, driving home even in that milky fog. I felt her in my cock and my balls, pulling at me, the urgency of her hips and the suck of her pussy, something in her eyes.

When I got home I called her—an insane thing to do, it was five, six AM—and she picked it up on the first ring and we whispered together in love, laughing and weeping like twelve year-olds, hysterical on the phone. I wouldn't get off until she promised to meet me that night and only then could I fall exhausted into my bed, sleeping till three in the afternoon. I met her at Seymour's, standing outside in the drizzle. She came striding up in boots and a poncho and when she saw me she broke into a run. There were tears in her eyes and I caught her in my arms and pulled her into the shadows and raped her mouth with mine. Her body was shaking, literally shaking and she made me instantly hard and ready to weep at the same time.

"My God, my God, my God!" she kept on saying and she kissed me and bit me in the shadows by the bar. "What is this? What the hell are you doing to me? What are you doing to me?"

I crushed her breasts in my hands and found her nipples and pinched them. Everything I did made her hotter, Everything she did drove me wild.

"Do you want dinner?" I gasped woth my mouth against hers. "Fuck dinner, right? Fuck dinner!"

"Fuck dinner. I want you!"

"Yeah. Fuck it. I can't eat. I can't fucking eat. I need you, I need you! My place is right up here."

And so we went to my place and made love, twice, three times, four times, I don't remember. We were famished for each other, like starving people. We grew tender and sore and still we couldn't stop fucking and licking each other like animals. And when I couldn't get hard any more I held her ankles apart and bathed her bruised pussy with my tongue and lips or just put my mouth on her to taste her, to feel her against me, to smell her. I needed the taste of her, the sensation of her skin against mine, within me and without me, all around me. I needed to know her nerves were constantly registering me and that I was feeling the lubricious flow of her muscles beneath her skin. I was greedy for her to know me and greedy to be filling her and occupying all her space and all her attention. We were like stars thrown into the other's skies, radiant and beautiful like that, full of profound meaning and mystery, searing each other with light.

It's true she was younger than me—a generation and a half—and is that what made it work? I'm not going to say the age difference didn't matter, because it did. It was part of the very rightness of our relationship because on the one hand it made us perfect strangers to each other, as if we came from different worlds, and the alien is so exciting in love. But also it saturated our connection with the flavor of a authority, the taste of teacher and student, the incestuous wickedness of a father with his daughter. I had that kind of authority and she had that kind of willingness and open trust. We were both aware of the games we were playing and Lexi liked this one. She wanted us to be like that. We often played it like that. We played it lots of different ways.

What made it work was the fact that Lexi loved me, and she loved me hard, and her love pried me out of my usual shell and made me shine, and I was in love not only with her, but with the Russell she saw in me. Lexi's love was the narcissist's best nightmare: the perfect defective mirror, reflecting just what I wanted to see and absorbing what I didn't. With her, there were no failed plays, no sunken career as a novelist, no divorce, no years lost due to drugs. All she saw were the successes. That was the only Russell she knew.

She said she could make it as an actress because she was tenacious, and tenacious she most definitely was, and tenacious was just what I needed—someone whom I couldn't wear out or bring down, someone strong enough to stand up to the depressive radiation I'm constantly giving off, the drag I put on a relationship, my essential neediness, fear and doubts. Someone who can weather that storm without melting down or showing signs of major structural collapse. And yet they can't be too strong. In one special area they have to be just the opposite, totally submissive and dependent. It's a very delicate niche and one I thought Lexi filled most beautifully and gracefully except for that one area, and I had reason to think that in time she would adapt to that eccentricity as well.

The first few weeks it was just so terribly physical, and I remember lying on the sofa in the living room and watching her as she stood naked in the kitchen (we'd just made love), being struck by the lines of her legs, so sinuous and female—having the thought that those lines were given to me, the secret hieroglyphics of woman given to me to decipher, and this time there would be time enough and enough intensity. I would wrest meaning from them, from the shape of her body, and the meaning would not be in words but in sensation, and then I'd have to translate the sensation into words.

That was my job. I was a writer.

Lexi's job was to provide the sensation.

I would see her tramping through under the lamplight in the park through the piles of fallen leaves from the window of my front room as I worked and I'd run down the stairs to meet her at the downstairs door. She'd be flush with the cold and beneath her coat her body would be lithe and feverishly hot as she pressed against me and bit my lip and breathed into my mouth. She had something to show me, some book or poem or new part she wanted to read for, but first she needed my mouth, my cock, my hands grabbing her ass as she wrapped her leg around me there in the hallway, in front of the glass entry door. Fall was on us with the shocking brilliance of October in Michigan, shooting colors like skyrockets and I pulled her jeans down there in the hallway and fit my naked cock against her pussy, felt the warm damp of her cotton panties and tasted her shampoo as her hair caught in my mouth.

"Stop it! Russell! People can see!" she'd gasp as I slid my cock along her cunt but that only made me hotter and I'd grab her wrists and press them against the wall, making her groan and lick my throat.

The time I introduced her to my eccentricity started like that, in the hallway, that October, with early dusk outside, the streetlights already on. I was just out of the shower, my hair still wet, shoeless, my shirt open, and in my excitement I pressed her wrists against the wall and held them with one hand, reached under her poncho with the other and rolled her stiff nipple between my fingers and felt her melt in my hands, her body going limp as she moaned and leaned her face forward to lick my bare chest like a hungry cat, shoving her cunt against me. She liked it, being held like that. I thought she would.

Later on, after we'd made love once and had some hurried dinner of cheese fondue or something else heavy on wine like that, she wrapped a blanket around herself and lit candles and then went to read my day's work, which I printed out every afternoon. I sat down in the big armchair in the front room and just watched her, and when she was done she put the pages back and came and sat on my lap in just her panties and socks with the blanket still wrapped around her, and I pulled the blanket down and put my arm around her and we sat there surrounded by candles and talked. I had my arm around her shoulders and she was telling me about a part she wanted to get inHeavy Rain, the Harry Sams play the school was putting on. She was sitting with her right side against me and I had my left arm around her shoulders, and even after fucking not two hours ago she was arousing me. I remembered how she'd reacted when I'd held her wrists in the hallway, and so I Took her outside wrist in my left hand. Her right arm was already trapped behind me, leaving her defenseless.

"You're not going to get that part," I said.

She smiled, twisting her wrist, trying to free it. "Oh? Why not?"

"Because you're such a brat. You're such a spoiled brat."

She laughed. "I am not! Who says so?"

"I do. And you need to be taught some manners. Taught some respect and humility."

She was starting to struggle now, really pulling at my hand and not getting free.

"Is that right? And how will you teach me that, Professor?"

"I might just hold you here forever."

She laughed again. "You couldn't. You wouldn't have the patience."

"No?"

By now it was clear that she couldn't get loose. She'd given it her best shot, trying to free her wrist and hadn't managed to budge it. Her right arm was wedged uselessly behind me, between me and the chair. I took my other arm and began to stoke the insides of her naked thighs, the soft, baby-thin skin that was like the runway to her pussy, going so far as to graze her labia where they were ensconced within her thin cotton panties. Lexi squealed uncomfortably and wiggled her legs, trying to shake me off.

"Don't," I said softly. "Don't move."

"You're tickling me!"

"I don't care. I don't want you to move."

"What are you? My master?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I am. Don't move."

Without intending to, I'd changed my tone of voice. My grip on her wrist had changed as well. Everything had changed—the way I was holding her, the light in the room, even the way she was sitting on my lap. They'd all changed, as if a spell had come over us. She'd stopped struggling, stopped trying to break free and was sitting there alertly, tense, with an air of expectation. Maybe she felt my cock starting to rise against her ass because I was reacting to this too, this sudden change in things, this air of command and feeling of strength and power.

It had been a long time for me, but I remembered this. Adrenaline and testosterone surged through me like a wave.

"Open your legs, Lexi," I said. I said it softly, evenly, like it was a reasonable request.

She didn't move. She didn't breathe for a moment, Holding her wrist, I could see goose bumps break out on her arms like wind blowing over prairie grass.

"I'll tell you again," I said. "Open your legs."

I can't describe how I said it, but my tone of voice was so calm, so reasonable that there was no way she could refuse me without appearing silly and petty. Yet at the same time there was a kind of patient menace in my tone that I hadn't really intended but in some way certainly meant.

And so she opened her legs, taking a deep breath and opening her thighs.

My stroking hand caressed her pussy lightly through her panties. I felt how humid she was, and tender. Lexi made a sound of protest and quickly shut her legs.

"No," I said and I touched the inside of her thigh. "You leave them open. I told you I didn't want you to move. That means you don't move, Lexi."

I felt her pulling at the hand that held her wrist again but I held her easily enough, and after a moment she parted her knees again. She was breathing faster now and I could smell her, smell her arousal. Her nipples were stiff, her breasts covered with goose bumps. I touched her through her panties and she was soft and wet, her pussy still leaking the last load of jism I'd shot into her. She turned her eyes accusingly at me but her look was both angry and questioning, full of excited surrender and hungry for approval.

"Take me," she said. "Fuck me, Russell."

"Hush. I didn't tell you to speak."

I grabbed her panties from behind and tugged them off, made her lie back as I pulled them down over her ass and off her legs and dropped them on the floor, so she was lying on me naked except for her little white socks. I was still holding her wrist so she was stretched out staring up at me, anxious to see if I approved of her nakedness, which I most assuredly did. She'd closed her legs so I could get her panties off and I made her sit up again, then nudged her knees apart to remind her how I wanted her.

Lexi squirmed a little on my lap, not enough to call it moving—she kept her knees carefully spread—but she wiggled with the discomfort of maintaining that position, fighting her instinctive urge to protect her delicate anatomy from the hand that was now stroking the skin on either side of her labia and down the insides of her thighs. I held her wrist in my left hand and teased her with my right, picking up some of her juice on my fingers then greasing the adjacent skin with it, spreading it around and making her all wet and slick and shiny with her own lubricant, anointing her with her obscene excitement.

"Russell! What are you doing?" She jumped. Her thighs shook, the skin twitching nervously like a horse's skin when flies are on it. She moaned. She turned her face into my shoulder and bit me with even white teeth.

Her attitude was strange now. On the one hand she knew the kind of effect she was having on me because she could feel my hard-on pressing through my jeans against her naked ass and she was proud of it. She was always proud of the way she aroused me. At the same time, her helplessness and the way she was powerless to refuse my commands seemed to shame her, and that very shame excited her further, made her face redden and her breath come faster, made her nipples stiffen and the juice pour out of her.

I sat back in the chair and stared down between her legs to where my finger was playing against her pussy. She was shaved except for a small triangle of pubic hair just above her slit, and both of us looked down at it as I took it between my fingers and pulled gently, letting the hairs slide through my fingers, making her hiss through her teeth..

"You just don't move, Lexi. You're a spoiled little brat and you really need to be taught some manners."

"Not by you!" she said, and at that I caught her labia between my fingers and squeezed and Lexi stiffened, freezing motionless in sudden shock and pain.

"Watch yourself, kitten," I said. "Watch what you say."

I held the soft skin of her pussy between my knuckles and felt her shake. I felt her lubricating juices spill over my hand, her dam bursting with fear and shameful excitement as her body automatically surrendered to me, totally capitulating. I used her pubic hair to pull her pussy forward and she slid her ass after me on my lap.

"Kiss," I demanded. "Kiss!"

Breathlessly she ducked her head and plunged her over-eager tongue into my mouth like a little cock, moaning and sucking my lips as I slapped her thighs open and plunged my fingers into her cunt, my thumb sliding against her clit. She groaned deep in her throat, her hand pulling at my hair. I let go of her wrist and reached around to take her breast in my hand, grabbed the nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinched and rolled her hard little nub. It felt like a little raisin on a vanilla cream pudding. Her tongue felt like it would ejaculate in my mouth if only it could.

"You're not going to come," I said with my mouth against hers. One hand was plunging slowly and rhythmically in and out of her cunt and the other was massaging her nipple. "You're not going to move and you're not going to come, do you understand?"

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, no, Russell! No!"

She didn't sound like she knew what she was saying but she didn't move and she tried not to come as I played with her. Her legs stayed open as I worked the tip of my finger around in her pussy, just the tip, rimming her slowly, intentionally teasing her, denying her, and she released the kiss in order to breathe, her head falling back against my arm. She licked her lips as I tormented her breast, twisting the nipple, plucking it, treating it like a combination lock on a safe. I pulled my finger out of her and began to slap her pussy with the backs of my fingers, letting it fall into the wet pool of her juices that had gathered there and Lexi arched and fell back against my arm.

"No! No!"

Her thighs trembled as she fought against herself to keep her legs open and finally she could take it no longer and she closed her legs, pressing her thighs together in adamant refusal. I grabbed her wrist again and pulled her against me.

"No! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she blurted it out, confused and on fire with excitement.

"Open them!"

"Oh God!"

Her legs shook for a moment, then she opened them again, closed her eyes and turned her face to the side.

I began to spank her pussy, slapping her with my hand and making her jump, but that wasn't enough, so I reached down to the end table and picked up aNew Yorker and rolled it up into a tube, and as Lexi twisted and gasped and writhed on my lap, I slapped her pussy with it, spanked her like she was a disobedient bitch, holding her wrist tight, giving an occasional slap to her thighs and her tits as well, until the front of her body was as red as her face.

At a certain moment she took a deep breath and held it. She fell back in my arm and stopped breathing and I knew she was coming

I stood up, dumping her on her ass in the chair and shoved my pants down. I waited as she struggled to find her breath, then I picked up her ankles and held them in the air and just rammed my hips forward, skewering her on my cock and Lexi gave a desperate half twist to the side and sucked in a gasp of air as my prick entered her and I felt the sweet give of her juice-slick cunt yielding before me, yielding before the brutal shove of my selfish lust. My dick entered her like a bullet, like a spear, and God, I fucked her, I had her! I drove that big chunk of meat into her and heard her shuddering breath, saw the way she reached for me to stop me but I owned her then; I was thick into her, ruling her, plugging her up. She reached out and dug her nails into my thighs, threw her head back and came shuddering on my cock, her back arched, eyes closed.

I slammed into her maniacally like she was dead meat, like she'd fainted from sensual overload, and she seemed such a proud and beautiful pile there in the chair lying on her blanket, her tits shaking from the force of my thrusts, her head bent against the back cushion, lost in her come, dead and removed in her orgasm, my lover, my victim.

"Fuck! Lexi! Now, baby! I'm in you now!"

I swore, mindless, grabbed her thighs and held her against me as I plunged deep and exploded inside her in blinding light, my body arched over hers in a rainbow of bliss, the cum ripped from my balls, my soul, my very essence given to this woman. It was a vicious and violent ejaculation and caught me off guard—made me whimper some strange sound in my throat like an injured beast as the seed poured out of me—like I was shot, hurt, mortally wounded—gripping her ass tight and holding her to me, my chalice, my cup, Lexi, my lover.