by Alison Tyler
People think they know Sasha. When they see her, they think she is a slender, cheerful young woman who is always in a good mood. I see Sasha with her arms bound behind her back so tightly that her elbows are touching. There is anger in her eyes and her lips are swollen. She is seated on a wooden chair, her breasts thrust forward, a thin silver chain between her nipples. I am standing, one foot on the chair between her thighs, only a few inches away from her cunt. She looks right through me as she tries to inch forward, create a point of contact between us. I simply smile.
Sasha wants me to taker her somewhere—a place she has no vocabulary for—a place neither of us has been. I can hear it in her cries when we’re fucking, or I’m stretching her limbs across our bed, or we’re crammed into the antiseptic space of the train bathroom. I can always tell that we’re not quite there yet. It creates tension between us. Tonight, I wait for Sasha to return home from work. She is late, as usual. I never know where she goes after work. I don’t ask. I am in our backyard listening to the night when I feel her cool hands on my shoulders. Without turning around, I say, “You’re late.”
“I know,” she replies and returns to the house.
I finger my belt buckle, and stand, slowly. I find Sasha in our bathroom, undressing. She smiles at my reflection in the mirror, unraveling her hair from the two platinum hair sticks she uses to sweep her hair up most days. When she sets them on the counter, the sound echoes through the room. She quietly slips out of her dress and I glance at the scars along her upper back—scars for which she offers no explanation. Lower, there are scars that I have given her.
The thin, slightly braided scar just above the crack of her ass, that runs the width of her back, I gave to her in Miami. We were staying in one of those boutique hotels in South Beach. We came back to our room after a night of strolling Collins Avenue, drinking mojitos, dancing to la musica Cubana, pretending we were people different from ourselves. She quickly undressed, splashed some water on her face and crawled into bed with my straight razor. She crossed one leg over the other, the tip of the open razor pressed into her knee. “I once saw this movie,” she said, trailing her hand along the empty space next to her.
I knelt at her feet, pressing my lips against the exposed soft spot of her inner ankle. I slid my hands up her muscled calf, slightly gritty with sand. She uncrossed her legs. I lay atop her, letting her feel the full weight of my body. Sasha’s chest tightened, her breathing grew labored. I kissed her, roughly, sliding my tongue into her mouth, across her teeth. I freed the razor from her grip, set it on the pillow next to her face. My hands, still rough with sand, slid between our bodies, up her torso, around the outer curves of her breasts. She arched upward and I moved my lips to her neck, tugging at the taut skin with my teeth until she gasped, loudly.
I turned Sasha onto her stomach and lay next to her, one of my legs draped over hers, my mouth at her ear, whispering to her about all the things I would do to her that night and every night thereafter. I called her the names she likes to be called—whore, slut, mine. I took the razor and slid the dull edge along her spine and across her back, navigating the tightly knotted secrets and scars. I stopped just above her ass, pressed the sharp edge of the razor at one end of her back and quickly drew it across. She hissed as tiny droplets of blood appeared. I tossed the razor aside, and inched her thighs further apart. We had seen the same movie. I raised her ass toward me and slid my cock inside her. It seemed like all the muscles in her body tensed. She reached back without ceremony, digging her nails into my skin, urging me deeper. Afterward, I told her I loved her, the way I always did. I touched the drying blood. She sat up, wrapped the sheet around herself and lit a cigarette. I watched the silhouette of smoke curl around her. Sasha, a longtime Johnny Cash fan, smiled at me and whispered, “Love is a burning thing.”
I want to know the stories of all her scars, but I’m not sure I’m willing to pay the price for that knowledge. Sasha continues to stare at my reflection. She is an expert at holding a gaze. She won’t break—not for anything. She’s that way about many things. She turns around and leans back against the bathroom counter. I pull my belt free from my waist and wrap it around her throat. She arches an eyebrow, feigns boredom. Sasha is very good at pushing buttons.
I cast my eyes downward and she reaches forward, unzips my slacks, slides a hand into my boxers. Her touch is cold and I shiver as she begins sliding her hand up and down along the length of my cock. She is neither gentle nor rough. My jaw clenches and I clear my throat. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much I enjoy her touch. When Sasha brushes her lips across the tip of my cock, before wrapping them around, flicking her tongue against the wet slit, I stop her, push her away. It is a rough, unkind gesture. Still holding the end of my belt, I start walking away. When there’s a tug, she starts to crawl after me, tentatively at first, then faster to keep up.
When I stop at the foot of our bed and turn to look at her, she is less smug than she was before. “You have not come close,” she says.
“To what?”
“You’ll know when you get there.” She sits cross-legged, waiting for my next move. We are, I think, very large chess pieces. I cup her chin with my hand, pulling her mouth open. She tilts her head back, her hands holding my ass as I begin to slide my cock in and out of her mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. Every now and again, she closes her mouth slightly, letting her teeth graze against my shaft. I slide my fingers through her dark hair, closing them into tight fists. Sasha brings one of her hands to my balls and grabs them between her fingers, grasping as tightly as I have hold of her. I grunt, try to twist away, but her grip is steady and unforgiving. I thrust harder, faster. She makes muffled coughing sounds. After I come, I stagger. Sasha wipes her lips with one thumb. She swallows. She waits for my next move. I’m not sure, but I think I hear her say “Check.”
Sasha hates having her pussy licked. Nothing gets her angrier than when I tie her down and lie between her thighs, lavishing my tongue across her swollen pussy lips and hard nub of a clit. She won’t speak to me for days afterward. When pressed, she says that it bores her and lacks purpose. But she comes when I put my mouth on her and it’s the only time she makes any real sounds—high-pitched moans that she utters at a staccato pace. I pull her onto the bed and slide my hands up her inner thighs. The muscles flex. I press my forehead against the mound of her pussy, breathing heavily. She smacks my forehead, but I push her arms away, sliding my tongue inside her cunt before drawing it up toward her clit. Sasha digs her heels into my back, just beneath my shoulder blades, far harder than necessary. When I look up, I see her head turned to the side, tears of anger threatening to spill over the crests of her eyelids.
“Do I have you where you want me to have you?”
“Fuck you,” Sasha says. It is a wonder she can get words out through teeth clenched so tightly. I thrust two fingers inside of her, deep and hard. She winces. I slide my fingers out, then drag them up her body, between her breasts, leaving a damp trail. I straddle her waist, squeezing her breasts together. There will be bruises here. I reach over to the night table, and fumble for a pair of handcuffs. Defiantly, Sasha throws her arms above her head. I clasp the cuffs around each wrist. Sasha shrugs. I slide off the bed and tell her I’ll be back. I wait in the hallway just outside our bedroom. I can hear frustration in her breathing. She mutters unkind things about me.
I go to the den and turn on the television, loud, letting her hear it. Twenty minutes later, I hear footsteps. “Now, we have a problem,” I say. She stands in the doorway, her hands cuffed in front of her. She looks lonely, abandoned. She is beautiful. I stand and quickly close the distance between us. Clasping her throat with one hand, I force her against the wall. I smack her face, once, then reach down between her legs where she is wet. I turn her around and kick her legs apart. One of her cheeks is pressed against the wall, her eyes are tightly shut. I rub my hand across her ass, pulling my fingers along the cleft before smacking that ass once
, twice. She makes no sound. I smack her again, hard enough that the palm of my hand tingles. She stands on the tips of her toes, offering herself to me. I spank her until my arm is heavy and the muscles in my shoulder burn. We are both sweating. She is raw. Strands of her hair are plastered against her face. When I scratch her reddened ass, it leaves white streaks.
This time, when I slide my cock inside her pussy, she moans, loudly. “That’s fucking right,” I tell her. I call her my bitch and tell her I want to hear just how much she wants this. She raises her arms over her head, her cuffed fists resting against the wall. To every question I ask, she gives me the answer I want to hear. I twist her nipples with the fingers of one hand, and stroke her clit in tight, fast circles with the fingers of the other. Her head rocks from side to side. I want to overwhelm her with stimulation. We are loud and vulgar. Our damp bodies come together and fall apart with sharp sucking sounds. She is liquid heat around me and I want to reach into the marrow of her with my lips, my fingers, my cock. In moments like these, her rough edges fade. Her arrogance retreats. Her body feels incredibly small and fragile. She is truly mine. I sink my teeth into her left shoulder, biting through the sweat and skin, then circling my tongue over the indentations. I kiss the back of her neck, and slow the rhythm of my hips.
Suddenly, I want to be gentle with her. As if she can sense what I’m thinking, Sasha says “Don’t,” her voice hoarse, almost trapped. The tension in her body begins to slacken. When she comes, I can feel her pussy pulsing around my cock. Her body heaves with sobs and slowly, she falls to the floor. I look down at her, stroking my cock. She is clearly tired, but she knows what to do. Her face shines, her lips are slightly parted. This is my way of marking her, staining her with my seed in silver streaks across her face. And when I am spent, I am the one leaning against the wall. She lies at my feet, bent and slightly broken, her arms wrapped around my legs. I touch the top of her head. Before long, I will help her up, carry her to bed.
We share an ordinary love.
KATE LAURIE
MY SOMETIMES GIRLFRIEND
ALEXIS NEVER LETS ME PICK HER UP. That’s one of her rules.
Instead, she always arranges to meet me at some new restaurant or café in the next city. That’s rule number two. She refuses to go anywhere in town, and she refuses to go to the same place twice. Instead I always have to drive the twenty or thirty miles to one of the neighboring cities. It’s a pain, but I would do almost anything for her. Scratch that—I would do anything.
Waiting for her taxi to arrive has always been difficult. All of my insecurities come bubbling up and I wonder every time if she’ll actually show, or if this is the night that she’ll end it, end us. Tonight, I smoke my cigarette with shallow, impatient pulls. I check my watch for the third time. She’s late. As usual.
Finally, a beat-up taxi pulls up to the curb and my heart starts racing. God, I hope it’s her. The driver walks out and around to open up the back door. A grin breaks across my face; I’m almost certain that it’s her now. He opens the door and an angel exits. Soft blonde curls frame a slender face. Her lips sparkle with a pink lip gloss that matches her dress. A white lace choker circles her lovely neck. She looks like a porcelain doll. While she attempts to adjust the frilly skirt of her dress, I pay the taxicab driver. I want him to leave. The looks he keeps shooting her are testing my patience. He glances at my girlfriend one last time and then pulls away from the restaurant slowly, as if he regrets having to depart.
“You look stunning, Alexis.” I whisper it against her ear and take advantage of the closeness to breathe in her scent. She smells of vanilla and strawberries. I feel myself begin to harden, and I swallow the excess moisture in my mouth.
“Thank you.” She blushes prettily and holds a gloved hand against her pink cheek.
I grasp that hand and lead her slowly to the restaurant’s entrance. The host sees us approach and holds the door open. He opens his mouth, but forgets to greet us. Alexis has that affect on people.
I pull her seat out for her and wait patiently as she settles the layers of her dress around her. I can hear people at the surrounding tables whispering. They wonder if she’s an actress, or maybe on her way to a costume party. Either way they agree that the look suits her. I smile as I look down at her. They’re right. This look does suit her.
The dress looks like it belongs on some aristocrat’s daughter. The pink and white jacquard fabric is edged by thick white lace around the square neck and where the tight sleeves end at her elbows. The full skirt splits in the front and another white skirt can be seen underneath. She looks like a painting come to life.
She smiles shyly at me and I can hear the man seated behind us gasp. I fight the urge to glare at him and instead sit down across from her. Our waiter rushes to our table to see what he can get us. I order a glass of red wine. She demurely declines. She’s not here for food or drink. She has only come here to be admired. I know this, but I try not to let it bother me. I know that the lustful glances and whispered admiration feed a secret part of her that only I understand. It’s one of our dirty secrets. I glance away as my jaw tightens. We have so many of those.
Later, I nurse my glass of wine and pick at the meal I ordered. I’m not hungry, but this isn’t the type of place where you can just order drinks. Every once in a while, Alexis leans forward to dab at my lips daintily with her napkin. I doubt I have anything on them, but when I see the jealous stares I understand. I decide to feed her ego and lean forward to gently cup a rosy cheek as I mutter my thanks against her hand. She blushes again and I hear someone’s fork hit the ground. The joy and triumph I see in her eyes makes me feel like the luckiest man in the world.
She gives me a discreet nod. She is ready to leave. I raise my hand and the overly solicitous waiter immediately rushes forward to take my credit card. It always amazes me what better service I get when I am with her. I sign the slip and pull her chair out for her. As soon as she stands, I offer her my arm. As we leave, I can almost feel the desperate patrons trying to catch one last glimpse of her. She can feel it too. I can tell by the way her hand grips my arm just a bit tighter and her breath quickens.
I open the car door for her and then lean down to make sure that all of the fabric of her skirt is inside. She runs her hand up my inner thigh. I try unsuccessfully to hide my grin. Oh yes, she enjoyed the attention tonight. I quickly get into my car and start the engine. As I drive toward our destination her hands teasingly touch my body. Whenever we hit a red light, she pulls back and sits demurely once again. She’s ready for the driver in the neighboring vehicle to admire her.
I feel a familiar bittersweet pain in my chest as we reach the hotel. I try to decide if my heart is breaking or just overjoyed as the clerk hands us a key. He grins at us knowingly and I want to smash his face in. He’s been on duty the last few times we have come here. He’s realized what our meetings are really about. We will have to find another place next time.
I have barely locked the door before my demure girlfriend is replaced by a wanton vixen. Her gloved hands rip my shirt from my pants and are already busy trying to yank my belt from my waist. I grip her wrists to stop the frantic motions and her gorgeous blue eyes look up at me. God, she is beautiful. I lean down and place a gentle kiss upon her mouth. Her lips open and we share a rare intimate kiss. I smile against her damp mouth. So that’s where the strawberry scent was coming from.
As much as I want to just hold her and gently love her I know that isn’t what she wants. I remove my hands from her wrists and instead help her remove my pants. The hungry look on her face is almost frightening. I step out of my pants and boxers and I let her push me onto the bed. I grit my teeth as warm lips immediately engulf my cock. She’s barely begun and I’m already panting. I can’t believe how good she is at this. I feel a sudden flash of fear as I wonder if it’s because she’s done this with many other men. As if she senses my sudden bout of insecurity, she pulls away from me and looks up. So many emotions are warring inside he
r eyes. Greed, lust, fear—but over them all is desperation. I feel ashamed for doubting her. What we have is special and unique, and I know that I am the only person who has ever seen this side of her.
She moves forward to take me in her mouth again, but I stop her. I’m too close tonight. I push her over to the window and proceed to the second part of our evening. I open the window and Alexis leans out of it. She is such a little exhibitionist. Even though our room faces a dark and deserted parking lot, the fact that someone could see us drives her wild. I pull her skirts up around her waist and slide her lace panties down her legs. She bends over just a bit more for me. I reach in her purse and find the bottle of lubricant I knew she would have. I wonder if she ever “accidentally” lets it drop out of her bag while she is in public. I bet she does.
I massage the warm globes of her ass until I feel a bit of the tension leave her body. When she leans forward even more, I slide one lubricated finger up to her tight entrance. She shivers as I slide the finger inside her. It’s only a few seconds before she nods and I slide a second finger in. I wonder what all those jealous men at the restaurant would think if they knew the angel they were admiring earlier was now bent over and waiting for my cock to claim her ass. She whimpers a bit and I realize that my other hand has tightened on her narrow hips. I can feel her legs start to shake as she grips the windowsill tightly.
I stand back up and scissor my fingers inside of her. She moans and nods her head at me eagerly. She is as ready for this as I am. Impatiently, I slick my cock with lube and then slide inside of her. The wood of the windowsill creaks under her clenched fists. I enter her slowly and savor the way her body adjusts to mine. Sweat rolls down my face and I attempt to shake my hair out of my eyes. Finally. We both let out a sigh as I push myself all the way in.
