“So, you began living with Anne-Louise?”
“I was her maid during the day and her toy at night. She became even harder on me now, would not accept a word of disobedience, insisted on the highest standards only of housework, cleaning and cooking. Whenever I failed, or forgot an instruction, the beating was most severe. The worse it became, the happier I was”
“Tell me how?”
“For Valentine’s day, she bought a whip and a pair of handcuffs for me. The whip was to be used on me, of course. Thereafter, most days she handcuffed me before leaving for her work. Thus constricted, she said I would have more time to think of her all day. Naturally, my work around the house suffered badly. Which gave her even more opportunities to use the whip on me. But sex with her after every whipping was better than ever. I could wish for no other fate. Very soon, she began to use the whip on my body for no other reason than arousing me further sexually. Now she no longer even needed a reason to beat me, mark me.”
“And you enjoyed this?”
“I was deliriously happy. This was what I was born to be. Later, she would take me to Brussels on special shopping trips to a store in a large Galerie that specialised in fetish and S&M apparel. She bought increasingly sophisticated devices and clothing for me. She would make me wear elaborate black leather outfits that made me look like a whore at a sadomasochists’ convention. She had me play with toys in front of the assistants in the store as she exercised her power. Would have me gagged, plugged, displayed. Force me to wear underwear she had deliberately dirtied before. Back at her home, I had to serve her completely, in every detail. It soon became my task to lick her clean after she had been to the toilet. She loved me and I loved her. I thought this bliss would last forever.”
Mid-morning in the Manhattan hotel room. He calls out for bagels from Mom’s Bagels, two streets away. For him, a garlic bialy with Nova Scotia lox and cream cheese and a plain bagel with cream cheese and jelly for her.
They devour the food in bed, close to each other. He feels comfortable with her, their bare bodies touch as they shift, neither draws back from the contact. He loves the fact that, like him, she is a creature of silences, doesn’t find it necessary to make small talk and fill every precious moment of silence with needless words. A thin dollop of red jelly drops onto her left breast. He bends over and licks her clean, his furtive tongue nibbling on her ring, stretching the tender skin beneath. A warm feeling suffuses his lower stomach. Blood is already coursing back towards his tired cock.
Aware he is probably in no condition to perform again yet, he draws back and takes the kiss to her lips.
She smiles.
They have opened the curtains. Sunlight floods the room, the bed, their uncovered bodies.
He tells her about the last time he had stayed here. For two nights in a row, a couple in the room next door had practised particularly noisy sex, the sounds of which could just not be avoided through the thin hotel wall, keeping him awake and arousing his own lust. The woman had proven especially vocal, every thrust inside her provoking further moans, gasps or profane vocabulary in her lexicon of pleasure. The man, on the other hand, appeared to copulate in silence, leaving all aural accompaniment up to his partner: but must have had incredible staying power, as the sounds of their frantic love-making reverberated through to his room for almost two hours. On and on the sounds of nearby sex continued and he had begun to wonder what this shrill, enthusiastic woman might actually look like. The following night, the carnival occurred again in the adjoining room. On the third day, as he was leaving his room for his morning appointments, he finally caught a glimpse of a woman closing the door to the next room. To his disappointment and amazement – by now, he had visions in his mind of Greek goddesses or hardcore stars of the pornographic screen – she was a stocky, matronly Chinese woman with an old-fashioned fur coat draped across her shoulders, wearing sensible shoes and with a chignon in her hair. Anything but his dreams.
Thalie laughs at his story.
“Well, I don’t think we bothered the neighbours much,” she remarks. “We’re both wordless fornicators, I noticed.”
He smiles back at her, preferring not to tell her his other story of a hotel room fuck. In Paris, window opening onto a sea of Latin Quarter roofs. Where the sounds of the adjoining room had in fact been more muted but still caught his attention. Aroused, he had taken a glass from the bathroom and stuck it against the separating wall, cupped his ear against it and listened to the couple frolicking a few inches away and masturbated to the sound of their fucking.
Finally, they get up.
In the light of day, he finds her more beautiful than ever. And younger. Less than half his age.
“Who gets to use the bathroom first?” he asks her.
“You go,” she answers. “I feel wonderfully lazy this morning.”
He shaves. Christ, does he look tired! The new razor blade revives his skin. He washes the foam away and cleans his teeth. He tests the heat of the water bursting from out of the shower head, finds the right balance of hot and cold and steps into the shower area. He is soaping his cock, washing away their combined juices, when he hears her knock on the bathroom door.
“Yes?”
“Can I come in?” she asks him.
“Of course,” he replies. There is no need for false modesty now.
She tiptoes in, walks across the damp tiles and sits herself on the toilet bowl. Facing him, legs wide apart and proceeds to pee as he stands under the pouring water just a few feet away. He notices the eight rings hanging loosely from her labia as the thick stream of urine jets out of her and realises the safety pin and the padlock are no longer in place. His first glance at the pinkness inside her cunt as her leaves separate, gape, to make way for the release of her warm stream.
She looks up towards him, with a wry smile on her lips.
His eyes interrogate her silently.
“You never asked,” she says, as the last drops of pee keep on dribbling out of her. “A real master always does: he orders.”
“I didn’t realize . . .” he mumbles.
“I was allowed to bring the padlock key with me,” she confirms.
“I see,” is all he can feebly say. Feeling as if he has failed the first test.
“Can I join you under the shower?” Thalie asks.
“Of course,” he says.
Her body shines under the pounding water. They embrace. Kiss. Separate. Their hair soaking wet now. United by the cleansing spurts of hot water. They soap each other with all the delicacy they can each muster. Kiss again. They both step out of the shower. He turns to switch the water off and, when he turns again to face her, she delicately takes his cock in her wet fingers.
“There was still some soap,” she says.
She squeezes it. Hard.
He takes her hand away.
“Stay like that,” he says.
She remains immobile, water still dripping down the expanse of her body. He takes hold of a towel and dries her, enveloping her body in its softness. He glides his finger through her hair.
“Oh, Thalie,” he says.
“Yes?” she asks.
“I want to make love to you properly now,” he answers.
He bends and picks her up in his arms. She is so light, he notices; and they make their way from steamy bathroom to the bed in the hotel room now blinded with light.
He pulls a curtain half-closed. There is still enough light for him to see all of her.
He installs her on the bed. She remains inert. Her opening gapes, as if alive, breathing like an invitation to pleasure. He delicately spread-eagles her limbs in a semblance of crucifixion across the crumpled sheets and buries his face in her cunt. He opens her up at long last and spies the infinite shades of nacreous pearl of her inner walls. Parting her, rings to each side he plunges his tongue inside her and a tremor flashes through her whole body. She still tastes of soap but her juices are soon abundantly flowing, pungent, aromatic, overflowing, bathing his
chin as he labours away now, playing with her engorged clit. He has reached his destination, her portals of paradise. The velvet pearl pulses strongly against the tip of his tongue. Thalie moans. Widens the angle between her legs further in acceptance of his adoration. His face retreats. He looks up at her. Her face and the whole area leading to her breasts are flushed a deep hue of pink. Her eyes are closed.
He inserts a finger, then two, inside her cunt. She is like a furnace inside. He moves his other free hand towards her rear and sticks a finger inside her arsehole, where she is still gooey from their earlier exertions. Thalie gasps as both her holes are invaded.
Through the incandescent body heat, he feels the pulse of her heart beat against his probing fingers. He bends. Withdraws the digits and takes her now protuberant clit between his teeth and nibbles away at it. He feels her close to coming, for the first time since they have been together. His mouth takes leave of her copiously flowing juices and he climbs over her and inserts his cock inside her.
A wordless sound passes her lips.
Tenderness sweeps across his heart as he begins moving inside her. The fit is exquisite. The gold rings on either side of her cunt lips slide effortlessly against his shaft, enhancing the sensations without overpowering them. As he thrusts in and out of her, the thought occurs to him that if he were her master, he would have her pierced yet again, a ring or a stud in her clitoris, just to enhance the friction against his glans as it labours and retreats against her opening time and again. Yes, a nice thought. And a big if.
He closes his eyes in turn and surrenders to their first moment of love.
Q & A
“How did things begin to change in your relationship?”
“She liked to show me off to others. Demonstrate the extent of her power over me.”
“Men? Women?”
“She would invite friends to our home and play at humiliating me in front of them.”
“How?”
“By having me wear the outfits she had bought for me. Playing games she knew I was bound to lose, and then punishing me for my missteps. I would have to strip in front of her guests and have my rear caned or whipped. If there were other women, she would make me lick her sex in their presence: sometimes had me lie on the floor while they peed over me. I would have to serve food naked but for a dog collar and was forbidden to react while they pinched me, touched my intimate parts, sometimes tried to trip me to cause further punishment.”
“But were there men?”
“Initially, only one. A close friend of hers. His name was B. He’s a lawyer from the city.”
“Was he her lover?”
“No. Anne-Louise hates men, sexually. But she was close to B. She liked exposing me to him, making me bend over so that he could peer inside me, even touch, which she knew I hated. The more ill at ease I was in these situations, the more it excited her and the crueller she became with him as witness to my degradation.”
“What sort of things would she do for him?”
“She liked to demonstrate my absolute obedience. One day, I was made to lie on my back on the floor as she inserted a series of ever-larger objects inside my vagina, which I had to hold wide open for them. First a dildo, then a bottle, then a cucumber. All the time, I could see the bump inside his trousers swell as she teased him that wouldn’t he like it to be him in that nice virgin cunt.”
“You were still a virgin?”
“Technically, yes. I hadn’t yet been penetrated by a man. By Anne-Louise and objects only.”
“How did it happen, the first time?”
“With B. One morning, Anne-Louise summoned me and instructed me that I should take a taxi to his apartment and do every single thing he would ask me to do. When I protested, she whipped me badly. Said I did not understand what true love was. I argued that I did. But she owed B. some debt, and he wanted me and that was that. Anyway, she told me, it would be good for my training, I had to be broken in. I went to him. Hated every moment. Later, there were other men she loaned me to.”
“Did she ever want to watch you being fucked by them?”
“No. If she was there, she would move to another room.”
“But did she ever ask you about what happened with the men?”
“Curiously, no. Although I was avid to tell her all, to demonstrate the extent of my affection for her by describing the pain they had inflicted on me, how they had used me, violated all my holes, made me choke on their filthy penises and forced me to swallow their ejaculate, played with me, beat me too. I wanted to tell her,‘Anne-Louise, I have accepted all this for the sake of you.’ But she never asked. And if there were marks, cuts, bruises on my body, she would whip me in response, as if it were all my fault.”
“Sounds very much like one-way traffic to me.”
“She said that the coming of my seventeenth birthday would mark a significant point in our relationship. That I had satisfied her so far and she would show me her gratitude on this occasion.”
“What did she do?”
“We drove to Brussels on a Saturday morning. I thought she would be getting me new outfits at the shop in the Galerie, but this was not the case. It was a large building in the suburbs, a doctor she knew well. I would come across him again at the special parties. He used electrolysis to depilate my pubic area. I’m told it will never grow back again. Then, he pierced my breasts and fitted the rings I still have now. I was in heaven. I was Anne-Louise’s slave, in both body and spirit.”
“What are those special parties you mentioned?”
“They occurred later. I will tell you.”
“OK.”
Their second full day in Manhattan. The spring weather is clement. They walk. Catch cabs. Shop. Snack. Battery Park. The Cloisters. Central Park, watching the squirrels hop along the scarce vegetation.
They talk.
“Are you happy?” he asks her. “It’s such fun showing you this city, all these places I have known and liked for years. I try and imagine what it feels for you to see them for the first time.”
“It’s nice,” she answers. “But you’re too soft with me. I don’t deserve this, you know. If I were in your place, I would be crueller, much harder. Somehow I think you’re too sensitive. Almost like a girl . . .”
His face clouds over. “If you were in charge and I was a girl, would you fuck me?” he quietly inquires.
“I would,” Thalie says. “I would stretch you, hurt you until you plead for mercy, but I wouldn’t give you any. I have been taught well. Switching is no problem.”
“I see.”
“Would you prove your devotion to me by letting me treat you like that?” Thalie asks him as they cross toward the Plaza Hotel.
He doesn’t hesitate. “I would,” he replies.
“OK,” she says.
They catch a cab which takes them to a dark side street near the Port Authority Terminal. In a sex shop manned by Pakistani assistants, they buy a strap-on dildo. Flesh-coloured, veined, awesomely realistic and life-size. And handcuffs. So that he doesn’t change his mind, she says.
He is in no hurry to return to their hotel room.
He reminds her she wanted to go to Macy’s.
She wanders indifferently through the designer label departments.
“I want to buy you something nice,” he insists.
“Why?” she queries. “How do you want me to dress? Like a whore or a princess?”
“As a young woman.”
She agrees to stockings, a silk cream-coloured see-through blouse and a flowing skirt in rainbow colours.
They arrive back at the hotel mid-afternoon. The room has been made, and the smells of sex have faded.
“Undress,” she orders him, herself stripping from the waist downwards and fitting the strap-on belt around her waist. He notices she has reattached the safety pin and the padlock.
He silently sheds his clothes, takes a step towards the bathroom, planning to wash the sweat away from his body.
“Don’t,
” she forbids him. “I want you dirty. I want to smell your vileness as I fuck you.”
He knows he shouldn’t protest; his face reddens as his arse crack feels all clammy, and his feet sticky.
“On your knees. NOW!”
He gets down on all fours.
“Raise your head.”
He does. His eyes are parallel with her labial rings. He notices she is seeping there. She is excited. She thrusts the artificial cock toward his mouth.
“Suck me,” she intimates.
The rubbery material fills his mouth; the taste is unpleasant. She only lets him suck the dildo for a minute or two then withdraws it and places herself behind him. All she wanted was for him to wet it.
She places the strap-on head against the outer ring of his sphincter and begins pushing it in.
It enters him with surprising ease. Initially, there is little pain and he is almost disappointed.
The feeling doesn’t last and soon he is biting his lips to repress heartfelt sounds of anguish as Thalie goes to war on him, viciously twisting the implement of torture within his gut as she endlessly adjusts her stance to increase its depth, the angle of attack and the unremitting pressure on his protesting bowels. He knows she is enjoying this. But he reasons, beyond the valley of pain, that she deserves at least this; that this is his own particular way of experiencing some of the humiliation that has been lavished on her by so many others. He communes with her as she keeps on fucking his arse, until the skin inside and outside is raw from the friction. His heart beats wildly; bile pools at the back of his throat; he has difficulty breathing. There is no longer any pleasure in the act for him.
Then, as suddenly as she entered him, she pulls it out in one swift movement and he momentarily feels as if his whole insides are being suctioned out.
He collapses, stomach first, onto the hotel room floor.
“There,” she says. “I think you would make a better slave than a master. Very docile. You take your suffering in silence; that’s a good sign,” she remarks.
For a moment, a germ of an idea settles in his mind. An image of the two of them as slaves, collared together, made to perform for the benefit of others.
The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of Maxim Jakubowski Page 13
