Sword of the Butterfly

by Scott Carruba

  She enjoys the attention, losing herself in it, feeling a dissolving of the anxiety that had been rising in her. They are isolated enough within this booth that they have mayhap entered their own universe. She wonders at the worlds built within this place, various sections and divisions to suit the varied tastes and imaginations.

  And then the spell is broken.

  She senses it, opening her eyes, not even sure if she realized they had closed, and she feels a slowing of his attentions, knowing that he has also noticed it. The two young men from the bathroom stand nearby, cavorting in that same manner. Sniggering to themselves and at others, undertaking a general show of disrespect.

  Their attention veers toward the bar, and she leans forward, peering, and she sees the very same person from the bathroom. It appears the two have decided to continue their insulting treatment. Skot registers that the person they are making fun of appears to be a cross dresser or a male to female transsexual. He also notices that others at the bar do not seem very appreciative of the behavior of the two, but no one says or does anything.

  Then some words are exchanged, the victim stepping closer, obviously very agitated, and delivers some sharp retort, a renunciation of their behavior. Skot hears sounds, but they are too far, the music too loud, for him to make out the details. He notes that one of the two puts on an act of being scared, evincing his immaturity all the more, while the other gives a somewhat worrisome smirk as though eager for violence.

  Before anything further happens, the other person turns and goes back to the bar, disappearing in the throng of people. Some of them even appear to be now acting as quasi-guardians, having turned to face the two men, giving stern, reproachful looks. All this does is perhaps deter them from pursuit, but they continue their giggling. The shorter, slim one nudges his friend, and Skot thinks they are turning to leave, but then, when he points, somewhat subtly but obvious enough, at them, he realizes it is not over. The other alights his eyes on them, then follows as his friend takes a few steps nearer.

  He glances down at Lilja, his hand placed protectively on her neck and shoulder, as if she were needful of such, then he moves his eyes back up to the duo. They do not come too close, but near enough, and their focus is now obviously on them. The one with the longer hair points, hiding his mouth as he speaks to his friend, who nods, slowly, then the other laughs. Then there are words that reach them, though still not entirely legible, but a remark is made regarding Lilja being in her proper place.

  “Skot?”

  He looks down, his adrenalin spiking, tension rising, but she looks rather controlled, his name having been uttered rather calmly.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you please unhook the leash?”

  He does so, and once done, she stands, going toward the pair. Skot immediately notices the relative height disparity, and he realizes she has slipped off her shoes.

  The ponytailed one widens his eyes, mocking her, reeling back, and again putting on the display of mock fear, acting as though he is going to hide behind his larger friend. She walks in front of the pair, facing them with a strict and freezing stare.

  “You have ten seconds to leave us alone.”

  “Or what?” the larger one replies, arms now folded.

  “Or I will break your fucking arm and throw you out myself,” she answers, her tone sharp and cold, that steely, icy gaze not faltering in the least.

  She has already sized them up, determining that neither has any formal training in fighting based on how they stand, imbalanced, unprepared for any real threat. They obviously do not think of her as one, either, for the smaller guy goes through his now common routine, eyes widening, the afraid act, then he loses himself in a bout of semi-stifled laughter. The larger one just continues to give out that awkward smirk.

  Skot wonders if he ought to stand up. He worries of it, though. The two may not be inclined at all to physically harm a woman, but if he engages the situation, he provides them with a male adversary. He is also unhappy with their behavior, and he thinks his inaction as somewhat condoning it. They are also being very disrespectful to her and to him. This may not still warrant a physical response, but they should be stopped.

  He breathes an inaudible sigh of relief when two rather large, black-garbed men show up, both security here, their somewhat tight t-shirts identifying them as such along with the ear piece sported by one. The two other guys turn, looking like kids caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but then the larger one speaks.

  “She threatened to break my arm.”

  But before anything else may happen, a swell of people from the bar comes forward, all but delivering an onslaught of words to the guards, the prior person of their attention at the vanguard. By the time two more security show up, the situation is diffused and determined, and a small smattering of applause results as the two young men are escorted out.

  Lilja returns, having exchanged a few brief words with one of the guards, and she sits back at his feet, turning and offering the ring of her collar as though nothing untoward or stressful had just passed. Skot blinks, exhaling through his nose, and he reattaches the leash. He looks at her for a bit, but she seems to be focused elsewhere, and when she leans her head against the outside of his right thigh, he goes back to petting her.

  Their drive home later that evening is uneventful.

  They have engaged in some fun and play on their way home many a night out, some being more casual flirting, some evolving into full blown sexual activity. He steals glances at her as they make their way to the townhouse, feeling a mingling of worry and enticement at her aspect and appearance. She does not appear upset, but some distance now shows. A placement of his hand on her leg, gets him a short glance and smile, but nothing more. He tries further, moving his touch up along her slender, well-toned thigh. She gives him another very light smile, and she lays her own hand atop his, squeezing, and effectively holding it there. He does not try more.

  Once home, he is taken by that sense of conflict and confusion. He is aroused by her, brought along that wave almost as though against his will, and he wants to take her, be with her. They walk inside, the sound of her heels resounding off the hardwood floors. The reports slow, then go quiet. He stops behind her, gazing upon her form.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, not facing him.

  “Why, Lily?” Skot moves in, placing his hands high up on her arms.

  She turns, shifting her eyes to his, seeming to have to force the connection.

  “For the trouble I caused at the Ball.”

  “You didn’t cause any trouble,” he is quick to reply, smiling at her warmly.

  “I should have ignored those guys. I ruined the evening.”

  “No, Lily.” He embraces her. “You did not ruin anything, and the evening is not yet over.”

  They remain like that for a time, then he feels her pulling back. It worries him, but he sees that she pulls in a breath then drops to her knees and nuzzles into his crotch. He is taken by it, a bit startled, though he shows none of this. There is also an undeniable surge at his loins. He watches her, and she turns those eyes back up to his, and there is an altogether different appearance to them now.

  “I was a bad Pet. I’m sorry.”

  “You are not a bad Pet.”

  “We went there to have fun,” she continues, still nuzzling, and he feels her chin moving along the growing length of his organ, “And I got too upset by those guys. It could have been bad. I was bad. I ought to be punished.”

  He reaches down with his right hand, caressing the side of her face, and she presses into that touch, turning to kiss his palm.

  “Are you mine, Pet?”

  She nods, then kisses his thumb, turning her head to slip her lips about it, suckling the length, looking back up at him as she nods again. “Mmhmm.”

  “Good,” he intones, the pace of his voice smooth and slow, “Then I will punish you, but not for what you did at the Ball, just because.”

  She nods again,
still pulling on his thumb with the suction of her alluring mouth.

  He places gentle pressure on her jaw. “Get up now, and I want you to go to the bedroom and take off all your clothes, except your shoes, turn to face the bed, and wait there.”

  She nods again, rising, and he watches the shift and tease of what little light there is as it plays over her latex dress, suggesting along her curves. He does not wait long before he follows, but he does try to give her enough time.

  When he enters the room, she has done as told, standing nude save for her high heels, facing the bed. He drinks in the sight of her spectacular body, noting the accentuations as found by the dim illumination emanating from outside the room. He takes his time, letting her ponder, and he moves to the nightstand, removing two items, one of which is a lighter. Soon enough, he has brought a few candles to flame to add to the ambience, hoping to increase the warmth of their sharing.

  He then moves to stand behind her, very close. He can hear her breathing. He inhales her scent, then uses his free hand to collect her hair, holding it somewhat tightly, and he moves it aside, pulling, and her head tilts in that direction. He then leans in, placing kisses on her nape, increasing the intensity of the affections as he does until he is using his teeth. Her breath pulls in quicker than before, more audible, then follows with a slightly stunted exhale as he applies the most pressure yet. He then stops, letting go of her hair and stepping back.

  “Get on the bed, Pet, on your hand and knees.”

  He watches as she does so, continuing to look over her enticing form. She glances over, briefly, then lowers her head, causing an arch to her back and a greater prominence to her rear end.

  She starts when she feels the first spank, the first sharp touch of the black leather paddle. A grunted exhalation is released on the second which quickly follows, then a third, and more, and before long she is emitting short, sharp whimpers. He does not stop until he has delivered a dozen at least, taking his time between each, savoring it, noticing the subtle change of color to her flesh. Lilja feels the tingling burn as her skin flushes, taking on a pink shade atop its usual pale.

  He stops, setting the paddle atop the bed, and he gently caresses her behind, rubbing and squeezing, and she emits a light sound of pleasure, moving her hips as he does so. He lets his fingertips move teasingly close to her pussy, but he does not directly touch. He bends at the waist, adding some gentle kisses to her skin, and another humming response emerges from her throat.

  He picks up the paddle, and he sees as she stiffens in anticipation. A shudder, almost imperceptible, courses through her lithe form as he sets the paddle against her right butt cheek. He does not resume the spanking, instead rubbing over her with the instrument. He pulls away then, letting her again expect and wonder, but again, he does not spank. He walks away, and she visibly relaxes. He ponders blindfolding her, but she does not overly follow him with her eyes.

  When next he stands behind her, he holds the black flog. She takes in another, short breath when the ends of the lengths touch and caress over her back, that intake turning to a pleasant hum. She has felt the sting of this one before, too, many times, and she has some idea what to expect. He spends some more moments just moving the tentacle-like strands over her back and rear end, and she begins writhing with it, moving her body sinuously.

  Then the whipping continues, and she gasps, taken unawares as he has lulled her. The sound of the flog is quite different than that of the paddle, and the sensation it delivers is also different, deceptive, sometimes giving one a sense of ease as though there will be no intense pain. After some time, though, of the rippling strikes, that changes. Her whimpers rise to cries, even moans, and soon that pink shade to her lovely skin has spread. He pauses many times to tease at her flesh with the lengths, giving way to a riotous array of sensations.

  When he stops, her breathing has increased. She holds herself taut, eyes closed, all but trembling, and he experiences his own surge of arousal to see her thusly. He feels his erection pushing at his trousers, wanting to be released. He wonders where she is, mentally, if she has retreated into a more private space of her own, riding and reeling over the many feelings.

  He takes his time disrobing, his eyes kept on her the whole time. He sees her from the side, bent there on the bed, still catching her breath, still with her head down on the covered mattress, the duvet showing signs of having been pulled by her grasping hands. Her eyes open when the sound of his zipper interrupts the other noises, and though she does not raise her head, he sees the gleam in her eyes, and she tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “Turn onto your back, Pet.”

  She gives a very brief nod, doing as told, and he sees the rise and fall of her pert breasts, the nipples quite firm and pointed atop that soft flesh. He reaches forward, hands sliding under and grabbing her slender thighs, and he tugs her down so that she is on the edge. He slowly removes her shoes, depositing them on the floor.

  Her legs stay spread, held up and apart by her more than capable muscles. He glances at her naked pubis, then back up to her, and she smiles shyly. He then takes his stiff cock in hand and nudges in, pressing it against her delicate lips, pushing forward with his hips to glide it along the length of her pussy, massaging her with it.

  She gasps, and he is inclined to agree. He can feel the wetness there, the deep, nigh undeniable invitation. He wants to be inside her, but he manages to refrain. He feels a throbbing as her hips gyrate slowly, then shudder somewhat as he travels again over the rising bud of her clit.

  “Oh, Skot, I want you inside me,” she pleads.

  He can take no more, so he now guides the swollen crown of his cock into her wet depths, finding her open, eager, and receptive. He slides his length within, delving until he can go no further. She emits another sharp gasp, and he responds with a lower, more forceful exhalation. He moves his hands to her thighs, holding her legs down, using her flexibility as he pushes his weight upon her, thrusting himself in and out of her moist channel.

  She clutches about him as he penetrates her, replying to his drive with presses of her pelvis and flexing of her muscles. She knows he likes this, though it generally results in a quicker conclusion to their lovemaking. She does not mind, wanting this more for him than herself. She knows he is attentive to her, sometimes almost obsessively insistent, but she feels it is important to please him right now.

  She holds her arms up, slid under the many pillows, grabbing at them, then finding the top of the covers, discerning that they provide greater resistance, so she pulls and tugs at them, writhing and gyrating, feeling the surges of pleasure, but mainly hoping he likes what he sees.

  She feels him release her thighs and lean forward, groping and fondling of her breasts, and she moves her legs about him, grabbing of him as she crosses her ankles, using her strength to hold him tight and pull him closer. He falls more forward, though still held back by his feet being on the ground, and he kisses her chest and neck, then finds her mouth. They gasp and moan together, their hips thrusting as they exchange the meeting of lips and tongue, speaking in a universal language of need and love.

  She wants this, though she is still often taken with the doubt that she does not know truly what it is or how to attain it. She trusts in him, wants to make him happy, and she knows he cares deeply for her. And the pleasure, they do bring each other pleasure, and as her thoughts return more to the now, she can tell he is close.

  “Please cum for me, Skot, please,” she begs.

  “I will, Pet, for you.”

  She holds him even tighter, arms and legs about him, and he thrusts harder, harder, but it does not take much, and soon he expends himself inside her, his noises louder now, his back taut, legs also strained, as he feels his orgasm take him.

  They remain in their close embrace, catching their breaths, feeling the warm, sweaty flesh, experiencing the headiness they have created. After a time, he moves, kissing her, which she returns, then he moves from atop her, and he reaches fo
r a nearby nightstand, retrieving a folded towel from one drawer.

  “Do you need this?” he asks her.

  “No, thank you,” she murmurs, barely shaking her head, then she shifts to something more comfortable, pulling herself up to rest on a pillow, curling into a quasi-fetal position, her back now to him.

  He moves closer to her, placing a hand on her, touching of her gently.

  “That’s nice,” she finally comments, her voice an airy whisper.

  “Lily?”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  It takes a moment, but she finally turns onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. He continues to softly caress her with his one hand, looking upon her with obvious concern.

  “Those two guys … back at the Ball …”

  He nods, stifling his own urge to give voice, letting her speak.“I was very angry with them, too angry, and I was staring at them, ready … and I was half-expecting their eyes to glow red.”

  “What?” he says, brow furrowing, “You thought they might be demons?”

  “No.” She exhales noisily. “Of course not, but … I was so taken by anger, even a sort of fear and paranoia, I guess, and I was almost willing it, like thinking, ‘show yourself, so I can deal with you’.”

  He pulls in a slow breath, so many things there on the edge of his lips, but he remains quiet, thinking. She seems to be doing the same. Instead of speaking further, he helps to pull the covers back, then settles himself in close to her, both of them now fully on their sides. He slips his arms about her, cuddling into her backside, kissing her gently.

  They both eventually fall asleep.

  *****

  He sits in the secluded booth, the sense of isolation more delivered via the fact that there is more space around him than most of the others in here. The place is a somewhat nice drinking establishment, and judging from the décor and most of those inside, it sprang up to provide service to a particular subset of the multicultural city.