Wait for Me (19 page)

“As in, you were interested in normal things, and it was only after meeting this woman that you became—”

He laughed. “That's right, I became—”

He left this hanging for a moment, before resuming his tale.

“Anyway, Samantha helped me to understand that dominating is a delicate practice. She taught me everything I know: that it requires precision, the capacity to listen, and self-control.”

“Self-control?” I asked, in disbelief.

“Absolutely. It may seem surprising but it's the foundation of good practice – self-control in order to provide maximum pleasure for the other party.”

“So, you don't feel pleasure for yourself?” I asked, puzzled.

“On the contrary, but it's induced by self-control. Watching a woman receive pleasure is even greater than an orgasm; seeing her body quiver and jerk under a climax that you've triggered. It's such a rush. And when that pleasure is amplified by an element of pain, it's a whole new level.”

I looked down at the empty plate, feeling a shade of embarrassment. I wondered which images were passing through his mind.

“Is this bothering you?” he asked.

“No, I'm really curious. Go on.”

“I learned all of it with her: how to touch a woman's body, how to handle a whip with the correct force, how to bind the hands, the ankles, the neck, but above all, I learned how to share her pleasure without even the slightest desire to penetrate her.”

“You talk about it like it's an art,” I murmured.

“I prefer to think of it as the chemistry of desire, albeit, through a game of fear.”

The tagliatelle arrived. I took my fork and began to eat hastily. The conversation was somehow disquieting.

“But with you it's more difficult,” he said pointedly.

“How come?”

He wiped his lips and took a sip of wine. “You disorient me. Let's just say I don't fully understand your limits, so I can't gauge my own levels of desire and fear.”

“It wasn't good for you?” I asked.

“Oh no, it was very good for me, but I understand what happened much better now, especially in light of what you told me. You enter your own world where you stifle both pain
and
pleasure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, your body responds to pleasure, but you enter a sort of trance state, Sophie. You're deathly silent and it makes it more difficult.”

“Like I'm removed?” I asked.

“Sometimes, yes,” he replied, smiling.

“Sometimes?”

“Always.”

“That's bad though, right?”

“I don't know, for someone like me it's… frightening.”

The horror.

“It's as though you attain a sort of… tantric climax. It's an absolute orgasm… as though you're suspended between states, and yet, you're still bound by something. It's not something I've seen before, and it drives me crazy.”

There it was. With disarming simplicity, he had said the very thing that I had always suspected. He was interested because there was something different in me. I was new territory; a new subject to explore.

“I remember you said I was a ‘deluge',” I muttered.

“Yeah, you approach quietly and hatch devastation.”

“Adam, that definitely sounds like a negative.”

“Not to me.”

As I suspected.

I watched the ocean beyond the glass, black and calm. ‘Frightening', I repeated in my mind.

“What about you?” he asked.

I shook my head, mystified.

“How does it feel for you? What happens?”

How long did he have? I felt everything: humiliation merged with bliss, painful pleasure, freedom, and life, along with its total abandonment. Yes, life itself running through my veins. But above all, I felt love.

“Rapture,” I summarized.

Adam smirked; men get such satisfaction from this.

“I can't wait to explore the rest of your body, Sophie,” he said, delighted.

“Are you drawing a map or something?” I asked, with a hint of disappointment.

His countenance became more serious. “Sophie, you asked me to try, but it needs to be clear: this is who I am. Sex is what I desire – your free body, your sexual pleasure. I don't want any emotional involvement, because then we couldn't fuck. Providing that you accept this, I won't pursue any other women.”

Oh, it's clear, I thought.

“Then don't ask any more questions about what it feels like for me – let my body confirm the pleasure,” I insisted.

He nodded, surprised. When dessert arrived, we each had only a few bites, in silence.

“So,” I said. “That's the deal?”

“That's the deal. Do you accept the terms?”

I was tempted to say no, just for his reaction, but I had a plan. Just as Adam had crept his way inside me, I would do the same to him and he wouldn't even realize.

“I do. I'm all yours, but I'm also the only one.”

“Perfect. Then I'd say it's time to go,” he said, rising from the table.

After leaving the restaurant, we went for a walk along the shore. He returned to his story about Samantha and told me a little more about the things he learned that year. He really did speak as though it were a fine art – one that required surgical precision.

“This isn't bothering you is it?” he asked, stealing a quick glance.

“Bothering isn't the right word. Confusing me, perhaps.”

“Ah, confusing you.”

“Yeah, there's something that doesn't quite fit. You talk about it as the art of giving pleasure, something almost mystical, but when we were at that place—”

His expression grew darker.

“I mean, you talked about listening. About desire and fear as a game, but that's not what happened there, at least not for me. Is that really how it was for you?”

“Yes,” he said faintly, looking me straight in the eyes. “So much so that I lost control. My own pleasure because too much.”

“And, have you experienced that before? I mean, women who didn't… well—”

He smiled. “I understand,” he muttered. “And no, it was the first time I've lost control like that. Like I said, I couldn't read you, but as long as you don't change your mind, you can teach me how to handle you – all of you. I'll learn exactly how you like it… how to make you mine,” he said, holding my face in his hands. “I'll learn everything, Sophie, and I'll teach you how to show me.”

Before he drove me home, we stopped at a hotel.

It was time to practice.

I admit that I was not enamored with this mechanistic approach to sex. Uncertain, I followed him into the lobby. Like the night of my ‘initiation', he held my hand tightly. I felt like a little school girl. We checked in and ascended to a room overlooking Central Park.

No sooner had I taken my bag off my shoulder than Adam's tongue was in my mouth, commanding and passionate. He removed my blouse and unclipped my bra, then sat me on the bed whilst he pulled off my boots, followed by my jeans, and finally my underwear. I unbuttoned his shirt. He held my face and kissed me. I had started to unfasten his belt when there was a knock at the door.

“Wait,” he said.

He went to open it. I heard him say thank you and close the door again. He returned with a bouquet of flowers.

“A bouquet of flowers for you, beautiful,” he said, moving closer. “He took one from the bunch and began to tickle my breast with it. I slid across the bed to lie before him.

He placed the flowers on the bedside table and lay beside me. He pulled a small blue box from his jacket pocket, which was draped across the end of the bed, and carefully placed it on my stomach. Leaning on his elbow, he waited for me to open it.

“What's this?”

“Open it,” he said, disarming me with his smile.

The box contained a delicate white-gold chain, with a small butterfly pendant.

“Small actions, huge effects,” he said, brushing my cheek.

“You shouldn't have—” I muttered.

“Yes, I should – it was on your list. Point five: a walk in Central Park, a dinner, an outdoor trip, flowers and, maybe, jewelry.” He lightly caressed my nipple. “I read it.”

I kneeled in front of him and fastened the little chain around my neck. “It's beautiful, thank you.” I dived onto him and he fell into the mattress. I kissed him briefly, then pulled back. “Wait, so does that mean I can ‘give it away' now?”

“I believe it does,” he said, and a moment later I was underneath him. He kicked his shoes off, slipped out of his jeans and boxers, then held himself above me.

He parted my legs and began to tease me with his tongue, making me squirm.

As he licked me softly, his hand brushed my clitoris and he pushed two fingers inside. I lifted myself and his tongue sank into me, causing a shockwave. I arched my back. He was unbelievable. I followed his movements with my pelvis and his hands supported me. Just moments before I reached climax, he pulled away and returned to my lips. He kissed me and I tasted myself on his salty lips. Slowly and gently, he filled me with his stiff penis.

“Sophie,” he moaned. “Look at me.”

I searched for his eyes, but it was hazy. He took my face in his hands again, squeezing my cheeks. “Look at me, Sophie.”

I couldn't focus. He stopped moving and held my hands. “Look at me.”

And finally my vision began to clear. He took my hands and placed them on his butt.

“Move with me.” He kissed me sweetly on the lips, never breaking eye contact.

I did not like being studied in this way. It was unsettling. I tried to shift on top of him but he pulled me onto my back again.

“I want to look into your eyes,” and he pressed me into the mattress with his body, repossessing me.

I placed my hands onto his butt again and pushed him deeper. He aligned his thrusts with the rhythm that I wanted and then continued by himself, constant and accurate. I was soon lost in delight. He held my face but, clouded by the pleasure, I couldn't make him out. He stopped, abruptly.

“You make me come just looking at you, Sophie.”

“Is that bad?” I asked, sucking his lip.

“No,” he said. “But I need to control myself. I need a condom because I imagine you're not on the pill yet.”

He went to grab his pants from the floor. I quickly followed him, knelt in front of his penis and began to suck it. It tasted good – a mix of the two of us. Adam fell back onto the bed and let me continue.

“I'm gonna come,” he said hoarsely.

This time I spared myself the taste of semen and carried on with my hands, so that he would ejaculate onto my stomach.

I settled my head on his chest and smiled to myself, wrapped in his arms.

“Are you trying to make me your subject, Sophie?” he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

Yes, I thought – subject you to love.

*

Ultimately, it was I who became his subject. We saw one another only on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, during the evenings in one of his apartments. There was no playroom, but there was a cabinet – well stocked with some truly ridiculous items. I often wondered how many people honestly enjoyed this. But let me clarify – it's not that I disliked it. I just didn't see the need to alter the perfect physical connection that we already shared. The natural union of a man and a woman, organic and without the need for tools. So, why was I playing along with this whole charade?

Simple. I was madly in love with him – to the point that I gleaned genuine fulfillment from his merry procedures. As I bowed before his command, his countenance revealed something primitive. I was entirely his and it was his mission to pleasure me. The chains and the ropes were his favorites. He wanted to bring something out of me and he seemed to believe that restraints would help this. In any case, the violence that had once ruined my body and my mind became trivial next to the pleasure I felt when I abandoned myself to him. Seeing Adam's reverence for my body was exhilarating. I loved him with every ounce of my being, and I was certain that, somehow, in his own way, he loved me back.

I did not tell my family that we were seeing each other regularly, only my housemates, Steven, and, naturally, his brother knew about it too. Things were going well and I wasn't over analyzing the arrangement… until a certain Wednesday evening. He picked me up from work and took me to the usual apartment. I had removed my jacket before I was bound by him. He tied me to a bench and spent an hour whipping my body with his cane, tickling my orifices with strange trinkets, and basking my flesh in pleasure-pain. I was overwhelmed with excitement; he made me come without even touching me. When my squirming body became too much for him, he limited himself to masturbating. He came on my face and left me alone, still tied to the bench, with three vibrating balls inside me. When he returned, I was still glowing. He whipped the balls out of me and hastily replaced them with himself. He started slow, sliding in and out. I tried to move my hips to make him go faster and deeper, but he held me at bay and continued thrusting lightly and slowly. I wanted him, badly. The suspense had been building for an hour and, by now, my desire to be penetrated was unbearable. He began to push harder, relentless and unrestrained. I tried to move with him.

“Come,” he muttered under his breath. And the sound of that word, with his finger on my clitoris, made me explode with pleasure. I tensed my body, before letting the orgasm overwhelm me – holding my breath and gritting my teeth. He came too, thrusting ever harder inside me.

He rose, freed me from the bench, helped me stand, and led me to the couch in the living room. I hugged him tightly but he pushed me onto the cushions and tied my hands to each side of the steel frame, leaving me exposed and vulnerable, as though I were bound to a cross. Again? I thought. I was tired that night, both from work and from the session we had only just completed. Apparently that was just the prologue. Content that my secured hands could not touch him, he went to fix my ankles to a beam, leaving me uncovered and wide open. He knelt on the beam, immobilizing my legs, and pressed his forehead against my stomach. Leaving a trail of kisses and bites, he moved lower down. I was still wet. His tongue began to caress my clitoris, whilst his hands tightly gripped my hips.