“She had a…prominence…in her trousers, nestled against the inside of one thigh.”
“Daring,” S. murmured, unable to keep from dabbing at the tip of her clitoris with a fingertip. She had to take care with her teasing or she would find herself climaxing well before the end of the tale. To distract herself from the mounting urge to stroke herself to completion, she massaged Clarisse’s bare buttocks with her free hand. Clarisee whimpered and rubbed harder against S.’s leg. “Patience, my sweet. Tell me of your soon-to-be conquest. Did she see you appreciating her wares?”
“Oh yes,” Clarisse said, rotating her backside against S.’s hand. “She touched herself…there…briefly before moving farther into the garden. And of course, I followed.”
“Of course.”
“I found her straddling one of the children’s playthings—a seesaw—well away from any of the other guests.” Clarisse’s voice caught. “She pushed up with her legs to hold the plank level to the ground and gallantly offered me a seat. It caused quite a display of what else she wished to offer.”
“Did you make her beg for the pleasure of your company?”
“I confess, I was excited by her boldness, but I did not want her to know.” Clarisse drew one leg over S.’s and rubbed harder, painting S.’s thigh with her copious juices. Nearly breathless, she said, “So instead, I thought to take the upper hand. I ordered her to open her trousers that I might see what she had tucked inside before I would consent to stay.”
S. groaned softly and gripped her clitoris between two fingers, pressing down firmly with her thumb to trap it, as if in a vise. Squeezing and then drawing out its length in slow strokes, she gasped, “Was our young Romeo eager to oblige?”
“As keen as I am to touch you. Please, my love.” Clarisse covered S.’s fingers with her own, adding pressure to S’s strokes. “I have waited all evening.”
“Not…until you finish the story.” S. twitched Clarisse’s fingers away and resumed massaging her entire sex with the palm of her hand, smearing the warm, thick juices over her clitoris. Looking down, she saw her own fingers glistening in the candlelight, and with a sigh, traced her essence over Clarisse’s lips. “Were you wet like this and ready for her?”
“I…I was eager for her to do my bidding.” Clarisse trembled along the length of S.’s body. “She drew herself out and held it proudly within her closed fingers, but her expression was pleading, as if she were in pain.”
“What did you do?” S. gasped.
“I said not a word, but lifted my skirts and drew my undergarments aside so that I could sit astride her, face-to-face.” Clarisse grasped S.’s free hand and pulled it to the cleft between her legs. She guided S.’s fingers over her wet sex and moaned. “I took her easily inside.”
S. pinched Clarisse’s clitoris and felt it jump, then did the same to her own. Her voice grew harsh as she struggled to breathe. “Did you let her make you come?”
“I did not intend to. I braced my hands on her shoulders and rode her, slowly at first,” Clarisse said, straining against S.’s hand. This time when she threaded her fingers through S.’s, which were vigorously caressing her clitoris, S. did not push her away. “I told her she must not climax until I had taken my pleasure, but I could see that the weight and rhythm of my body stimulating her between the legs was rapidly driving her to a peak.”
“Did she warn you…when she was about to climax?” S. guided Clarisse’s fingers lower and pressed them deep into her sex. At the same time, she began tweaking Clarisse’s clitoris rapidly in the way that never failed to make Clarisse orgasm energetically.
Clarisse cried out, her legs twisting and jerking. “She began to babble in the most desperate fashion, pleading with me to slow my motions, confessing she could not contain her pleasure. Until…finally she threw her head back with a strangled cry and…and… oh, oh my darling, you will make me come so wonderfully this way.”
S. grunted, the image of Clarisse driving her helpless conquest to orgasm sharp in her mind as her clitoris exploded. Her savage shouts triggered Clarisse’s release, and Clarisse wailed and thrashed and dragged S.’s fingers back and forth over her sex as she climaxed again and again.
When Clarisse’s passion was exhausted, S. leaned over and blew out the candles, then drew the covers around them. She kissed Clarisse’s forehead. “Did you leave our young friend quite spent and helpless out there in the garden?”
Clarisse laughed, her voice throaty with satisfaction. “I helped her to a bench, afraid that she would fall from the seesaw in her dazed state and injure herself. With my aid she got herself tucked away properly, and I left her with a chaste kiss to find her way out when she had regained her wits.”
When S. stiffened, Clarice hastened to add, “It was not a kiss of passion, my darling. You know those are only for you.” She withdrew her fingers from within S.’s sex and petted S.’s clitoris, which still throbbed faintly. “That was magnificent, far better than the brief release I experienced while mounted on my young steed.”
“I am quite relieved to hear that.” S. sighed, supremely content.
“Did you finish all you had to complete before court tomorrow?”
“I did.” S. kissed Clarisse lingeringly, settled Clarisse’s head against her shoulder as she had done countless times over the years, and closed her eyes. “And now, I will be able to sleep. Thank you, sweet Clarisse.”
“Believe me, my love,” Clarisse said drowsily, “the pleasure was mine.”
Se Habla Español
Magdalena Benaroyo
Dr. Mendez opened the door as she heard her client’s footsteps on the asphalt.
Alejandra del Valle was nine and a half minutes late. She was tall, about 5'9". Broad shoulders, narrow hips. A swimmer, maybe. Her long, dark, wavy hair was tied into a loose bun at the base of her neck. She wore a navy suit that fell loosely over her torso, and a creamy silk blouse underneath her suit jacket.
“Dr. Mendez?” she asked, transferring a slim leather briefcase from one hand to the other.
“Yes. Did you have a hard time finding my office?” asked Dr. M., holding her hand out.
“Naw. Actually, I got stuck in traffic.” Dr. M.’s palm immediately became moist in Alex’s firm grip. “Hi, I’m Alex.”
Dr. M. beckoned Alex to sit. She took her place in the chair opposite her client. She discreetly inspected her new client’s long olive-skinned fingers, short manicured nails, and the solid gold band on her wedding finger.
“What brings you here?” asked Dr. M.
“Saw your name in Out magazine. I noticed in your ad that you spoke Spanish. I wanted someone who could understand me.”
“You speak Spanish?”
“I usually reveal my most intimate thoughts in Spanish,” Alex responded.
“I see,” Dr. M. said, catching her breath ever so slightly. “And what intimate things do you need to talk to a therapist about?”
“My life is weird.”
“How so?”
*
“I have a crush on a client,” Dr. M. told her colleague as they walked away from their Wednesday consultation meeting.
“Why didn’t you bring this case up during our conference? It’s always interesting to discuss countertransference. Should I be worried?”
“No,” said Dr. M. “I’ve got everything under control.”
*
“We had another fight,” Alex revealed during their fourth session.
“Tell me about it.”
“Nothing to tell. We always fight about the same thing.”
“Sex and money are the two most common issues for couples.”
Alex nodded. “Just sex.”
“How did the fight go?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“So that I can understand the dynamics of your relationship.”
“That’s not why I’m coming to you.”
“I know. Still, it will inform me. Tell me about your sex life.”
&n
bsp; “When I’m up, I like sex all the time, every day, a few times a day.”
“And she can’t keep up with you?”
“Right, but that’s not what we fought about.”
“What, then?”
“I had sex with someone else.”
“You did?” Dr. M.’s face became hot and flushed. “Is this the first time you’ve cheated on your partner?”
“I wasn’t planning on it. Before I knew it, it had happened. Didn’t even remember it, really. But Janet found lipstick all over my bra. Couldn’t deny it. The evidence was right there.”
“Were you drinking?”
“Maybe. Don’t remember. I told you, though, I’m not here to discuss that, Doctor. I like your dress. Nice color.” Alex smiled. Her green eyes roamed—up one side of Dr. M.’s body and down the other.
Dr. M. nodded her thank-you and asked, “Why don’t you leave Janet?”
*
Dr. M. inspected Alex’s faded jeans, her motorcycle jacket, her black eyeliner. Hardly the investment banker who usually strolled in. Raw. More attractive. Dr. M. had heard about the father abandoning the family. About the alcoholic mother. About the psych wards that Alex had been in and out of since her adolescence and the ascent to successful investment banker between bouts of mania and depression. Alex spoke of her bipolar disorder in an easy, detached manner. There was more to it, Dr. M. knew.
“Alex, this is our seventh session and it seems like you’re holding back. It’s going to be difficult for us to make any progress if you don’t open up. Is there anything you haven’t told me?”
Leather-clad Alex didn’t look directly at Dr. M. She lit a cigarette slowly. “Mind if I smoke?’
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
“But you won’t kick me out if I do?”
“No, I won’t.” Dr. M. swallowed hard.
“About a month ago”—she blew smoke in the shape of a ring—“I ran into a guy around the corner from my apartment building. He came up to me and said, ‘Are you ready?’”
“What was he referring to?” Dr. M. shifted in her chair, crossing her arms to cover her nipples, which had become hard as she watched Alex talk.
“I asked him, ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ He looked familiar, but I didn’t know who he was.” Alex gazed up and down, brazenly enjoying Dr. M.’s discomfort.
“Hmm.”
“He said, ‘What d’you mean? We just talked about it yesterday! You paid me and everything.’”
“And?”
“I asked him to tell me more. He looked at me like something was wrong, and said, ‘AJ, c’mon!’—AJ was my nickname in high school.”
“Was he a high school friend?”
“Hold on, Dr. M., I’m getting there. How rude. I didn’t offer you a cigarette. Would you like one?”
Dr. M. nodded as though relieved. She inhaled deeply in anticipation. Her first cigarette in three years.
“I’m kinda surprised.” Alex tilted her head toward the No Smoking placard as she lit the second cigarette and offered it to Dr. M.
“Turns out that Fabian was his name. ‘AJ,’ he said, ‘you told me yesterday that you wanted me to find someone to 86 you.’ I must’ve pulled a Sibyl when I talked to the guy the day before.”
“Let me get this straight.” Dr. M. raised her brows. “You asked this Fabian guy to kill you, and you don’t remember?” She puffed like a veteran smoker.
“That’s right, Doctor. You’re a sharp cookie.”
Dr. M. looked at her cigarette, trying to fight the tremor in her spine.
“I said, ‘Fabian, I don’t need your services anymore.’ He just shrugged and said, ‘Whatever, AJ, you do remember that this is a nonrefundable deal.’”
“How much had you paid him?”
“I called my bank. Apparently I had withdrawn a thousand bucks the day before.”
“Do you regret having lost so much money?”
“Nah. Don’t really need it. I got more than I can spend. The stock market has been good to me. Remember what I told you the first time I met with you?”
“That your life is weird.”
“See what I mean?”
Alex and Dr. M. exhaled at the same time.
*
“Janet and I broke up over the weekend.”
“I’m sorry. Tell me about it.”
Alex sat stonelike.
“Alex. How do you feel? Are you disappointed? Angry? Relieved?” Dr. M. asked, trying to disguise her eagerness as professional
concern.
“Do you feel lonely?” Dr. M. continued as she scratched her knee beneath the silk of her skirt. Alex’s gaze followed Dr. M.’s hand as it moved back and forth.
“Yeah,” said Alex, “but not for her.” Her eyes inspected the buttons of Dr. M.’s crimson shirt.
“For whom?” Dr. M. asked.
Alex didn’t answer.
*
“There’s something you need to know, Dr. M.”
“Tell me, Alex.”
“You know how you asked me the other day if I was lonely?”
“Yes.”
“I left Janet because I wanted to be with you.”
“That’s out of the question.” Dr. M. tried to sound determined.
Alex patted her knee. Dr. M. leaned forward and then pulled back again.
“I know I am violating a patient-therapist boundary by asking you to do this. So if it ever comes up in court, you can say I threatened you. Ven aca, mi amor. Quiero que te sientes aquí.”
“Alex, you know I can’t.” Her voice was almost inaudible.
“I love it that you understand me. Janet is white. I don’t want to be with a white woman anymore. Fabian is outside.”
“The hit man?” Dr. M. calmly stretched her hand toward the telephone, never losing Alex’s gaze.
“Yup.”
“Why, Alex?”
“Seems that I pulled another Sibyl yesterday.”
“You asked him to kill you again?”
“Calm down, Dr. M., you’re not going to need the phone.” Alex smiled. “Apparently I asked him to kill you.”
“Kill me?” Dr. M. cocked her head and jumped slightly, tightening her fingers on the handset.
“I did. Yesterday. Apparently. But today, that’s the furthest thing from my mind.”
“There’s a thug outside waiting to kill me?” Dr. M. didn’t sound terrified.
“He will unless I tell him not to.”
Dr. M. froze in her chair.
“Danger can be titillating.” Alex stood up. “Let me show you.” She crossed the small divide between their two chairs.
“I guess I have no choice.” Dr. M. went limp and breathless as Alex unbuttoned her shirt.
“I’m not the psychologist, you are, but something tells me you didn’t want a choice.”
“I’ll lose my license,” she whispered as Alex licked the lace away from her breast in her eager pursuit of the doctor’s nipple.
“You won’t need it, mi amor.”
“Need what?”
“Your license. I’m rich, remember?”
There was a knock at the door. Dr. M. remembered she had another appointment scheduled, but she ignored the knock and finally it stopped. She made a fleeting mental note to herself to cancel her appointments.
“I’m crazy,” Dr. M. groaned as Alex slipped her fingers into her wet, open pussy.
“That’s the way I like them, Doctor, wet and crazy.”
Making Her Mine
Kim Baldwin
I started dreaming of the cabin when I was still in my teens.
Every few months, as reliable as clockwork, I would find myself there, thrust into a setting more vivid than my usual nocturnal flights of fancy. Cozy in a big easy chair in front of the fireplace. Picking lettuce from the garden. Hot-canning peaches and tomatoes in big glass jars to have over the long winter. I would walk the rooms, enveloped in a sense of serenity as I filled a vase with fresh-c
ut flowers or stopped to watch hummingbirds dive and hover around the screened-in porch.
I grew up, went to art school, and got a job in Chicago as an illustrator for children’s books, and still the dreams persisted. The older I got, the more frequent the dreams. When I hit thirty-five, they began coming every night. Insistent. Irresistible. Like a siren’s song.
Why not? I began to think.
I had saved up enough money to give myself a year or two to see whether I might make a living creating the kind of art I wanted. Not art for hire, made to fit someone else’s specifications, but whatever sprang from my own imagination. A cabin studio, as much like the one of my dreams as possible, would be perfect.
I never imagined that the real thing existed. It took four weeks of poring over real estate magazines, talking to agents, and surfing the Internet to find it. But there it was, a perfect match on a northern Michigan realtor’s Web site to a five-room cabin and woods surrounding it. I was stunned. I decided that I must have seen it before, a photo in the newspaper or some news story on TV when I was growing up. There didn’t seem to be any other explanation. But I was on a plane to see it two hours later.
The similarities went beyond merely uncanny. How, I wondered when I toured the place, did I dream every detail? The wild raspberry bushes down by the creek, the maple-leaf pulls on the kitchen cabinets, the terra cotta tiles in the entryway? As every nuance of my dream became realized, I wondered at the forces that had brought me irrevocably here.
I made the down payment that afternoon and was back two weeks later with a U-Haul truck filled with furniture and food and art supplies. I plugged in the boom box, put on some tunes, and got down to the business of unpacking with a vengeance, anxious to be settled in. It was some hours before I collapsed on the couch, too tired to wonder what I would dream about now that I was actually here.
*
Everything was the same at first. But this time, I walked through the cabin with deliberate purpose, looking for something. No, someone. She wasn’t inside. But near, I knew. I stepped outside. It was the familiar sound that led me to her. The rhythmic thwack…thwack…thwack of a skilled hand chopping wood. I found her out behind the shed where we stored our gardening tools and studied her profile as she bent to her task.
Extreme Passions Page 27
