Idle Hands Ch. 02

"I can't do it," he grimaced. "I won't really be hitting her," he said in response to Maria's concerned look. "It's just a play. But I can't even make it look good when I'm acting. I've seen the recordings. It's awful.

"So I was wondering if you might like to read with me? I've got the script here," he said, waving a sheaf of paper. "You could play Emilia, read her lines. And maybe I could figure out why I can't make the scene work."

A smile lifted one corner of Maria's mouth, and she reached for the script. "This sounds...interesting," she said. "Where do I start?"

"Right here," he pointed. "We'll just run though them a few times, then we'll do it for real, okay?"

EMILIA:

O, thou dull Moor! That handkerchief thou speak'st of

I found by fortune and did give my husband;

For often, with a solemn earnestness,

More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle,

He begg'd of me to steal it.

IAGO

Villainous whore!

EMILIA

She give it Cassio? No, alas! I found it,

And I did give't my husband.

IAGO

Filth, thou liest!

EMILIA

By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.

O, murderous coxcomb! What should such a fool

Do with so good a woman?

IAGO, mad with rage, strikes EMILIA in the face several times, driving her back to the bed where DESDEMONA lies dead. He then draws a dagger from his belt and stabs her. EMILIA collapses across the body of DESDEMONA, grievously injured. IAGO turns and exits, running

They worked through the dialogue, with Alex helping her with pronunciation, pointing out the words to emphasize. Maria was a quick study, and in only a few minutes they were rehearsing the scene.

But it did not go any better with Maria than it did the three dozen times he had done it earlier in the day with Claire. He forced her across the room with mock slaps and punches, until he pulled a pretend dagger and lunged at her chest. Even as he said the words he could sense the awkwardness, knew the non-existent audience was not buying his performance.

"I wonder," said Maria, after the fourth futile run-through. She scanned the script. "This says Iago is angry, yes?" Alex nodded. "Why is he angry? He should know his wife wouldn't betray Desdemona by lying for him, or he would have brought her into the plot. He isn't angry. He's afraid."

Alex's mind opened up, the inner truth of the scene unfolding seamlessly. "Of course," he breathed. His face broke into a broad smile. "He's terrified. He's standing there, just inches away from succeeding. Desdemona is dead, Othello disgraced, and no one knows he was behind it all. Then his wife has to open her big stupid mouth and ruin everything.

"Let's do it again."

This time, it went right. He drove Maria across the room, screaming in incoherent fear and rage. His vicious punches whistled by her face, missing her by the barest of margins. He shoved her onto the bed, where she landed on her back, gasping with wide-eyed fear. He loomed over her, his face drawn up in an angry mask, his left hand shoving her sadistically down. His clutching right hand pulled the fictional dagger from his belt, reached high, then stabbed with brutal force into her heaving chest, which she arched up towards him in a futile effort to escape. With a shuddering wail, she collapsed beneath him, moaning piteously.

He grinned down at her. "That was it! Damn! Finally! I've been fighting that scene for days. Thank you, Maria," he said. "You've got no idea how much that helped me."

"You're welcome," she said. She smiled up at him, her lips curling lazily, and suddenly he was intensely aware of her body beneath his. "It was no trouble at all, mi lindo." Her eyes were wide but warm, and he could smell her scent, a subtle blend of vanilla and citrus and the food she had been cooking. One leg raised up, rubbing on his hip, the cloth of her skirt falling away to reveal a length of brown thigh, the color of fresh-baked bread.

Their eyes locked, and for the first time in his life, Alex was aware of a woman as a complete person. He felt as if he were standing outside himself, and he could see the secret history of Maria's soul. The grinding poverty of her childhood on the south side of Chicago, growing up in an apartment which was little better than a slum. The way the public school system chewed her up and spat her out, without recognizing the bright, hungry intelligence of her mind. The years of work, cleaning up the messes the carelessly wealthy left behind. The bitter resentment of those, no better than she, who had been privileged to be born to a life of power and luxury. The fondness she held for his mother, and for his entire family, because of how they had always treated her as a person, not a mindless automaton. The sweet purity of her soul, which more than matched her outer beauty.

And, most terrifying of all, her desire for him, and her need to be dominated.

Her shining eyes met his. "Master," she breathed. "Please. Tell me how to serve you."

For a moment he teetered, balanced on a knife-edge. Somehow he knew that as he knew her, she also knew him. Was able to see into the corners of his soul, laid bare before her gaze. Knew his love for his family, despite the resentment he had as his mother controlled his life. Knew his burning desire to prove his skills as an actor. Knew the gnawing self-doubt that kept him from approaching her, despite the attraction between them. Knew his desire to be dominant over a willing partner, and his crawling, shameful suspicion that it made him unworthy of a decent woman.

Pinned by Maria's open, honest gaze, he felt terrifyingly naked, raw and defenseless, his innermost fantasies laid bare for her to see. But at the same time, arousal hit him like a sledgehammer. He looked down at Maria and saw a reflection of his inner self, the light to his shadow.

And acceptance. The calm knowledge that they were the two halves of a single soul.

He bent his head to kiss her, watching, fascinated, as her head tilted towards his, her mouth opening like a flower. He thought he had never felt anything so warm, so gentle, as her lips, and he groaned into her mouth, months of pent-up longing given voice at last. Yielding, she pressed against him, her body waking a fire in his groin. Her shy tongue introduced itself to his eager mouth and her fingers threaded through the shaggy hair at the nape of his neck, drawing him closer still.

With an effort which was almost painful he levered himself off the bed and stood panting at the side. His blood seemed to thunder in his ears, and each heartbeat brought another jolt to his rapidly stiffening cock.

"You want to serve me?" he asked. His voice sounded hoarse in his own ears.

Maria scrambled upright. She knelt on the bed, her hands clasped before her, her head bent in submission. "Yes, Master. Please."

This can't be happening. The secret, perverse desire to dominate a woman. To order her about, have her subservient to his wishes, was contrary to everything his parents had taught him. Women were to be protected and cherished, but in every way equal to a man.

And is she somehow unequal? Inferior? You know she isn't. He swallowed harshly, knowing she could end the game even before it began by a simple refusal to participate.

"Undress me," he whispered. As Maria gracefully tumbled out of the bed and reached for him he allowed his lips to curve in a taunting smile. "However, you may not touch me. One whisper of your skin on mine, and I leave, Maria."

"Yes, Master," she whispered. Kneeling before him, she untied his shoes, drawing them off his feet. Then, his socks, her long, clever fingers working the cloth down and over his ankles and arches without touching him. She rose, her eyes still not meeting his, and he felt the bite of his own hasty actions. He ached to taste her mouth, to hold her close, but could not without violating the rules of the game. He gritted his teeth against a spasm of desire as she drew his shirt over his head, revealing his chest. Crouching down, she carefully undid the button of his jeans, her fingers working slowly, careful not to touch him, until every moment was torture.

The button finally sprang wide, and she undid the zipper and pulled the jeans down to his feet, where he stepped out of them. Then the boxers, and here she was most careful of all, tugging at the hem until the elastic waistband bound up on the rigid flesh of his shaft. She looked up at him, her face solemn, though he thought he could detect a hint of laughter in her eyes. Never breaking his gaze, she plucked at a loose fold, pulling the waistband away from his skin. One finger slipped inside, the merest breath away from his overheated body. A wiggle, a tug, and the boxers were at his feet as well. With a gracefulness which was all her own, she folded his clothes and set them neatly to one side.

"Strip," he ordered, trying to make his voice sound casual. "The blouse first."

Holding his eyes with hers, full of pride at her own allure, she undid her blouse. As her beautiful breasts came into view at last, he tried to keep his desire from becoming too obvious.

Too late for that, he thought with a thread of amusement. If she hasn't noticed your cock is standing straight up she needs her eyes checked. God, her breasts are gorgeous. His palms itched with the desire to hold them in his hands, to feel the wonderful weight, to stroke and kiss the soft curves until she screamed his name.

"Everything, Master?" Her voice trembled.

"Everything,"

Her fingers shook as she pulled down the faded flower-print cloth of her skirt, and then her panties, the high-cut lace strangely incongruous compared to the rest of her clothes.

She met his eyes triumphantly. "Good," he said. "Now, lie down on the bed. On your back, legs spread, hands over your head. No," he said as she settled back, her hands resting on the crown of her head. "Over your head. Grab the bars of the bed frame."

"Like this, Master?" she asked.

"Yes. Well done. My name is Alex," he said, with the air of one tossing a coin to a beggar. "You may use it, if you wish."

"Yes...Alex."

"I said, spread your legs, Maria." For the first time, he gave his voice the bite of command. Instantly, her legs shifted, spreading wide, revealing her innermost secrets. The lips of her labia parted, and he could smell the faint tang of her musk in the warm air of the room. He crouched at the side of the bed. He placed one hand on her thigh, his fingers only inches away from her groin.

"I am going to make love to you now, Maria," he said. "And you are going to hold still. Your hands are not going to leave the bedframe. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

He kissed her, hard and swift. "And you can stop this any time you want. What do you want as your safe word?" he asked.

Her eyes were open and trusting on his. "Starfire," she said.

"Starfire," he repeated carefully, and she nodded confirmation.

He moved down to the foot of the bed. Sinking onto the mattress, he slowly made his way up towards Maria, his hands brushing the sides of her legs, enjoying the feel of her skin as she broke out into gooseflesh at his touch. Braced on his elbows above her, he looked deep into her eyes, allowing the shaft of his cock to drop down until it was nestled between her nether lips. He saw an instant's fear in her eyes. That he would drive himself into her unprepared, hurt her while he took his own pleasure. Her knuckles whitened where they grasped the iron railings of the bedstead, and he could see the cords in her wrists tighten. He shook his head, hoping she could see the truth in his face.

"You are mine," he whispered.

"I am yours," she returned, and his heart took wing as she gave him the priceless gift of her trust. He moved back down her body, his lips barely brushing her skin, torturing her with kindness. He avoided her breasts with their tense, turgid nipples, even as she tilted her body to bring them within reach of his mouth. Instead, he laid a series of tongue-wet kisses on the soft brown skin of her stomach, one hand slowly combing through the soft, neatly-trimmed curls of her pubic hair.

He lay between her legs, his elbows keeping his head raised. His head was only inches away from her folds, and he inhaled deeply. The delicate lips of her cleft were unfurled slightly, and slick with her dew. With an inward prayer, he kissed her, his mouth soft, open, and loving, his tongue reaching out to trace the gentle whorls of her labia. Immediately he tasted her tangy nectar, the flavor of her exploding in his mouth, making him wonder why he had ever wanted anything else. Maria writhed under his touch, and he slid his hands under her buttocks, cradling her taut muscles in his palms, all the while diving deeper and deeper into her soaking cleft. His nose was pressed against her black curls and her scent was everywhere, filling him, until he thought he could spend a day just breathing and not grow tired of it.

Dimly he became aware of a creaking sound. He looked up Maria's lovely body, sweat-slicked in the soft glow of the lamps and the last light of the sun. Her hands were fisted around the bars of the bedstead, the muscles of her arms standing out clearly. Slowly, rhythmically, she pulled at the bars, then relaxed. Her eyes cracked open. Seeing his eyes on her, she smiled, running her hands up and down the bars, every gesture a promise.

"I have not let go, Master," she said quietly. "But it is hard. So hard when you kiss me so sweetly. I want to feel you inside me, papi."

"You will," he promised. "Soon. But first I have to please you, mi novia."

She smiled at the awkward way the endearment fell from his mouth, and Alex bent back to his wonderful task. He carefully parted Maria's lips, seeking the bud of her clitoris. Pink and glistening, it peeked out from under its hood. He fastened his lips on it, his tongue reaching out to caress it with the tenderest of touches.

Maria's response stunned him. Her thighs rose as if jerked upright by some invisible force. Instantly, her chest and face were hidden from his view. Instead, he was treated to the sight of the sweet globes of her ass and her legs, with her beautiful pussy framed between them. She rocked back and forth on the bed, gasping out a confused mingling of English and Spanish.

Alex was tempted to laugh, but was wise enough not to. Feeling as if he was trying to home in on a moving target, he dove back in, his hands gripping Maria's calves as she twisted under him, his lips trying to corral her clit. At last he found the angle he sought, and opened his mouth wide, covering her nub with his eager mouth and lapping tongue, determined to please his lover if it was the last thing he did on this earth.

Maria shrieked, the yell loud and piercing. In one corner of his preoccupied mind, Alex was grateful the garage was separate from the main house. His head trapped by Maria's clutching thighs, he had no choice but to roll with her as she twisted back and forth. His tongue began to ache, the effort of pleasing Maria beginning to tell on him, but he kept working her bud, interspersing licks with periods of sucking.

Slowly the moans from above began to change their tone, growing lower and more guttural. Under his hands, the muscles of her legs began to twitch spasmodically. At the same time, the pressure at the sides of his head increased as her grip on him intensified. Finally, with a keening wail high enough to shatter glass, Maria climaxed. The entire lower half of her body shook, groups of muscles shuddering with orgasmic release, then falling limp.

Alex shook his head dazedly, moving his jaw from side to side in an effort to make sure it hadn't been dislocated. After he had collected himself, he moved up the bed, where Maria was waiting for him, her eyes shining happily. Her chest was slicked with sweat and strands of hair were plastered to her cheeks and forehead. But her hands were still firmly wrapped around the posts of the bedstead.

"You can touch me now," he smiled.

Instantly he found himself wrapped in a bear-hug. Maria's strong arms, built up from years of work, enveloped him, drawing him down for a wet, passionate kiss. Her legs spread under him, and with a sense of wonderful inevitability, he found himself sinking into her. His dagger slid past her lips and into her sheath, buried to the hilt. She was so hot and slick it was almost effortless, and he groaned at the exquisite feel of her wrapped around his cock.

When he was completely inside of her, so close their groins were almost molded together, he pulled away slightly, the better to focus on her face. His mouth worked, trying to convey his feelings.

She placed a finger over his lips. "I know, mi lindo. I know. It is the same for me, too." She smiled and wiggled under him. "But now I want to make my man happy. As happy as he made me. Please, Master. Fuck me!"

Her enthusiastic embrace of his need tore away the last shreds of self-restraint Alex may have had. He dropped his head to her breasts, kissing the lovely orbs with their dark-chocolate nipples, his tongue and lips making love to them. At the same time, he slowly withdrew from Maria's loving channel, then pushed forward, stroking her firmly. Over and over again, until his mind was reeling with pleasure and love. He plunged his hands into the shining wealth of her hair, feeling the coarse strands under his fingers, pulling her head up to kiss her again.

"Soon," he panted, feeling his balls rise, feeling the hot come rush up his shaft. "Soon. Soon. Now!" he groaned, as he exploded into her, rivers of his seed flowing into her waiting channel.

*****

In the house, Rachel sat bolt upright in the living room, the comedic stylings of Adam Savage and Tory Belleci forgotten, as a wave of mingled pleasure and power rushed over her.

What the hell just happened?

~Alex and Maria happened. Huh. And we didn't have to arrange anything. Well. That makes things easier.~

*****

They lay in bed, comfortably relaxed. Alex was on his side, his chest against Maria's back. One arm was loosely draped around her waist, the other trapped under her shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispered, his breath stirring wisps of her hair.

"No, thank you," she returned, gripping his hand. "I never knew it could be like that. When you told me what to do, I got so wet down there. And you were so sweet, even when you were being bossy," she smiled, turning her head to kiss him thoroughly.

"I thought there was something wrong with me," he said quietly. "I'd fantasize about women, about ordering them around, maybe even tying them up. Having them be helpless while I pleasured them. I was disgusted with myself."

"Mmmmm," Maria sighed happily, placing his hand on her breast. He cupped the swelling mound, his fingers toying with the pebbled nipple. She arched into him, her breast filling his palm even as her buttocks rubbed his hardening member. "Do you want to do that to me, papi? Tie me to the bed and take me?" Her voice sank low, promising dark, forbidden pleasures.

"Maybe. Someday," he said, kissing her ear. "But I don't want that all the time. Just...sometimes." He groaned as his shaft nestled between her warm thighs, seeking out her cleft. He paused for a moment, panicking.

Crap. I didn't wear a rubber. Didn't even think about putting one on. "Maria? Should we be using protection?"

"You can if you like," she sniffed dismissively, her hand came around, guiding him, and he muffled a groan as he slipped into her. "Though a man I know once told me it is like washing your feet with your socks on." He muffled a snort of laughter. "Don't worry, mi lindo. I have the IUD. I cannot give you a nino. Not yet.

"Now shut up, and love me."

*****

His mother caught him later that night in the upstairs hallway. She had been quiet at supper, but he had felt her eyes on him, darkly speculative.