Lovers Kiss, by Lochai (prints available at ObsessionArt.com)
Lawrence warned me early on in our relationship. “One of these days, it’ll be my turn.”
Fair enough, I figured. When we were first dating, I tied him up quite frequently. It was all psychological, this act of bondage and domination. How did I know I could trust him back then? We barely knew each other. All we knew was that we shared a mutual attraction, and sometimes that’s all it takes to fall into bed with somebody. Or to fall in love with him, even. And so, in those early days of sexual encounters, I asserted my dominance by tying him to the bed.
We’d since grown past that phase, but certainly, he deserved a chance at tying me up.
And then one morning Lawrence came through my door with about a hundred meters of satin rope. He had it wrapped around his arm like copper wire when I got up to greet him.
“Qu’est ce que c’est que ça?” I asked, chasing after my little cat. It was 5:30 in the morning—too early to think in English.
Lawrence stood in the doorway looking at me for half a minute, trying to decipher my question. “Come again?” he finally asked.
That’s when Voltaire made a run for it.
“What was that?” Lawrence shrieked, a stunned look on his face as my cat flew past his ankles and out the door.
“Voltaire!” I cried. Wearing my red polar bear pyjamas, I ran past Lawrence and his coil of rope, into the hallway of my apartment building. Where the hell had my cat gone?
“Voltaire!” I whispered, speeding to the end of the hallway. There he was! Somebody had propped open the door to the garbage disposal room and my stupid cat was in there licking some nasty spill off the floor.
“Non, Voltaire! C’est dégoutant!” I scolded my new cat, scooping him up in my arms. Voltaire, formerly known as Arnie, wasn’t the brightest cat at the Humane Society, but he’d reached out and snagged my sweater as I’d walked by his cage. For some reason I interpreted this as an act of affection. He came home with me that very day.
When I set my new addition down on the floor, Lawrence scritched the cat’s chin with his shoe.“Who have we here?” he asked.
“Voltaire,” I said. I was beginning to question the name change, though, as I watched him lick Lawrence’s loafer. Perhaps he was more of an Arnie after all. “Please don’t pet my cat with your shoe. That’s as bad as petting my pussy with the back of your foot.”
Glancing from the cat to the mistress, Lawrence said, “Oh, you don’t like that?”
“No. I never did,” I replied, a cool breeze in my tone. “It seems very lazy, like you don’t care enough to use your hands. I don’t want your dirty feet that have been licked by cats up against my pussy.”
Lawrence looked calmly perplexed as he answered, “I only do that when you’re down there giving me head and I can’t reach it with my hands.” With his eyebrows questioning my strange behavior, he asked, “To whom does little Voltaire belong?”
“He’s mine,” I replied haughtily, as if challenging Lawrence to prove he wasn’t.
“Ohhh,” he responded, his voice high-pitched and false. “He’s yours. When did you get him?”
“This week,” I snapped. I didn’t offer any more information. In deliberate silence, I waited to see how long it would take for Lawrence to remind me he was allergic to cats.
“I’m just going to wash my hands before I end up rubbing my eyes,” Lawrence said, making his way to the bathroom.
Close enough.
“You didn’t even pet him with your hands,” I said, following him to the sink. Voltaire followed too, but when I picked him up, he squirmed out of my arms and ran away.
“Allergens travel, you know.”
“Yes,” I replied, suddenly entranced by the rope coil Lawrence had brought over. “So, what did you say this was for?”
Lawrence gargled with my spearmint mouthwash. ***Why was I watching him clean his teeth?*** I was fascinated by his little bathroom quirks, the way he puffed his cheeks out like a trumpet player as he swished. It was one of those domestic activities I wasn’t usually a party to, and it reminded me of the time he washed my dishes. The little things captivated me.
Spitting into the basin, he gave me a coy glance, and then patted his mouth with my hand towel and turned off the bathroom light. There, against the doorframe, Lawrence kissed me. He must have known that if he waited much longer, we would be knee-deep in a lover’s quarrel. His minty tongue felt thick and strong in my mouth, and it moved like a snake trying to ease its way down my throat. His kiss was so coercive it made me forget why I was upset with him. Well, not forget. Not quite. But it convinced me to put that aside for a small moment.
“Aren’t we eager this morning!” I laughed, grabbing his firm ass.
“Yes,” Lawrence replied, with a growl from deep in his body. That yes made my core tingle. When he took my head in his firm grip to kiss me again, he let the rope fall to the floor and wrapped his arms around my body. My man was always warm. He ran his fingers through my bed-head hair. I grabbed hold of the cushions of his sides and dug my nails into his soft flesh. Merde, that man was an incredible kisser!
“Let’s go into the bedroom,” I proposed. Without waiting for a response, I ran to my bed. Leaning against it, I began unbuttoning my polar bear pyjama top.
“Wait,” Lawrence called from the hallway.
I stopped unbuttoning.
“Is that cat supposed to be on the dining room table?” he asked.
Stupid Voltaire.
“Does that really matter right now?” I replied. Sometimes I really had to wonder about his priorities.
“Well, it’s where you eat,” he went on. “It’s really not sanitary now, is it?”
Argh!
“Just get over here and undress me,” I scowled, nearly stamping my foot on the floor. “Please.”
Was that really too much to ask?
As Lawrence snapped back into the moment, his bedroom eyes fell over my pyjama-clad form. I watched him watch me as he picked up his coil of rope and came into the bedroom. Tossing the rope on my bed, he took me by the shoulders and walked me over to my reading chair. Neither of us sat. He kissed my neck as he undid my shirt, slowly, button by button, running his hot hands against my breasts. When I wriggled out of my pyjama pants, he took a seat in my chair. Kissing his way down my chest, Lawrence shifted my fleecy top off my shoulders. He licked my tits. That tongue was on fire. When he sucked my nipples, pulsations of hot pleasure waved through my cunt. I grabbed his hand, bringing his fingers to greet my wet slit.
Lawrence pulled his hand away like a child who’d come too close to a hot stove. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he said.
Were we? “Oh, that’s right! I’m naked and you’re still fully dressed.”
Pausing for reflection, Lawrence finally said, “Yeah, that too.”
It took about two seconds for him to pull his Royal Air Force T-shirt over his head and slough off his ripped jeans. My eyes went straight to his jockeys, assessing the degree of hardness underneath. Even just the outline of that hard cock had me all fluttery inside. I reached out to touch it.
“Not yet,” Lawrence scolded, shifting my hand away. “Remember, it’s my turn today.”
Oh right. “Le dimanche, c’est moi qui mene…”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” I laughed. “It’s from a children’s book I loved when I was small: Sunday I’m in charge. I’m the boss and I do declare…”
“Declare what?”
“You tell me,” I whispered into Lawrence’s ear, getting very close to his hot body. I let my hard nipples graze his chest as I spoke. “Today, you’re the boss.”
Snorting, Lawrence replied, “I don’t remember the last time I got to be the boss.”
I placed my lips against the smooth skin of his shoulder. “Married men often feel that way.”
Lawrence made no reply. Instead, he ran both hands down my back, cupping my ass in his hands, and kneading that flesh. He brought my whole body forward and up to greet his mouth.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed. Since he was boss for the day, I obeyed.
The first thing I felt was Lawrence’s strong grasp on my wrists. He tugged them together behind my back. The motion was forceful, which I wasn’t used to with Lawrence. He was always so gentle with me. I’d been asking him for years to be a tiny bit rougher, trying to convince him my body was not the fragile twig he thought it was. I wasn’t going to break.
Today was different. The satin coil slid across the sensitive skin of wrists as Lawrence pulled it tight. He bound my wrists back-to-back, lacing the cord up my forearms. The tighter he pulled, the more my chest jutted out. I could feel the satin rope weaving up my arms, in and out like a shoelace, until it reached all the way to my armpits.
I opened my eyes when Lawrence came around to my front. Yes, it was against the rules, but he said nothing to acknowledge my misdeed, so I kept them open to watch. He didn’t speak. His process seemed meticulously thought out, but perhaps he was only concentrating so hard because he didn’t know what to do next. The way he assessed my body, rope in hand, made it seem like he was trying to work out a puzzle. He appeared not to see my tits as anything more than statuary, even though they were right there in front of him. With my hands tied behind me, my back arched and my chest stuck out like I’d never seen before.
“What made you decide to get a cat?” he finally asked.
“That doesn’t matter right now,” I said. I knew he’d be offended, and I preferred to get fucked first. To pre-empt any further questions on the matter, I asked, “What are you going to do to me?”
He stepped away for a moment, considering the aesthetics of my form. When he stepped towards me again, it was to wrap the rope down across my chest, from my left shoulder to my right hip. He wrapped the satin cord around my waist again and again, probably ten times, before bringing it across to my right shoulder. The rope criss-crossed my chest, forming a dark X between my breasts. He then worked behind my back. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but it seemed to bind my arms to my torso. The end of the rope peeked out in front of me, and he wrapped it around my core until I felt like I was wearing an under-bust corset. He was finished. I was his masterpiece completed. Freedom remained only for my tits, my head, my legs, and, of course, for my dripping pussy as she cried out to be fucked. I hoped that’s what Lawrence had in mind. He was, of course, in charge. He could do as he pleased.
From within the confines of my satin cage, I asked, “What now?”
He said nothing. There was only brash silence from behind me, silence that grew hotter the longer the seconds ticked by. “Are you just going to leave me like this?” I asked, shaking my tits in an effort to be cute.
I guess “cute” wasn’t what Lawrence was after, because the moment I started to shimmy, he pushed my shoulders from behind. Landing with my face flat against the bed, I slid forward so fast the cotton burned my cheek. He followed. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was there. Spitting cat fur, I asked, “Are you going to fuck me now?”
“No,” he replied, running his warm hands along my ass. I wondered if he would spank me. I’d asked for it before, but he’d always opposed the idea. His reasoning involved the dynamic our age difference generated; spanking delved too much into age play for his taste. He always wished to minimize that sense of being nearly thirty years older than me.
Instead of spanking, he squeezed. He ran his hands along my ass cheeks and grabbed them, making them jiggle and bounce. “Will you fuck me now?” I pleaded. He didn’t seem to realize how much it turned me on to feel those satin ropes against my skin. They constricted everything from my movement to my breath.
“I wish you wouldn’t use that word,” he replied. “The f-word. It’s a young person’s colloquialism, and you’re better than that.”
“No I’m not,” I said in absolute earnest. “I am a young person, my minou.”
He gave up. “Fine.” Gave up on arguing my use of the word fuck or gave up on resisting the call of my drooling slit?
Both.
Tracing the perimeter of my pussy with his fingers, he soaked my clit with my own juices. When he rubbed me, I melted. I was warm all over, and suddenly I could feel the lightness of my nipples against the bedding. The rope kept me bound tight, though I struggled against it. But, really, I only struggled to feel the satin dig its deceptively smooth teeth into my flesh. I didn’t want out. Just the opposite, in fact. I wanted to be exactly where I was, wrapped in a breath-snatching cocoon of rope while the one who’d bound me rubbed his hot fingers against my clit.
He rested a hand on my ass cheek as he pushed a finger inside my slit. Easing it in and out, he breathed rapidly, in a way that made me feel he must be watching. Yes, he would certainly be watching his finger—fingers? Was that another one?—penetrating my juicy cunt. Noises escaped my throat. I didn’t ask them to.
“Please, will you please please fuck me now?” I asked by accident. I hadn’t intended to say fuck again, since he didn’t like it.
Without reply, he grabbed my ass with both hands. I could tell by the way their pressure swerved that he was sneaking out of his jockey shorts. When I closed my eyes, I could see their black elastic catching on the enormity of his cock. I could nearly taste his precum on my tongue as I visualized him pulling his waistband out and over his big erection, finally allowing his jockeys to fall to the floor.
When the tip of his hard cock met the juice of my slit, I pushed my hips back as best I could, given my confinement. He lunged forward. His shaft took up all the space my cunt had to give. I wanted to see him, to see what he was doing, but I couldn’t lift my head off the mattress. Though my wrists were tied together, my fingers were free. I reached out to grab anything, to touch anything with even with my fingertips, but all I could feel was the pillow of his stomach. It came close as he rammed his cock in my pussy, and retreated when his cock did.
Lawrence had always been, in some sense, impossible to grasp. I could feel him sometimes. I could sense his presence, or touch him with my fingertips, but there was nothing to hold onto with him. All was fleeting. Our relationship, like all things, was purely ephemeral.
“Let me feel you,” I cried as he pounded my pussy.
With a deep chuckle, he replied, “Don’t tell me you can’t feel this.”
“Let me feel you with my hands,” I clarified.
He pulled out of my utterly destroyed cunt and thrust his cock into my hands one palm at a time. “Is this what you want?”
Wrapping my fingers around his shaft, I latched on and prayed he’d never escape. I could feel my pussy juice between my fingers as he thrust. He wasn’t making any noise, so I changed my tune. “I want to feel you in my mouth.”
Lawrence never could pass up a good blowjob. He slid my hips away from the bed, and then lifted me upright by my tits. His face was marble as he pushed me to the floor. It hurt my knees, landing so hard, but he didn’t seem to notice my pain. He seemed far away, lost in another world.
His cockhead eased out fluid. It dripped onto my tits and glided down them like hot wax. When I looked up at him, he took my hair in his hand. Putain de chien, I’d never felt more turned on as I did when I saw the dark ice burning in his eyes. I extended my tongue to accept his hard slab of meat. For some reason, I expected him to ram it down my throat. He didn’t. He slid his cock into my mouth with great care, like he was parking a classic car in a narrow garage. It was a watchful manoeuvre.
I closed my lips around his cock and sucked that monster. As he rocked toward me, his thighs brushed my tits. That sensation of hairy man-flesh against smooth-soft girl flesh made me tingle all over. I felt like I was sucking off a wild beast when his fingers wove their way across my scalp. He thrust in my mouth and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Usually, I’d grab hold of his shaft and work the head with my tongue, but my hands were tied behind my back, weren’t they? I was powerless.
Pulling out of my mouth, he stared down at me but didn’t seem to see me at all. My cunt surged as he traced his fingers the length of his shaft, up and down. He stared right past me. What was he thinking of? What was he imagining? Clamping down on his cockhead, he rubbed that shiny purple tip so fast he nearly collapsed. Bringing me in close, he wrapped a leg around my restrained body so his cock met my tits. I licked his belly like crazy while he jerked himself off. He began to make a whining noise and I knew what to expect. When he came, I bit him.
Right away, he fell into bed alone. I sat down on my feet, my chest still sticking out like the figurehead on the front of a ship. Hot cum ran like slow streams into the satin valley between my tits. I watched it. It started to feel cold soon enough. I leaned against my bed, but that hurt my shoulder. There was no way to feel perfectly at ease with my hands tied behind my back and satin rope securing my torso. I couldn’t help thinking how odd this was. For us. For Lawrence, more than me. He didn’t seem the type. It seemed too impersonal for his liking, but perhaps I just didn’t know him as well as I’d imagined.
“Are you awake?” I asked from my supplicant position on the bedroom floor. All I could see of Lawrence were his feet sticking off the side of the bed.
When he didn’t respond, I figured he must be asleep, but Voltaire proved me wrong. He came racing into the room as if chasing an imaginary bird, and when he neared my bed, he didn’t stop there. He pounced on Lawrence, who reacted by shrieking and rolling over to protect his goods. Quick as he’d come, Voltaire was gone again.
“Tell me about this cat,” Lawrence said, breathing hard. What a pussy, I thought. He acted as though Voltaire were a bolt of lightening. Get a grip! Ce n’est qu’un chat! “What made you decide to take him in?”
I contemplated lying, or at least telling a veiled version of the truth, but decided to stick to the facts. “It was a few weeks ago,” I admitted, wishing very much that I could scratch my nose. “I wanted so badly to marry you, remember? All week I kept telling myself it would happen somehow. Maybe you would finally change your mind. Maybe you would leave…her…for me. But listen to how stupid I sound.”
I still couldn’t see his face. Just his feet. “You don’t sound stupid.”
“Yes, I do,” I replied in perfect calm. Perhaps I sounded self-deprecating, but it was the truth. “Because it’s a fantasy. It will never, never happen. I know that. And it hurts me so much because I want it and I’ll never have it. We’ll never, never be together.”
We will,” he countered. “That’s what I…” He cut himself off when Voltaire crept back into the room to give me a good sniff. “You know, that cat’s really starting to get to me. In a couple minutes, I won’t be able to breathe.”
“That’s too bad,” I replied. I would have shrugged if my shoulders had more mobility. I didn’t want to seem cruel, but I suppose my reasons for inviting petit Voltaire into my home weren’t entirely pure. Lawrence had pissed me off, telling me we were together, we had something serious, we didn’t need to get married. That was all bullshit. Utter bullshit. It was impossible to maintain a fulfilling relationship with a married person. Impossible! In the beginning, all I wanted was the occasional fuck with someone intelligent enough to talk to when we were spent and sore. Nothing more than that. No long-term commitment, no family involvement, no socializing out in the big, judgemental world. I had exactly what I thought I wanted with Lawrence. As with anything in life, I had to get what I wanted before I could realize I wanted something else.
So my real reason for adopting Voltaire, beyond wanting a warm body in the bed? It’s a terrible thing to admit, but I wanted to spite Lawrence. His life obviously didn’t revolve around me. I’d finally started to realize I was about as central to his existence as the debris floating in Saturn’s rings. Cruel as it sounds, after coming to grips with the idea that he would never marry me, I needed to show him I was perfectly happy without him. I could take him or leave him. What better way to convey that message than with an extreme allergen?
When Lawrence rolled out of bed, sneezing all the way to the open window, I decided to be bold. Perhaps not such a smart move when one is tied up naked on the floor, but I wasn’t afraid of him. “I didn’t realize you were so allergic,” I claimed. “Maybe you shouldn’t come over anymore, if Voltaire bothers you so much.”
He laughed, taking in a big breath of fresh air. When he looked down at the floor and realized I wasn’t laughing along, he asked, “You would choose a cat over me?”
With an attempted shrug, I replied, “The cat needs me. You don’t.”
“No,” he yelped, rushing to my side like his haste would change my mind. “I need you more than any cat ever could. I do.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, amazed he hadn’t called my bluff. Either our relationship or our sex meant more to him than I’d imagined. “You have a wife to take care of you. Voltaire only has me.”
Lawrence sprang upright to pace the floor, wringing his hands and sneezing. Voltaire stared up at him in what looked like wonder, and then pounced at his foot. When Lawrence jumped into the air, Voltaire took off for the bathroom and launched himself into the tub. Rubbing his foot, Lawrence said, “I was going to wait to tell you this, until things were more settled, but…alright, I haven’t talked to Ruth yet, but…”
“What?” I pleaded. My spine had never felt so straight.
“I’ve decided to leave,” he said with a resolute nod. “It’s something I’ve wanted to do since before I met you, and I think now, with you in my life, it’s finally time.”
My heart seemed to stop beating. Lawrence was going to leave his wife for me? I never expected this to happen, not in a million years. Overjoyed, I said, “I’ll get rid of the stupid cat so you can live here.”
“No,” he replied even before I’d finished my sentence. “No, I’m getting a place of my own. I have a friend who owns some rental properties in Bloor West. He’s been saying for years that if I ever needed a place…”
“Bloor West?” I interrupted, finding the neighborhood on my mental map of the city. “That’s so far away. No, mon chou, come live with me here!”
“It’s on the subway line,” he replied, sitting in my chair by the window. “Anyway, those are just details. Think of the big picture: we’ll have more freedom.”
“We can finally spend a night together!” I cheered, hopping on the inside, though my body remained immobilized.
“Eventually,” he said, making a bizarre sort of frowny face as he nodded his head. “My only concern with that is that someone could stop by…”
“Someone like who?” I asked. His wife? What difference would that make if they were separated? And who else would stop by unexpected? When he didn’t reply, I decided to drop it. I didn’t want to think anything but happy thoughts. Instead I said, “I guess you couldn’t stay here with the cat.”
“Not even short-term,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “My allergies are really acting up. I’m going to have to get moving.”
“Don’t go yet,” I whined, trying to crawl across the floor to meet him. “We have to celebrate.”
When I reached the chair and set my cheek against his knee, he said firmly, “Audrey, I really need to get away from that cat.”
“Let’s go for a walk, then,” I pleaded. “When was the last time we went out and did something? We can go out for breakfast.”
“Audrey.” When he repeated my name like that, I felt as though he were speaking to a small child. He got up from the chair and stepped over me to retrieve his clothing from the floor. “I should really be getting back.”
“No!” I cried. Of course, now I sounded like a small child, which gave him every right to address me as such. But the no was multi-valenced. I wanted to make plans. I wanted to be certain it was true that we would be together. As much as my heart loved Lawrence and my psyche romanticized him, I admit I didn’t trust him farther than I could toss Voltaire. More than any of that, though, I needed him to untie me. “How will I get out of this rope if you leave?”
With a forlorn chuckle, he replied, “Oh, that’s right.”
He got dressed before unravelling the length of satin rope twisted and curled around my body. “I liked that very much,” I told him. “Being tied up, I mean. It’s a very different experience, feeling utterly powerless before you.” When he didn’t respond, I said, “We should do it again.”
As soon as the ropes came off, falling into a heap around me, I could breathe deeply again. I couldn’t move, though. Not right away. Lawrence sauntered over to the front hall to put on his shoes, but I didn’t have the strength to follow. He seemed so…strange. There was no other word for it.
“Lawrence, what’s wrong?” I asked. He only shook his head in response. I’d never seen him so distant and it worried me greatly, but, then, he’d never been one to let me all the way in. Not deep inside. Not as deep as I wanted to go. “You’ll keep me posted, right? I can help you move. We can go shopping together and pick out new dishes for you, and all new furniture, and the sheets for us to sleep in. I have an extra coffee maker you can have.”
He didn’t even smile as he left. He didn’t come back to kiss me. Something internal kept me from easing myself off the floor and going to him. I simply stared at his shoes, not even into his eyes, because if I’d looked him in the eye, I’d have known in that moment it was all fantasy. There was no truth in what he’d said. He would never leave Ruth. I knew that. I knew it. Why did I let myself believe him? I suppose I just needed to let myself imagine someone might love me enough to give something else up in order to be with me.
First thing Monday morning, I asked around the office if anybody would like to take in my cat. My partner’s allergic. We planned to move in together, I claimed. Maybe if I could convince somebody else it was true, I would believe it as well. Fortunately, my boss Herman loved furry little creatures. He already had two cats at home. Last I heard, he’d changed Voltaire’s name to Pouncer—more suitable to a feline who attacked everything that moved. At least I only had one name to deal with. I was Audrey, the Eternal Mistress. That poor cat with multiple identities would never know for sure who he was.
~
Copyright Februrary 2012, Giselle Renarde