by CD Reiss
The furnishings were found objects rescued from street corners and thrift stores. That included the lighting, the sockets of which had been fitted with bulbs that seemed specifically designed to cast as little light as possible. The sunless, dark blue sky of the October evening didn’t help the lighting situation at all, burnishing the faces of my two companions a deep bronze.
It was lost on no one that I sat with two of the three men I’d shared my body with, but it wasn’t discussed. Art was discussed.
“Either of you guys need more coffee?” I asked. They were both on their second espressos.
“I’ll get it,” Darren said. “You guys got the last two.” He got up and went to the bar.
Kevin didn’t say anything for a second, and neither did I. He’d get to it if I didn’t try to fill the empty space.
“You need a partner for this?” he asked. “Because I didn’t ask for a team.”
“You would have had three of us if Gabby hadn’t gone swimming while overdosing.”
“Was that a cheap shot?”
It was my turn to lean forward. “I don’t work well alone. You know that. I do my best work with other people.”
“You have to get over that.”
“You’re not feeling threatened, are you?”
He leaned back in his seat and gnawed on a lemon rind. “You do not like being challenged, Tweety Bird.”
My phone blooped, and I glanced at it. Jonathan.
—Jesus Christ, the Echo Park family clinic? Are you serious?—
—Problem?—
—Let me count the ways—
I was considering what to reply when it blooped again.
—Can we stop this and talk before I have an accident?—
I had a wisecrack at the ready regarding the meaning of the word “accident” and possible incontinence problems that could be serviced at the Echo Park Family Clinic for a nominal fee. I kept it to myself. “I’ll be right back,” I said to Kevin, not responding to his questioning look as I took the phone outside.
The street was active with dog walkers, phone talkers, deep kissers, and loud laughers. The traffic was loud, and I had to pinch one ear shut when he picked up.
“Hi,” I said.
“You walked out of there with more diseases than you walked in with.”
“You’re being a snob.”
“Snobbery is a defense against low social position. Ego sum forsit.”
“I can’t believe you just said that. Even without the Latin part.”
“Which I botched, really. Because I feel like I’ve botched everything with you.”
I let the silence hang for a second, checking in with my memory of him, the way he moved, the way he spoke, his scent, his breath. Then, I thought of Carlos’s blacked-out page from the institution, the ex-wife he may still love, the woman in San Francisco, and of course, the submissive thing.
I took a deep breath before I broke the silence. “We’re both not saying the same thing.”
If there was a way to hear a smile on the other end of a phone line, it would have deafened me. “I’ll be home at ten or so, unless you want me to come there.”
It hadn’t occurred to me to do anything at my house, and the idea was appealing, except for Gabby’s empty room and Carlos’s envelope, which made a huge mental racket for an inanimate object.
“Ten is fine.”
He breathed. Was it a sigh? “I look forward to it.”
I went back in to watch the other two great fucks of my life talk about the dialectics of emotion.
twenty-four
I got out of there at nine forty-five with a head full of multi-syllabic words and no solutions. The boys were still talking about what it all meant in the grand scheme of things and seemed to be enjoying each other’s company more and more as the espressos went down. As I got into the Honda, I decided that if they ended up sleeping together, I’d promptly become a lesbian, then banished the thought.
Jonathan’s gate was open like a mouth ready to swallow me whole. I parked in his driveway and shut the car, sitting there for a second and watching the bougainvillea vine swing in the autumn wind. The yellow pad I’d been working on stuck out of my bag. I’d dashed off some notes during my talk with Kevin and Darren, but the page with my fears about Jonathan remained.
What if he collars me? Slaps me? Spanks me? Bites me? Fucks me in the ass? Whips me? Hurts me? Displays me? Gags me? Blindfolds me? Shares me? Humiliates me? Ties me down? Makes me bleed? Fucks me up? Chocks my mouth open. Pulls my hair. Fucks my face. Calls me whore. Tells me to lick the floor. Destroys me. Makes me hate myself. Turns me into an animal.
I dug around my bag and found a pencil. I leaned the pad against the steering wheel and crossed out some things. It was probably wildly incomplete, but a starting point.
What if he collars me? Slaps me? Spanks me? Bites me? Fucks me in the ass? Whips me? Hurts me? Displays me? Gags me? Blindfolds me? Shares me? Humiliates me? Ties me down? Makes me bleed? Fucks me up? Chocks my mouth open. Pulls my hair. Fucks my face. Calls me whore. Tells me to lick the floor. Destroys me. Makes me hate myself. Turns me into an animal.
My remaining list didn’t leave him with much room to maneuver, but I didn’t see any of the crossed-out stuff as negotiable. The front door opened, casting a brighter light on my paper. Jonathan stepped out and went to the edge of the porch. Clutching my little pad, I got out of the car.
He leaned over the railing. “I thought you’d passed out in there.” His hand gripped the railing, and in the light, each vein, each bone, each hair came to life as I imagined it on my body.
“I’m fine.” I went up the porch steps as I’d done twice before, more guarded than the first time and more turned on than the second. He stood to the side of the door, waiting for me to pass. I didn’t.
“You’re not coming in?” he asked.
“I want to say something first.”
He leaned in the entryway. “Okay.”
I had words. I had plenty of words, but they all ran together and made no sense. I handed him the pad. He glanced at me, then down at it. I’d never felt so naked in front of him, even fully clothed in pants and long sleeves. He was looking at my limits. I couldn’t imagine anything more intimate. I felt tingly heat all over my chest and cheeks when he glanced back up at me.
“You forgot to cross off anal sex.”
“I tried it once. Didn’t like it. If you’re better at it, I’ll have another crack.” I paused. “No pun intended.”
He pulled his lips between his teeth. I blinked hard twice, but that was as far as we got before we started laughing. The joke was terrible, but the release of tension turned what should have been a groaner in to a belly laugh. He tried to look at the list again, but started laughing, which made me unable to stop, and we were both wiping tears before he reached for me. I took his hand.
“Your list is good,” he said.
“Really? It seemed like I didn’t leave much.”
“Monica, this should be fun. If we’re not having fun, we’re doing it wrong.” He looked at our clasped hands and softened. “The other day, I said everything in the worst way possible. I like playing, and I know how to do it safely, but I haven’t made a lifestyle out of it. I wasn’t out looking for a submissive, and I haven’t set hooks in the ceilings.”
“So no dungeon?”
“The Historical Society wouldn’t allow it,” he joked.
“Oh please, you could buy and sell the Historical Society.”
I tilted my head up, and he took the signal, kissing me. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Jessica was the last woman I cared about that I discussed this with, and it didn’t go well. None of it did. I was scared you’d run away.”
“And I did.”
“Sure as fuck you did. I was pretty upset.”
“You didn’t seem upset.”
“I have a rich inner life, but that’s where it stays.”
“Really? Nobody
gets in?” I slipped my arms around his waist.
“Can you live with that?” He puts his hands on my cheeks and kissed me. His stubble scraped my face, a rough counterpoint the softness of his lips and the slickness of his tongue.
“No. Not for long.”
“I’d like to see how long.” He kissed me in earnest, pressing his body to mine. He felt good. Delicious. Warm and supple with his hands on my back and his open mouth on mine.
I could have kissed him for hours, but I didn’t have the luxury. I kept my body close to his while moving my mouth away. “I need a test night. Like a trial run. To see if I’m scared.”
“Boo.” He dragged his lips down my neck and pushed his hands up my shirt.
“I mean it.”
“Okay. You just smell perfect. And also...” He pulled far enough away to look into my eyes. “I’m blocked. I have everything I want from you, and I can’t think of anything to do. I have too many options.”
I pushed him away, smiling. “You’re supposed to stand in the doorway and tell me to get undressed.”
He laughed and stood framed in the warm light of the open door. He looked me up and down. I’d come from the meeting in tight jeans, boots, and a woven long-sleeved shirt with a daunting number of buttons.
“That outfit’s bulletproof,” he said.
“Sorry.” I started unbuttoning the shirt.
“No,” he said, his smile an infectious disease spreading all over his face. “Stop. Let’s start over. Come up the steps.”
He slipped into the house and closed the door behind him. Okay. He wanted to start over in the right frame of mind. I went down the porch steps and back up slowly. I knocked on the door and stepped back, clearing my throat. It seemed like two full minutes before the door opened, and he was there again, wearing the same shirt and linen pants, in his sock feet, smile in dormancy, but there at the corners of his mouth.
“Monica.”
“Jonathan.”
“It’s good to see you.”
“And you.”
“Turn around.”
My breathing immediately got heavier, pooling between my legs as I turned my back to him.
“Unbutton your pants.” His voice had gotten half an octave deeper and more staccato at the hard consonants. The change in it made laughter impossible.
I yanked my belt loose, unbuttoned my jeans, and pulled down the zipper, then put my hands back at my sides.
“Good girl.”
I felt him get closer behind me. He stuck his thumbs in my waistband and tugged down my jeans. In three heaves, they were mid-thigh, with my panties still protecting my ass.
“Now,” he said, putting his hand on my back, “when I say bend over, you do it from the waist.”
“Okay.”
“Do it.”
I bent over until my nose was inches from my knees. He put his hand on my ass and a finger in my panties, slipping under them to feel me. I gasped.
“You’re wet.”
“Yes.”
“What were you thinking about while you were waiting out here?”
“Nothing.”
“This is only fun if we’re honest.” He pulled my underwear down and circled my opening with his finger. “So say it.”
Through my knees, I could see his legs behind me and the open door of the house. I closed my eyes. “I was imagining you’d come through the door. You put your hand at the back of my neck and grabbed my hair. You kissed me. Then you pulled me down until I was kneeling. You had your dick out. I don’t know how, but it’s a fantasy, and you did it really fast. And you put your cock to my lips, and I took you in my mouth. You sighed really loud.”
“Then what?”
“I started over. Did it a little differently. Maybe more kissing. Or I went to one knee instead of both.”
“So it was that moment.”
“Yes.”
He put two fingers in me. I groaned.
“Another time. Maybe. When you trust me completely.” He leaned over, brushing his free hand against my neck and shoulder, and pulled me up to standing, telling me what he wanted with a slight pressure. He pulled out his fingers and reached around me with his other hand, cupping my chin. “Open.”
I opened my mouth, and he put in the two fingers he’d just removed from me.
“This is what I taste when I eat you.”
I sucked his fingers, savoring the sex on them, the taste of arousal filling my mouth, my tongue licking his hard fingers. His erection pressed against my ass. His other hand pressed against my belly, pulling me against him. He took his fingers out of my mouth and put them back on my cheek, leaving dampness in their wake.
“You turned on?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“If I do anything that changes that, you let me know.”
I nodded.
“I didn’t hear that.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
At once, I rebelled against the suggestion that I call him by an honorary, but at the same time, I wanted desperately to complete the act of surrender. “Yes, sir.”
“You just gave me a little palpitation.”
“I am at your service.”
He brushed my hair from my ear and spoke softly. “Your knees, darling. Turn around and make use of them.”
I stumbled a little as I tried to get on my knees in my half pulled-down pants. He took my elbow and helped me. Kneeling eye-level to his crotch, I watched him undo his pants and pull out his dick. I wanted it. I wanted to suck it dry. He took me by the back of the head and put his cock to my lips. I waited a second before opening my mouth and giving him complete power over me.
“Like you did it at the club,” he said. “Open all the way for me.”
He pushed his hips forward, and I took him, all of him, down my throat. I groaned for him, vibrating, concentrating on keeping open, accepting, concentrating on his pleasure, which peaked my own. It wasn’t long before his thrusts became less gentle, more erratic.
“God, Monica. Get ready...” He groaned loudly, and the sticky bite of his semen filled my mouth and throat. He slowed, still coming.
I couldn’t close my lips, so my mouth dripped his fluid. He thrust twice more then fell out of me. I looked up at him as he stroked my hair.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
He whipped out one of those expensive hankies and wiped my mouth. It felt smooth and warm. “You change when you call me sir,” he said as he helped me up.
“It turns me on.”
“It’s only for when we’re together like this.”
I nodded. He pulled me to him by the waist and kissed me hard and deep. I didn’t know if I was supposed to put my arms around him, so I kept them at my sides until he lifted them over his shoulders, and I embraced him fully.
“You’re both the best and worst submissive I’ve ever met.”
“And you’re the only dominant I’ve ever met.”
“I want to be your last. I want to ruin you for other men.”
“Better get cracking then, Drazen.”
“Sir.”
“Drazen, sir.”
He smirked. “Leave your clothes on the porch. Then, upstairs with you. There’s one door open.”
He watched as I pulled my boots off, wiggled out of my jeans, then unbuttoned my shirt. I didn’t do it in a lascivious way, using only the most functional movements to complete the task. When I was naked head to toe, he moved to the side so I could get past him. He took my hand, and I went upstairs in front of him.
My heart beat so hard I could barely breathe. I was doing it. The thing on the porch was an appetizer. Upstairs, I’d be his completely. I could do it. I had to. My soaking, pulsing sex demanded it. My hard nipples insisted on it. My come-covered throat required it.
I felt his eyes on my ass as I got to the top of the stairs. All the hall doors were closed except one, and it wasn’t the one I’d been to twice before.
> “Go on,” he said.
I went through the open door. The difference between the two bedrooms I’d been in was more than the size, with the new one being bigger by fifty percent. The room was finished, lived in, and full of personal objects and photographs. The rug was worn where a man might lay his feet in the morning and night. The night table on one side held books, a half-empty glass of water, and a box of tissues.
“This is your room.”
“Yes, darling.” He ran his fingertips down my arms. “Get on the bed. On your back, please.”
The bed was higher than the other. I crawled up and rolled over. The down comforter was cool on my back, soft on the feather bed.
Jonathan put his hands between my knees and spread them apart, then pulled them up, bending them until my heels touched my ass. I groaned from his touch and the act of obeying it.
“Stay there,” he said. He got undressed, tossing his things on a leather chair while I lay on the bed, pussy and asshole up in the air. I watched his biceps tighten and release as he got his shirt off. His cock bounced out of his pants again. Naked, he slid on top of me and kissed my breasts and the diamond in my navel. I put my hands on his head, trying to push him down, but he wasn’t being moved.
“So, the receipt from the clinic?” he started.
“Yes?”
“When does that birth control thing kick in?” he asked, coming face to face.
“Because of when I had my period last... uuuuuhm.... I have to figure it because the doctor said it was real important.” I pretended to count on my fingers and tapped my cheek like I was thinking, screwing my eyes around.
“Monica, please.” He played at annoyed, but he was smiling.
“Immediately.”
He buried his face in my neck. “And I’m clean. What do you think?”
“You’re the boss.”
“This has to be more of a consensus.”
I touched his face. He’d already ruined me for other men. “Yes,” I said. “I want to feel you.”
“You’ve overwhelmed me twice in one night.”
“Don’t freeze up on me on my first night of submission.”
He straightened his arms, holding his body over me. “What happened to freaked-out Monica?”
