"Hand on me if you need to stop. Tap me.”
"Yes."
"Look at me."
I look at her.
I have done this for a man I did not love for eleven years and the doing of it was the doing of a task, and I have never done this for a person I love and really wanted to and I want to now.
I bend.
I put my mouth on her strap.
The silicone is warm from her body. The taste is the taste of the leather she keeps it on and the small clean of her own scent through it. I take the head in. I close my mouth on it a count. I look up at her.
She is watching me.
Her mouth is open just at the corner. Her hands have come off the quilt and are at her sides, and her fingers are flexing at the cloth, and her chest is moving a little fast.
I move down.
I take in another inch. I take in another. I find the rhythm I will go at. The rhythm is slow. The rhythm is the rhythm she does for me. I press my tongue along the underside as I come down. I draw back. I come down further. I take her until the silicone is at the back of my throat, and I hold a count, and I draw back.
"Evangeline."
"Mm."
"That is."
"Yes."
I do it again.
I do it slow. The base of the leather is set against her, flat, snug at the worn notch, and I have learned in the last six days how the harness presses on her when she rocks, and I rock myhead a count and I see her hips lift in answer to the rock, and I know now what I am doing.
I am doing this for her body and her body is going to come on the leather while I take the silicone in my mouth, and the doing is for her and the silicone is the line between, and I am the woman on the line.
I take her deeper.
She makes a sound.
The sound is a sound I have not heard her make. The sound is the small unguarded sound of a woman who is being given a thing she did not ask for. I take her deeper. I hold a count. I draw back. I look up at her.
"Look at me," I say.
She is looking.
"Don't close your eyes."
"No."
"Watch me."
"Yes."
I take her down.
I take her as far as I can take her and my eyes are wet at the corner from the take and my throat is open and I hold and I draw back and I take her again, and her hand has come up and is in the back of my hair, not pressing, only there, and the press of her hand is the press of a woman who is letting me lead and is touching me to let me know she is here.
