Crossings
4. Quršu
Another morning of brilliant sunshine, a breakfast of grilled fish at the concierge-recommended taco stand, everything as delicious as it should’ve been, Mariano getting a few wondering looks from curious locals who saw the three of us together.
Another day of reading and contemplation, the road bending away from the sea and not reaching it again until we were almost at our destination, a spacious beachfront rental house near Guaymas, arriving in mid-afternoon. Mariano did all the driving, Callie in the back seat with me, maybe slightly uncomfortable behind her newly wavy hair and lipstick and long red glossy nails and full shapely breasts filling out a shirt that once hung comfortably loose but was now stretched almost to its limit even with more buttons than usual unfastened. Her bras no longer fit—I suppose she could’ve magically made that happen but I was glad she hadn’t. The rear windows were now tinted, and I was not permitted to touch her, or to look at anything other than her bare feet, and that only a glance at a time. I focused on reading, and contemplating, enjoying the touch of her hand or her thigh against me whenever she gifted it. We stopped once, for lunch at a place in a crossroads town Mariano heard of from someone at breakfast, roasted chicken and carne asada and a bathroom, and while I knew eyes were on us, we could gently avert unwanted gazes if necessary. Callie wasn’t accustomed to anything like this, dressed and accoutred as an object of desire, but I knew she wanted to look this way. For me. Goddess, I love Callie.
The house was in a manicured neighborhood of new homes, walls or high fences around many of them, several landscaping trucks but very few cars parked on the street. Chunky brown tile floors, area rugs and heavy dark wood furniture throughout. An enormous bathroom suite, a big raised freestanding tub its focus and its center. Callie told us she would spend until almost sunset in there, alone. She sent Mariano for takeout and to fill up her SUV’s tank. This place had its own guest house, big enough for a couple. Mariano would sleep there, but until it was time to bring food, and then again until midnight or so, she decisively dismissed him.
Aside from that fabulous bath the biggest attraction of this place was its garden. Not the pool with the waterfall, not the large jacuzzi. Irrigated, as such a place in this part of the world must be. It had a raised one-armed chaise in its center, under a kind of thatch-roofed gazebo with a view of the sea and a gate leading down to a dock, a sail yacht resting alongside; it seemed like a delightful place to be fed grapes and fanned.
I heard her singing in the bath, where I was not welcome until 45 minutes before sunset—it was on me to figure out precisely when that might be.
It’s only you, he’ll sayMade the young boy hungry for the man he is todayIt’s only love, love, love, loveCan make you feel this way
Callie’s voice is not one of her greatest virtues, but I still loved to hear it, just as I loved everything else about her. I stayed to listen outside the door and a couple minutes later her song changed to one I know and dearly love, but slower and more sensuous than I’d ever heard, Callie putting her whole heart into it, as if accompanying a solo piano that only she could hear.
I met a woman, she had a mouth like yoursShe knew your life, she knew your devils and your deedsShe said “Go to him, stay with him if you canBut be prepared to bleed.”
“Bob, go out and get me something nice,” I heard her say, almost inaudible through the door, but much more clearly in my mind, a kind of communication I’d never shared before. “There’s also massage oil in the linen closet. Bring them to me, no clothes on, when it’s time. Mariano will stage the tapas and bring a mojito when we leave the bath.”
I returned two hours later with several things from an open-air market near one of the local resorts including three quetzal feather extensions ready to be integrated into her hair and an extravagant antique necklace of gold, jade, lapis lazuli, and an emerald pendant that took me 10 minutes to even be permitted to see—I don’t think I would’ve gotten even that far if I hadn’t wanted the feathers—plus three bouquets that I transferred to vases, then brought everything to the bathroom door, listening through it in case she was still singing, and she was, to another inaudible slow piano, her voice rising. It was almost time to enter.
I’ve been alone too many nightsTo think that you could come back againAnd I’ve heard you talk, said “She’s crazy to stay”But this love hurts me so, I don’t care what you say
The time came and I opened the door. Three vases, three gifts wrapped in natural cloth, her oil and a glass of cool water took three trips, but I’d placed everything just outside. She watched me, underwater except for her head and slender neck, but her hair was wet. There were candles and incense lit throughout the room, burning, flickering, wavering, reflecting from her shining skin just as the sun streamed through skylights onto high parts of rafters on the east side of the room.
She looked sleek, and smiling the way she was at me, wearing eyeliner and something like kohl to emphasize her eyebrows for the first time I’d ever seen, her gold earrings shaped like ... candle flames(?) with a small green gem near the top, its color a counterpoint to her beautiful mostly-green eyes, the earring’s shape also suggesting her ...
“That’s right, my good slave, I want you to look at me,” she said, and now I couldn’t look away. Her face, her neck, her hair, shining in reflected light, an island of stability in a room of wavering, indirect light like shadows gibbering around the room’s one true emanence. When I met her I think she didn’t understood how beautiful she was, but seeing herself through my eyes the way she had, the way she could now, she was starting to appreciate that loveliness, inside and out. Goddess, I love Callie.
“I know you’ve been listening,” she said, her smile fading, though I could tell she was trying hard to be stern when her heart and mind wanted to be joyful. “Sing to me. It’s your turn now, my good slave.”
I’ve only done karaoke that one time, but I’ve also watched others; some take it very seriously indeed, far beyond what I expected, but I tried, thinking fast to think of a song to fit the mood.
Come take controlJust grab aholdOf my body and mindSoon we’ll be making it, honey
She was smiling again. “Good slave,” she whispered, then her smile faded. “But don’t be too sure. Bob, my love, until we arrive at Mariano’s sanctuary, nothing that happens between us will be like anything you’ve experienced before. Are you ready for that?”
“Yes, my goddess,” I said softly.
“Good slave,” she said. “Now come closer.” She rose as I came near, water streaming from her sleek, graceful, lovely figure, more muscular now, not a bodybuilder’s form like Mari’s, just what it’d been before but more so, the strong supple body of an athlete. The tub was two steps up so her eyes were higher than mine, her breasts much bigger than they’d ever been, standing out from her chest, so full, so soft, her wet nipples erect from evaporative cooling or from her arousal. It was a such a different look for her, but she wore it spectacularly. Naked as I was, my response was unmistakeable. Her eyes flicked down and she smiled. “Good slave,” she whispered, then slowly raised her arms above her head, long fingers and long red nails, turned even more slowly, so graceful. Her shapely calves, her strong legs, her wonderful ass even more prominent than before, her lovely back, slender shoulders, triceps more defined, body so warm, shining in the flickering light. She finished her turn, facing me again, lowered her hands, pointed one long-nailed finger to the floor just outside the tub, and my body went to its knees.
“Show me your devotion, slave,” she said, and placed her dripping wet foot on the edge of the tub. I gently kissed the top of her toes, then the top of her arch. “Good slave,” she said, smiling. “Now here,” touched the tip of her finger to her clitoral hood and I kissed her there, too, a gentle kiss, brief and reverent. “Such a good slave,” she whispered, then took my head in her hands, the tips of her sharp nails touching my jaw and around the back of my neck almost to the top of my skull.
“Deeper,” she said, and I kissed her there more deeply, reaching the tip of my tongue just inside.
“Yes,” she said, then moved my head away, tilted it up so I could see her gaze.
“Good slave,” she said softly. “You do well to show devotion ... a woman’s vulva is the goddess’ greatest gift to her children, women and men. Life begins here, the wellspring of life and love, the center of my physical power, of your desire for me and mine for you, a desire it governs wisely, a desire I control, just as you accept that control. You desire it so much, to be blessed inside me, to feel me around you just as my essence envelops you, a place of shared pleasure, of supreme joy for me and for you, for both of us, to show devotion for such a gift is only natural, the way Goddess intended, the way I intend. I want you to, and you know you need to.” She let go my head and pointed to her foot again. “Show me your devotion,” she said.
I kissed the top of her toes and then the top of her arch, just lightly, no tongue.
“Keep going,” she said, and I kissed her ankle and then her shin, both sides of her shapely calf and then her knee and the swell of her strong quadricep, more soft kisses as I rose, and then, slowly, to her salt-sweet entrance and then up the edge of one outer lip.
“Deeper,” she said, and as I kissed her, the tip of my tongue touched the point of her pleasure. She shivered, then I felt her hands on my head, pushing me away, tilting my head up, pointing to her other foot.
“Yes,” she said as my lips touched her toes, then I kissed my way up her other beautiful leg.
“Good slave,” she said, sighing and shivering. She was much more lubricated now, fairly brimming with her innermost draught. “Yes, taste me,” she said, and my tongue entered her, swirling, bringing as much of her into my mouth as I could. She tasted of jasmine, which I could also smell in her bathwater, as well as her own taste and scent that I loved so much.
I felt her hands and the tips of her nails on my head again, moved away and looked up.
“It’s so beautiful, so full of wonder and magic, my center, my core, such perfection, such confection, such a beautiful part of me, such a beautiful part of us, the best part of us, so worthy of devotion, of adoration, of exactly this kind of worship. So beautiful. Tell me, slave.”
“I love this part of you, my goddess, I love every part ...”
Her sharp nails tightened on my skin. It hurt.
“As much as you love every other part of me, and it is right that you do, my breasts, my legs, my beautiful strong bottom, I know how much you cherish them, the sight of them, the feel of them above you, under you, around you, this is the part of me you’ll adore tonight, showing your devotion, your longing, your desire, your submission. You will worship, right here, and in worshipping this part of me you will show your devotion to me, just the way I want, just the way you need, the way you need most. Do you understand, slave?”
“I understand, my goddess,” I said. Her grip loosened.
“Good slave,” she said, then put her raised foot back into the water and sank back into the tub until only her head, the tips of her full breasts and her hips and mons and vulva were clear of the water, her strong quadriceps just under the surface.
“Adore me, my good slave,” she said, and pointed the way. “No touching me anywhere else. Only your mouth, just the way I want.”
I slithered over the tail of the tub, my hands on its side, suspending myself above her, lowered myself until I could tease her parted outer lips from below her entrance all the way up. She was shaven ’til halfway, merely close-clipped above. My tongue made the transition between bare skin and short hairs again and again, stopping and circling just around her clitoris, teasing, down again and then the other side. Callie closed her eyes, sighed, laid back against the head of the tub.
I could feel inside her; she was relaxing, letting sensation do what it would, distancing herself but knowing this was only a delay, wanting sensation to overtake conscious feeling, awareness drifting, trusting what she’d begun with me, first at the caldera, everywhere and everything and everyone we’d shared since. Trusting me. Just as I trusted her. I felt so blessed to trust someone this much, even more than I trusted Jess and Dani, and Kelsey and Stu (and Joanna!), as I’d once trusted Sati, and Morgan was still an unknown, but ... fuck ... thinking of Morgan was a distraction to this thing I was doing with Callie, who was ... was ... the love of my life.
Yes, the love of my life. Would anything else I could ever experience compare?
“Good slave,” Callie whispered, as if she knew my thoughts, which of course she did. Her attempt to distance sensation from awareness was now completely ruined, and she gave in to it. My tongue, teasing and lapping and pulsing and penetrating, her hands reaching to my head, pulling me closer.
“Oh, goddess, yes,” she gasped, and then she was coming. A long breathless exhale, squirming, wriggling under me, a breath sharply indrawn and then more soft sounds of deep ecstasy, me mostly backing off, maintaining contact but letting her ever-increasing pleasure guide where I went next.
I could feel another peak approaching, and she could feel me feeling that, but, her hands already on my head, she pushed me away.
“Such a good slave, devoted to my pleasure, I like that so much, but ...” she slapped me in the face. “I control my pleasure, I control your response, I control ... you,” she said, then slapped me again on the other cheek. These were hard, open-handed slaps and she was stronger than she’d ever been before, which was pretty damned strong. She’d said she was stronger than me now, and I had no reason to doubt anything she said, but, never mind any of that, my face fucking hurt.
“Watch,” she said, then put a hand to herself, all five long fingers and nails extended, circling one fingertip. “Follow my finger,” she said, her eyes closing. “Follow it as it ... circles, around and around, so ... uhhh ... so gently, so hard to look away from, such beautiful long red nails, around and around, so relaxing, finishing what you started, you’re wishing so much that I was doing this to ... uhhhh ... to you ... feels so good to let go to sensation, to relaxation, to my control, to ... uhhhhh ... to letting your mind float, your body so ... uhhhhhh ... ,” and then she gasped, and moaned “oh Bob, don’t look away” and she was coming again.
“Get up,” she said some indeterminate time later, her voice stronger, me returning from some trance-like state that I don’t remember entering, and I unslithered from the tub. She pointed down, to the raised floor just outside.
“Stay,” she said, and I dropped, my forehead pressed to the tile. “Withdraw your extrasense,” she said, and I felt it pull back from around me. It was almost like closing my eyes or plugging my ears ... so much other awareness I’d grown used to, now gone. She stepped out of the tub, her feet on either side of my head.
“Show me your devotion, slave,” she said. “Just my feet.”
I kissed the tops of her toes and then up the top of her arch.
“The other foot,” she said, and I did the same there. I felt the tips of her sharp nails touching my neck.
“Apologize,” she said.
I took a deep breath. Why was I expected to apologize? Her nails pressed harder into me, making it clear I wasn’t going anywhere until I did as she asked, what she demanded.
“Do it, slave,” she said.
“I’m sorry, my goddess, I didn’t ...” Her nails pressed harder, almost enough to penetrate skin.
“Try harder,” she said.
“I’m sorry, my goddess, I ... please have mercy on me, your servant, your slave, show me compassion and understanding, I’m yours to do with as you want, always and ever.”
She sighed. “Much better, my good slave,” she said. I felt the nails of one of her hands gently stroke down my back from the nape of my neck, a sensation to cause pleasurable shivers, until her hand reached my ass, where her nails dug in. “Don’t move, slave,” she said, and pleasure turned to something else as she dug deeper, but behind that pain was surging bliss. Up and down my back, digging in, deep enough that at first I wondered if she was breaking skin, then I felt it, she was drawing blood, and I could feel it flowing.
“No wondering,” she said. “All you’re feeling now is what I want you to, pain and pleasure mingled, sustenance for your soul, driving away conscious thought until all you experience is me. This is what you get, this is what you want, nothing more than this. Your existence is so much simpler now, all you feel is what I want you to, all you do is what I want. No thoughts, only obedience, sensation, pain and pleasure mingled.”
This is what you wantThis is what you get
Three times up and down my back, hard, an unwelcome overwhelming warmth spreading from the points of painful contact, spreading over my entire back, seeping deep into my body, unwelcome but not, a hurt so good. Her hand stopped on my neck, the tips of her sharp nails still pressing into me.
“Show me your devotion, slave,” she said, and I kissed her feet again, gently, lovingly. “Such a good slave,” she said gently, lovingly. Warmth flowing from the blades of her nails into my neck, down my back, deep into my entire body, no longer painful, a warmth that felt like healing. “Such a good slave,” she whispered. Her foot moved under my chin, her toes raising me and I followed that motion until I was looking up her long shiny-wet legs, her beautiful eyes peering down past full outthrust breasts. I was getting really hard.
“Fetch me a towel,” she said and my body rose to do her bidding. “Dry me,” she said. “Only the towel may touch me. I’m cleansed now, sacred, and any part of you is unworthy unless I ask it.” Since I was as hard as I could be and leaking precum, if she didn’t want that part of me touching her, it’s good that she brought it up, which she had, which ...
“No thoughts,” she said, “only actions, only what I want, only when I tell you.”
I brought the glass of water and two towels, one to dry her and another, fluffier, to keep her warm. I ran the towel up and down her wonderful legs, the extravagant arc of her strong shapely bottom, between her legs, arms, back, belly, her full breasts, her neck, face, around her hair, then back down with the other side of the towel. I really really wanted to press myself against her, to feel her wonderful body against mine, to warm her as she warmed me ...
“No wishing, slave,” she said. “You’re doing what I want, when I want, exactly how I want, exactly as it should be.” She took the damp towel from me, wrapped her long beautiful hair in it. I draped the fluffy dry towel around her shoulders.
“Such a thoughtful slave,” she whispered. “Now bring the oil.”
I moved to the side table where I’d put the massage oil, brought it to her with a pool chaise, removed the towel from her shoulders and spread it on the chaise.
Callie had oil on both her hands, handed the bottle back to me, cupped her breasts, circled her hands around them once, spreading that oil, smiling, long red nails extended, let her hands trail oil down, down her belly, her tummy, splitting to her spread legs, thumbs and forefingers joining to form a rough triangle, framing her glorious sex.
“Oil me,” she said, stepped down to the chaise and lay on the towel, face down. “Keep me warm.” I rubbed my hands together, heating them, poured oil into one palm, warming it, put my hands together over her, then laid them on her lovely back, spread it around, rubbed it in, massaging. There was serious muscle underneath her soft smooth skin, far more than before, what many Olympic athletes could only aspire to. She felt as spectacular as she looked. More oil warming in my hands, more oil spreading on her lovely body. I worked the muscles of her shoulders and back, down to her sacrum, took her magnificent bottom in my hands, spread that much more oil there. It had a subtle scent, more than one scent. Jasmine, rose (hips!), something that might have been (was!) passionflower, and something earthier that I’d never smelled anything like.
“Labdanum,” she said softly. “Keep going, my beautiful slave. No thoughts, only action.”
The back of her legs and knees, the muscle of her shapely calves, squeezing, stroking, up and down, sometimes with my hand in a fist or my forearm, pressing harder, and then her feet. So much pleasure to give her feet. Reflexology, chakra, all mingled, intertwined, parts of the same whole, different areas of her graceful feet linked with different parts of her beautiful body.
Callie sighed happily. I didn’t need extrasense to know how much she was enjoying this, and I kept on. Her sounds of appreciation increased, and I knew she would orgasm if I continued.
She rolled over, looked deep into my eyes. Into my soul.
“Deeper,” she said. Goddess, she had beautiful eyes, such a beautiful body, but the most beautiful thing about her, now as ever, was inside, her spirit, her essence. Morgan’s brother figured that out in just half a minute, bless him ... it’d taken me more than a month, though maybe there had been extenuating ...
“No thoughts,” she said. “Your body is the only thing that matters to me right now, so it’s all that matters to you. Your fingers, hands, arms, pleasing me your only purpose, let your body do that without thinking, do only what I tell you, only what I want. I am your goddess, don’t anger me again.”
A process had begun within me two days ago, some kind of inhibition falling away, a closer awareness of the world, a closer link to Callie. Jess, Dani, Kelsey, Taylor ... Morgan. All these women, these wonderful women, so beautiful to me, I loved them all, even ... and as quickly as that my mind fell away.
“Yes,” she said, and some part of me knew she was smiling. “Good boy ... I’m so pleased with you.” My body thrilled to hear her say it.
I worked her feet without thought, without plan, my body just doing something it already knew, knowing Jess could do even better but taking inspiration from that even though I’d never done anything like this with Callie before. Her breath came faster, I pulled her toes from their top and bottom, squeezed their pads, stroked and gently twisted from their sides, then she was moaning as I pressed thumbs where the ball of her foot joined the more sensitive arch, squeezing around the top of her foot, walked thumbs around and into that arch and finally to her heel, squeezing hard and rotating her ankle, gently squeezing her achilles between thumb and the side of my forefinger, then walking thumbs along the juncture of her arch and heel until her moans increased in intensity, one shallow peak after another like waves on a windward shore, one of my hands moving up to squeeze the pads of her toes again, her pleasure crescendo’ing, and finally it was time to move to her other foot, Callie’s awareness almost as distant as mine now. Eventually my hands moved to her shins, behind to her lovely calves, her knees, working her quads hard, one leg with two hands at a time, fingers tracing gently up to her beautiful center until her hands stopped me.
“Not yet,” she whispered, “my good slave, such a good slave, just oil there for now,” and she released me to gently do as she asked, then, my hands around her hips to her beautiful bottom, up her sides, the sides of her breasts, down to her belly, her solar plexus, the bottom of her full breasts, around and spiraling in between them, gently squeezing her, my thumbs brushing her hard, oiled nipples as she gasped, each breast big enough to need two hands to fully encompass it, gently kneading, then to their sensitive upper slopes, fingertips tracing lightly to her shoulders, working her strong muscles hard, down her arms, twisting and pulling, her breath coming faster again, me moving her arms to cross her breasts and then my thumbs brushing her oiled nipples again as I blew cool air through puckered lips onto them. She cried out, another peak in her pleasure.
I moved to her lithe forearms, sensitive skin on their inside, then to her wrists and hands, those long graceful fingers and dangerous sharp red nails, my skin and blood under them and on her fingers. She put one long nail after another, one fingertip after another into my mouth and I knew she wanted me to lick her clean, my own blood and skin. I was straddling her now, my balls in cleavage made deeper between my upper legs, and Morgan’s leather cord came to her hand, uncoiling by itself around my hips, binding my hard cock tight to my own flat, hard-muscled belly. I worked her cleaned hands just as I had her feet, rotating thumbs around the base of each of her fingers, pressing harder into the muscle on the flat of her palm and then rotating thumbs more gently on its base where it flowed into her wrist, then back up her forearms to her elbows, the strength of her upper arms, her shoulders, gentle strokes on her graceful neck, and then her beautiful face.
First on Callie’s cheeks, my warmed fingertips from under her eyes, against her nose, to her upper lip, up her nose and forehead to her hairline, out to the sides, back down all the way to her jawline, then back up from her chin. Again. And again.
“Relax,” my voice said. “Keep your beautiful eyes closed. Let your awareness out, let it flow, let it be within you and without you. Just enjoy.” She made a small mew of pleasure.
Again.
“Let your body relax,” my voice said, “sink into the towel, let the oil soak into your skin, so relaxing, so warm, fragrant, welcome, so safe here with me in this warm place you’ve chosen for us, where everything happens exactly as you want.”
She twitched as if resisting.
“Deeper,” I said, doing rather than thinking, and she sighed, relaxing.
“Yes,” I said softly, and watched her face relax further. My hands moved to her earlobes, squeezed them, moved slowly up the outside of her ears, squeezing as they went, around the top, traced back down and repeated. She moaned.
“Good girl,” I said, and she sighed, my hands moving to her eyebrows and forehead, thumbs down the sides of her nose to her jaw, back up, fingertips circling her temples as if they were sacred (they were!) before continuing up, back down and around her jaw, up the outside of her cheeks to her hairline, back down and splitting on each side of her nose, my thumbs on her cheeks, her eyes fluttering but staying closed.
“I love you,” I whispered, and she twitched, just a little.
My thumbs alternated circling a point on her forehead, the same place I’d felt our souls join.
“Not yet,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.
My fingers moved to her scalp, rubbing, squeezing, pressure on and off, sometimes appreciating the texture of her hair, sometimes the skin underneath, me still straddling her chest above her ample breasts, enjoying the feel of her skin everywhere it touched mine, my balls maybe four inches from her chin.
Callie’s eyes opened. I stopped moving.
“That’s so nice, my beautiful slave,” she whispered. “I want you inside me,” she said. “I want it so much. Not now, but later, after tapas. It’s time.” She raised one hand to the top of my right leg, one long finger and nail extended. Tapped once. I rose.
“Bring me my robe,” she said, and I did. She pointed to another one, larger, and I put it on. Hers wasn’t so much a robe as a gown, lushly colored, light and shimmery like silk, mine plain and white.
“Mariano,” she said, and he came in through the door. He went to the vases, all three of them. I picked up my other gifts, all three of them.
“A moment,” my voice said. I unwrapped my bundle of gifts and extracted the feathers. She saw them and nodded. I put them into her wavy, tangled, oiled hair, still damp from her bath, just the way I thought they would look best. She smiled.
“Come,” she said, and we processed out to the garden, Mariano leading, me following. There was finger food on seven trays, each on its own stand, like Mariano had brought a fine restaurant with him, seven morsels on each tray.
Sprigs of herbs lay on the central chaise, cilantro and thyme and rosemary, extravagant purple-blue flowers with yellow centers nearby, some kind of peavine (butterfly peas!). They reminded me of ...
Callie lay down, her gown concealing the wonder of her beautiful body, though some part of me knew that wouldn’t be for long. She crooked her finger at me and I came nearer. She pointed at one of the trays and I brought her a morsel. She looked at me in a way every man who loves women hopes a special woman will one day look at him. I fed it to her.
“Mariano,” she said, “eat your fill. And thank you so much for bringing this ... it is magnificent.”
Mariano dipped his head, politely had one item from each tray and another from just one tray, then took his leave. He’d already let us know he would be calling Jess, and he seemed eager to do so, almost impatient.
Each time Callie pointed, I brought her something. Twice she said “You try,” and I did, and every time I did, it was something wonderful. Seven trays, the scallops with the ceviche were amazing, the shredded pork sopitas were even better.
Callie was smiling, reclining, her willing slave (me!) bringing her anything she wanted, wherever she wanted, enjoying what she told me to enjoy, feeling what she wanted me to feel. She gave me permission to eat when I wasn’t bringing her something, and I ate, a morsel at a time. Wherever Mariano got this food, it was outstanding.
“I want you inside me,” she said. “Not now, not yet, but I want this, and I know you want it, too, but we’re not done, you still have so much to learn.”
Fuck yes I wanted that.
There was fruit, grapes and strawberries, melon, dates and figs, all of it fed from my fingers to her full red lips, her fingers touching nothing but her mojito since my massage. She had a few sips and seemed content, and despite my current lack of extrasense I thought it important to know what she felt.
“Take it away,” she told me with a small flick of her long fingers, and I took each tray, two at a time, into the kitchen.
Her robe was off. She lay on the chaise, resplendent, me stopped in my tracks, desiring her. She crooked her finger and I came close. She pointed down and I went to my knees. She put the end of one long nail on her lovely tummy, pointing between her legs.
“This is my center, the most beautiful thing you’ve ever experienced, the most wondrous thing you will ever experience. The center of my physical power, of my control over the world around me, around us, my control over your desire, and over you.”
Her other index finger pointed further down and my eyes followed. I felt her hand on the back of my head. No sharp nails this time, just soft gentle fingertips.
“Your other gifts,” she said. “Show me.”
There was incense, white and black copal. Three braziers around the raised center of the garden, already lit (thank you Mariano!) but not with anything like this. I put a few chunks of copal into the fire and before long its light, woody pine-y scent pervaded our space, making me feel just a little lightheaded.
Then, the necklace. Not really a necklace, more of a torc, polished marquise jadeite cabochons set in lapis lazuli and braided gold, joined with gold Möbius loops, a gap that had a gold chain suspended from each end supporting an emerald pendant in a small gold sunburst, or maybe it was a rosette.
“Oh Bob,” she said softly, and I slipped it around it around her lovely slender neck.
“You are breathtaking,” my voice said. “You are the love of my life,” as if that explained everything. It was hard to know how good it looked on her because she looked so fucking wonderful with or without anything else.
“This is ... the most beautiful thing ... I’ve ever worn,” she said. “I love it, I ...” She collected herself, took a deep breath and then another, smiled, let her smile fade. She pointed between her legs. “Oil me,” she said, and I brought her oil.
“See,” she said. “Smell. Know my scent, my essence. It surrounds you, pervades you, it ... possesses you.”
“Yes, my goddess,” I said softly.
“You are coming here,” she whispered. “I want you to come here. But first you will please me, just how I want, just how you know you need to.”
“Yes goddess,” I said softly. She was glistening.
“Oil,” she said, and the bottle was in my hand. There were two small dishes on a table next to her and she brought them closer, honey and cream.
“See how my lips part?” she asked. “They part because I want you.” She lay back and drew her knees up, opening herself to me.
“The most beautiful sight and smell, taste and touch and sound, that you will ever behold,” she said. I rubbed my hands together, heating them, poured oil onto one palm, closed my hands together, warming that precious oil, fragrant and edible. She reached into her bowl and her finger came back dripping with honey, touched it gently to her nipples and then in a line between her breasts to her clit, refreshing it once so there would be plenty, then did the same with the cream.
“Now,” she said, and my hands went to the juncture between her legs and groin, such strong long legs, such a wonderful bottom, oiling her, sleeker now than ever. My thumbs traversed her, outside her lips, crossed and came down the opposite sides.
“Oh Bob,” she gasped. “Good ... slave.”
I bent further, began adoring her, my tongue exploring outside, then closer, then inside her outer lips, every petal of her flower, then her inner lips and entrance and ...
She grabbed the back of my head, pulled me closer, and I plunged my tongue into honey and oil and flowing cream and her, my hands finding their way under to clutch her magnificent bottom. A scant minute later and I could feel her approaching her edge and I backed off, laid my thumbs alongside her beautiful clit, alternated gentle pressure on and off, waited for her breathing to slow.
“Yes,” she said, and my thumbs moved again, brought her close, backed off.
Again and again, surfing her edge, she squirmed under me, gasping, moaning.
“Inside,” she said, her eyes closed, and I couldn’t have been happier to obey. The cord keeping my cock tight against my belly unwound and coiled around her wrist and forearm, my cock springing free. I entered her, filling her, both of us already slick with desire, slid myself all the way in, as deep as I could go, which was as deep as she could take me, a perfect fit, a perfect woman.
“Fuck me,” she said. “I want this so much.” I drew back and that’s the last thing I remember until morning.