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“Let me tell you something, Alexa. Your dad used to go on and on about this girl in his class. From being about eleven I would say. Silly things, ‘Did you know that butterflies have six legs? Jen told me today. Hey Mama, did you know that snakes can’t move backward. Jen showed me at lunch how they move and it is impossible, how cool is that?’ Then he got older, and he got this little pink tinge to his cheeks when he would say, ‘Oh, Jen told me about this movie coming out, do you mind if I go?’ Young love doesn’t play by these silly dating rules and five-year plans and should you call back first.” She pauses, looking at me but not really seeing, just caught in a memory.
“About thirty years ago, your father turned up at my door in one hell of a mess. Me and your grandpop were fraught with worry. Pounding on the door he was, and I thought for sure something bad had happened. I opened that door and he had never looked so disheveled. His hair was a mess, eyes wide and scared but excited. ‘Mama,’ he said to me softly, his voice so quiet I could barely hear him, ‘Jen is going to have a baby, Mama.’ Twenty-two, barely stepped out of college they had. But he loved your mom, he loved her from the day she told him about legs and snakes and all the other things he used to tell me at a hundred miles an hour after school. So, I don’t know what you think about relationships, Alexa. I don’t know whether me and your grandpop taught you well enough, we were old, love for us was about sharing what we had built over sixty years, not about butterflies anymore, but you should learn it from your mom and dad. Always go for what feels right now, because now … that is all any of us ever have.”
I pause, think about replying, about asking more. But I don’t need to, it has all been said. I know that it is still hard for Grandmama to talk about my father; I know that she misses him far more than I ever could. To me, he represents another life, but not a person. Not a love I can remember. So, to hear her speak of him, of my mom… It means a lot to me.
We have lunch and we chat about normal things. Nothing more is said about Dahlia, but as I leave her home later that afternoon with my freshly ironed clothes and half an apple crumble wrapped in foil, she calls me from the door.
“Live for the moment, Alexa my darling, I promise you; it will always work out if you live like that.”
I nod and blow a kiss as I meander away, and as if on cue, the moment I turn the bend, Dahlia’s driver is sitting there waiting for me. I don’t ask the how or the why. I just get in the SUV and seize the moment.
10
She begins to shuffle. I imagine her ankles are burning as the thick rope chafes against her skin. The knots on either ankle are tightly pressing against the bone and will not let up in pressure as on the opposite side of them lies the metal bar that runs horizontally between her legs.
She is pried open, nowhere to go, her knees bend back towards her breasts and her wrists attached with a second and third piece of rope, connected to metal loops at the ends of the bar. Her fingertips and freshly painted nails can merely tickle the skin of her ankles and feet, but as she lays on her back, her range of movement is greatly constricted.
At this moment, she knows I am back in the room. She heard the door open and close behind her— out of her range of view—and the slow, methodical footsteps that follow.
She has been a good girl. Ordering what she wants. What she likes. And now I have a range of things to test and try and learn at my fingertips. But first I needed to see her like this. She gave me a quick tuition on knots and then as I tied her, I kept her blindfolded. I was slow and methodical, not letting my mind take in the sight of her. I just focused on one knot at a time.
Then I left, going to the bar to pour myself a drink so I could compose myself, prepare and detach so I could see her like this with fresh eyes.
She slowly moves her limbs, testing at her restraints to see how much give she can have and how much she can move, and the truth is it’s not much. Her legs are spread wide and her neatly waxed vulva is obscenely open, inviting me to look, taste, touch, fuck her. Her breasts heave with each long deep breath, and I can wait no longer.
I approach her quietly. She is lying on the floor, tied, vulnerable, ripe for the taking. The room is darkened so that it shows everything dimly. Her senses are awakened. The darkness means she can hear each movement more clearly, feel the air change as I approach. The first touch comes against her lips as her mouth is opened, her tongue flicks so she can taste my skin. And just that touch, that taste, I can tell it arouses her. I watch as her nipples harden and I feel a bolt of desire between my legs, both of us wanting more.
Her lips bend under my touch. My index finger draws a circle around the contours of her lips before sliding inside her mouth and pressing against her tongue, coaxing her to show me how she sucks. And I know she can. “Show me,” I whisper.
Her lips close around my finger and her tongue swirls. Her head rises up as far as she can reach so she can bob her head back and forth to give me nice, deep, lingering sucks. Her eyes are wide and needy.
I pull my finger from her mouth sooner than she might expect, pushing against her cheek so she doesn't have a moment to close her lips, which leaves a drop of saliva on the tip of my finger. The backs of three fingers glide down the length of her neck, her collarbone, her sternum, then the gentle curve of her breast until she feels a wet push against her nipple, just the very tip. It hardens in an instant but doesn't get the satisfaction of a pinch.
She lets out a light whimpering moan and she hears the bar click as her body tenses with want, her thighs instinctively trying to close together. But she can't. So, she is left there, bare, to ache. She flexes, having no control of her wetness that drips from her exposed vulva and runs down over her anus.
My finger with just a hint of wetness left moves to her other nipple. There is a cold touch, then nothing. I let a few seconds pass and then she actually gets the pinch she desperately craves. It's slow but it's tight, and the soft skin of her breast stretches taut as I pull her nipple away from her body, then I lean down and run the tip of my tongue across her top lip then the bottom.
Her tiny moan vibrates against my tongue as I lick, the moment she feels that touch she reaches with her mouth, opening, and sucking on my tongue. My pull on her nipple is hard, her gasp caught by my lips as she feels that sharp shock of pain.
Her vulva is leaking wetness and I know she can feel it. Warm, wet trails of her desire flow out of her and ride the contours of her lips before they sink down in between the crevice of her ass. As she rocks back and forth, her ass lifts and then I know she must feel the wetness collecting beneath her.
"You're such a dirty girl, aren't you?" my voice murmurs against her soft lips and my chin brushes against her cheek as I move to her earlobe. Both hands stretching down, taking handfuls of her breasts, harder now. Full grabs. Toying with her.
Each rough touch makes her body only want more and more. I can feel her nipples pressed against my palms as I squeeze hard. “Fuck, I want you,” I groan into her ear. And her pussy shows how she reacts to my claim. Her body rocking with a need to have just any touch against her most sensitive part. Desperate to feel me against her, inside her.
"Please," she begs softly with a whimpering moan.
My hands knead her firm breasts, squeezing them fluidly but roughly. Leaving them and stretching forward, my fingers leading the way, pressing against her belly, eventually raking over her hip bones and then pressing to her inner thighs on the stretched tendon on either side. I know she can feel herself open further for me.
Then she can feel something else. The light touch of my inner thigh as it rests against her cheek, the underside of my vulva skimming against her lips. “Show me what you love."
Her lips fall open and her head tilts back. Her tongue chases through my folds, lapping up against me before she takes a long exhale than a suck inward into her mouth. She sucks on me, slowly but with a loud need, her ass tilts up, her pussy angled towards me, and she flexes, again and again. She wants me so badly and it is the biggest turn on I can imagine.
“Fuck...” she moans against me as she sucks and licks harder. Faster. Showing me with her mouth how much she needs me to touch her. Begging with her lips as she pleasures me over and over again.
One knee bends as I kneel on the other, dipping myself against her mouth and letting her have me. I dip my hips like I'm testing her out, letting her practice. Perfecting her technique. Impress me, my body is telling her, and she steps up to the challenge.
But my hands show her my satisfaction and let her know how I'm impressed with her,. My fingers span outwards in star patterns touching her between her legs. My hands dance over her teasingly. My index fingers skim along her labia, pulling them open so she feels her most vulnerable to me.
