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“So, my love, you survived your first ass fuck,” I say pressing my lips to her forehead.
“I did, didn’t I?”
“And you came?”
“Yes, I came.”
She’s exhausted. Withered like a flower that’s been trampled underfoot. And still she smiles warmly.
“I’ll take you there as much as I take your cunt or mouth. You’ll become so used to it you won’t balk. I’ll slide right in without so much as a whimper from your lips. You’ll welcome it, Delia, because it’s what pleases me.”
“And it pleases me too.”
I’m glad to hear that, and we lie together until it’s time to sleep.
For the night, I tether her collar to the headboard of the bed. I bind her wrists together as well as her feet. She’ll sleep like this for some weeks if she wants to sleep with me. On the nights I don’t fuck her ass, she’ll wear a dildo in her behind of ever increasing size. She needs to be prepared for other cocks larger than my own, so when it’s time to give her away, she’ll be ready. She may still balk at these measures, something in her still reluctant, but the worst is over, and I hear no overt protests or sense any squeamishness. With this orifice christened, she’s on her way to a better heaven with me than she’d enjoy without this kind of sex.
My life with Delia seems blissful in these early weeks. She’s given up her apartment because she’s never there. The situation is strangely like getting married and putting two lives together. The remembrances and flashbacks are sometimes haunting.
Though she seems an ideal submissive—far more compliant than Anna was at her best, I find her attentiveness to me profound—so profound that I need to create some space between us. At times, she’s like a clinging vine that takes great nurturing—and a little pruning. This sometimes puts a strain on me. Since I enjoy my time alone, I put up walls she’ll only breach when I am ready. She’ll have to get used to this too, but I’ll see that she does. I wonder sometimes if this distance isn’t as painful for her as accepting my cock in her ass.
Delia loves the romance of our relationship. Reminding me of my past with Anna, I sometimes wonder how long that will haunt me.
We have candlelit dinners that turn into bondage scenes that may last all evening, her appetite is insatiable. When I particularly need a rest from her, I invent scenes to keep her bound and gagged and out of sight. Though she relishes this treatment, it makes me restless. The energy she exudes is so potent, it seems to reach out to me, luring me to her, the memory of where she is, the straps that bind her, the gag that silences her; the dildos that I’ve thrust inside her darkness call to me from her captivity. What respite I have from her constant vigilance turns into another kind of vigilance as though she’s peering curiously into my brain.
We take quick lunch breaks in odd places near the office where I fuck her ass while holding her hair; or, pushing her to her knees, make her swallow my erection until I spew all over her face. We communicate with eyes alone when we’re with other people. Those around us know we’re involved, but they think our relationship a bit bizarre, our world a very private one. I wonder sometimes if she’s sucked me in to her world more than I’ve brought her into mine. I know that I adore her and believe this is love. But it’s hard to know what love is when my heart remains guarded. I don’t want to give her illusions about where this relationship will be in ten years, or even five—or even in six months. Though she asks for nothing but what satisfies me, I wonder what kind of traps she’s laid.
Bernard tells me we need to stretch out again beyond ourselves and I’m sure he’s right. I’ll have her at his house for a soiree he’s planning with his friends. We’ll see how far she’s come since Tethers.
Chapter Seven
As though I have an in-born clock, my body sends me to Bernard in a two-week cycle. I don’t initiate these meetings; he seems to know as the energy in me builds what I require. He has me come to his house again, two weeks after the first session. This time the punishment is straightforward and simple. No bonds, no ropes, no cuffs, no clamps. I bare my ass and take a spanking from his hand, feel the evil of an inflexible paddle, and then find myself ripped apart by the strokes of his cane. The next time Bernard accosts me at the bookstore, sending Catherine away, closing the blinds, locking the door and hanging me up in front of a bookcase blindfolded. (I remember Ian’s vision as though he were forecasting the future.) My black dom works me with a cane baton. I seethe, suck in the pain, and find it never reaches that pinnacle I adore so much. But I’m like a rag doll when it’s over, collapsing into the warmth of his arms wishing we could stay like this forever. He kisses my forehead and I fall in love with him one more time.
It’s time for me to move again. After I returned from this latest session, I told Ian very little except that I’d been with Bernard again. He took one look at my ass and turned away. When he felt the wounds as we were making love that night, he turned away a second time, and we stopped before we had a chance to get too far. I knew the relationship died that day, and it’s just as well. I won’t live without what makes me feel alive. I drifted into this atypical pairing, and so I’ll drift out. Taking an apartment near my bookstore, life becomes less complicated.
When I tell Bernard that Ian is old news, he asks me to lunch.
We’re sitting in a French café, eating oysters, clams and Caesar salad—all Bernard’s choices. He orders chocolate cream cake for dessert and expresso. The energy that passes between us is definitely sexual, the mood affectionate, the conversation sparse but intimate.
“How is Makaila?” I ask as the last bite of chocolate melts away in my mouth, into just the trace of something pleasingly sweet on my tongue.
“She’s very well, asked me to say hi.”
I run my finger on the rim of my demitasse cup and look at him from the corner of my eye—a flirtatious gesture. “I suppose winning you away from her would be a real problem?” I speculate.
“Impossible,” he replies.
“Hummm, that’s what I thought.”
“We’re not suited for each other,” he states flatly, staring at me over the top of his glasses.
“And why do you think that?”
“I need someone less restive.”
“If you took the chance you could see just how peaceful I can be. Nasty sex sucks all the impatience from me.”
“I’m sure it does, but then it just returns again, Anna. You’re not my type as beautiful, charming and unique as you are.”
