Weekend (7 page)

       
AJAX

Though the temperature had dropped with the encroaching storm, it was still hot. Logan cranked the air con, built a fire: paper, kindling, bigger logs. They patted the couch, handed Ajax a snifter of brandy. Toby dragged his ploofy bed toward the heat; Ajax laughed, snuggling in while Logan rotated their glass. “This is the epitome of horrible for the environment, you know,” said Ajax. “Making it cold so you can heat it?”

Logan shrugged.

Ajax sighed. Should she object? Did she always have to object to everything? “I'll just pretend it's snowing out there.” She raised her glass. “I don't know if I'm hot or cold, honestly. Okay, imagine we're in Whistler at a romantic ski chalet.”

“Poof!” said Logan. “It's winter.”

“It almost is in here now,” said Ajax. After the lake, her hair was coated and filthy. She'd pulled it into a mass on top of her head, but the curls hung heavily. She broke out in goosebumps. She said, “That just makes me think of how I miss you when I go home.”

“We should fix that,” Logan said, wrapping Ajax in a bear hug so they fell back together on the couch. Logan pulled off Ajax's shorts and top. “We should fix that really soon.” Logan softly kissed her, exploring her mouth, her puckered nipple tips. They stood Ajax on her feet, stood up and freckled delicate kisses across Ajax's shoulder blades, her breasts. They sat, slid Ajax's panties down her legs, kissed her hips, turned her around and
nibbled her ass. Ajax shuddered. Her hands roamed Logan's face, reading Logan's skin like braille, as if she could take in everything that had happened to Logan before tonight: their infancy, their teen years, their lovers, their disappointments, their delights. Ajax touched Logan's mouth, pinching their lips as she kissed them. Logan licked the side of Ajax's lips.

“Fuck me halfway to heaven, honey,” said Ajax.

“Nuts to purgatory,” said Logan. They stood, grabbed the top knot of Ajax's hair, pulled back hard. “I'm sending you to the moon.”

Logan turned off the air, damped the fire, threw open the windows.

The antler chandelier swayed, and on the chunky pine table, ivory candles sputtered.

Ajax noticed a peculiar pressure in her ears.

Ajax watched Logan turn off ordinary life, become the prowling, haunting top Ajax needed. “Hands over your head,” said Logan, eyes narrowing.

Thunder rumbled distantly, lightning electrifying their windows, making Ajax startle. She was on alert anyway when they had sex—instantly open, wanting, but also on guard because Logan changed things up so she never knew what was coming her way. She lifted her arms.

Logan's eyes bleached to the lightest wolf-grey.

An ornate French mantel clock ticked out seconds.

“Up against the wall,” said Logan. They walked behind
Ajax, cupped her elbows, pressed her hard. “Keep your arms up. Legs apart. Eyes closed. Don't look.”

Ajax could hear Logan moving around the room and moaned.

Minutes later, Logan's nipples contacted Ajax's spine, stroking Ajax's back on either side of her spine.
No binder.
Logan spun her, rubbed nipples to nipples, fullness to fullness. Then, kneeling, pushed legs wide to rub a nipple over Ajax's clit.

Ajax pushed toward her.

“I'm going to enjoy fucking you.”

Ajax said, “Now, now. Oh, please.”

Crickets falling silent. Thunder, the cracking lightning. Logan's tongue slid across Ajax's leg, the insides of her thighs, continued higher. They pushed Ajax down, ran their nipple over Ajax's mouth, told her she couldn't close her mouth on it.

“Remember strippers' rules?”

Logan had taken her to a Toronto strip club, to the private, low-ceilinged red rooms for a lap dance. The cubicles had looked like first-class airline seats, except for its decrepitude and the rhum in the air—Logan and Ajax squeezed into one cubicle.

Sweethearts,
the dancer said.
You are, aren't you, you two? You're lovebirds. You a fella, Mister, or you a girl?
She ran her hands up Logan's binder.
Honey, you got sweet boobs. Where're you from? I'm from Vancouver.

I'm from Vancouver, too.

Get on out. Burnaby.

Harsh whisper in Ajax's ear:
Never tell a stripper anything true.

They watched her dance, her platforms six inches of gleaming plastic. Ajax scanned up her legs, to her face-level crotch: silver lamé thong, shaking bells. Pasties.

Don't fucking tell her anything
, whispered Logan again.

I got me some lesbians,
she said and Ajax giggled. They could be lesbians; why not?

The dancer ground on Logan, moved to Ajax, tweaked Ajax's left nipple, hard.
You are such a relief from my usual clientele, I can't tell you, honey
.

Ajax laughed.

Stop laughing
, hissed Logan.

But Ajax couldn't stop. The tiny-breasted stripper yanked Ajax's shirt up and then slid up her body with her own until her nipples—big, brown—ran across Ajax's face. Then into her laughing mouth. A raspberry-nipple brushed her tongue.

Logan said,
Don't you dare suck that. If you suck that, we'll get the boot.

The stripper said,
Spank me.

Logan said,
You can do what she asks you to do, but that's it.

You've been here before, darlin',
the stripper told Logan.
You do it.

Logan spanked her.

Spank me
, she said again to Ajax.

Ajax could not stop laughing. She slapped her.

Oww!
the dancer cried and rubbed her ass.

McIntyre, that is not how you hit a woman,
said Logan.
You cup your hand like this.
She hit the stripper again.
It makes a sound but it doesn't hurt.

The stripper crammed Logan's cowboy hat onto her head; her hair slapped Ajax's face. She pulled back and gyrated.
Ride 'em, cowgirls. Keep them doggies moving.
She stopped grinding on Logan a minute and confirmed their cock.
Yeehaw!

Now Logan dragged Ajax back into the present. “Remember that? Strippers' rules. You can only do what I tell you to do.”

Weak-kneed, Ajax said, “Please, please, please.” She could smell her cunt on Logan's nipple. She opened her eyes. “Oh god,” said Ajax, lowering her arms. She thought nothing besides
I want you I want you I want you
.

Logan stood back. Moved her to the wall. Watched her, said, “Did you open your eyes without permission? Did you lower your arms? Don't you even think of moving again.”

“
Ass
hole,” said Ajax cheerfully; she pressed her knuckles to the wall obediently. Longed to touch. Everything was hot, suddenly, too hot—the waning fire (what was with all the fucking mid-heatwave fires?), her skin, Logan's ears where the tips flamed red. But a breeze was coming up—the wind was chilly against wet skin.

“Dirty-mouthed thing,” said Logan, frowning. Toby moaned and rolled over.

“And if I am?” Ajax's chin lifted.

Logan slit their eyes. “I might punish you. You've already been bad.”

There was a pause while the possibility hung in the air. Every time Logan wet her nipples, the wind slid across them like fingers.

“Or not.” Logan smiled.

“Oh god, Logan, fuck. Logan, fuck. That is so not fair.” Fire guttering. Candles side-waving. Growing darker. Logan nude but for black leather harness with buckles, black cock. Boobs surprisingly round.

“Anticipation suits you, McIntyre.” Logan flicked Ajax's left nipple, making her jump. “See what it does to you, how hard your nipples are?”

“Logan, fuck me. Come on, touch me.”

Logan stroked their cock, added lube.

Ajax pressed her breasts toward them.

“Back against the wall, Ajax. Believe me when I say that I can out-wait you any day.”

“But think of the time wasted.”

“Yeah, Ajax? I'm wasting time? How wet are you?” Logan slid a finger between Ajax's thighs so it came up shining. “As it happens, you can wait longer.”

“I can't, I can't,” said Ajax. “Fuck off.”

“If you're so eager, touch yourself,” said Logan, running hands across their own breasts, squeezing their nipples tight. Sliding their hands along their cock.

“Please, please, please. I'm fucking out of my mind.”

“I'm touching
myself
.” Meandering fingers, Logan rubbed their clit, put their fingers in their own mouth. “I can come like
this; I don't need you.” But still, they ran their fingers across Ajax's lips.

Ajax licked her lips, tried to capture Logan, but Logan pressed her back, a firm hand on her shoulder. “Don't you move.”

“Or what?”

“Make your clit wet. Make it stand up. Rub it for me, honey.” Logan pinched Ajax's left nipple.

Ajax gasped.

Logan said, “Do what you're told when you're told to do it. Do it now, Ajax.”

But Ajax couldn't.

“I'm not pleased,” said Logan. They produced alligator clips, slid the rubber tips over Ajax's nipples, fastened them—it hurt significantly. The chain dangled cold between Ajax's breasts. Logan took it like it was reins and drew Ajax to the couch, placed Ajax in front of her. “Spread your legs. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“I don't know, I don't know.” Ajax didn't know. Anything.

Logan yanked the nipple chain.

Ajax spread her legs. Heard moisture crackle between her thighs.

“You do know what you want. Now
I
need to know. Have you been bad?” Logan huffed hot air between her legs. “You've been bad, Ajax, haven't you?” Logan reached a tongue tip to Ajax's clit. Just that, the barely rotating tip of their tongue. Kept it there while Ajax gasped.

With a toss of wind chimes, rain boiled into the lake. Logan would, no doubt—no doubt—soon strip her raw. If only more lovers realized the devastating power of softness. It would make what was coming both worse, and so much better.

“Say it,” said Logan, releasing Ajax.

So Ajax said it, but quietly, hushed from stubbornness. “I've been bad.” Crotch zap in response.

Logan raised a hand. “You don't sound convinced.”

Ajax shook her head—not
No, I'm not convinced
, but
No
,
I refuse to succumb. Make me.
“I've been bad, Logan. I don't mean to be bad, but I am, I'm bad.” The reluctance with which she gave in. The reluctance with which she abandoned equality.

“And what happens to bad girls, do you know? Here at my cottage?”

Was the cottage the same as every location they fucked? Because if it was, she knew what her role was, what her next line of dialogue might be.

When she didn't say anything, Logan tugged the nipple clamps harder, bent, and ran their tongue over the protruding bleached, bloodless brown tips of Ajax's nipples. “Bad girls have to be punished, don't they?”

“I don't know.”

“You do know.” Logan stared hard with their etiolated eyes. The floor-length red curtains jeté'd into the room.

Ajax thought,
Play along, play along, play along. Games belong in the bedroom
. But it was dastardly hard to give in.
“Okay,” said Ajax, resistance in her tone of voice. “Yes. Bad girls need to be punished.”

“And who's been bad?”

That cunt smell. Sharp, demanding. Smell of the lake. Maybe a star-smell, too, elemental. “I have been.”

“Ajax, we either do this, or we don't do this. All in. Game on.”

Ajax said it more resolutely. “I've been naughty.”

Logan grabbed her by the hips. “What have you wanted me to do to you?”

“Spank me.” Ajax took a huge breath. “And sodomize me.”

Logan raised their eyebrows. “What did I spank you with?”

“Oh god.”

Logan ran their hand up the sides of Ajax's body, smacked the side of her right breast. The sound of the slap.

“Your hand.”

“Were you bent over a table?” They pointed. “That table?”

Ajax turned to look at the dining room table. Where they'd eaten just hours earlier.
Fantasy
, she thought. “Over your knee.”

Logan's hands trickled up Ajax's back, whispers of touch.

“Did I spank you with anything else?”

“No. Yes. A wooden paddle.”

Logan nodded, said, “Why? Why should I?”

Ajax bit her lip. Why
should
she spank her? Why
would
she spank her? Stay in vanilla because this wasn't PC? Stay in vanilla because a white woman wailing on a black woman was clichéd? Do it because it was hot? Do it because she was a bottom? Do it
because she was a bottom with a top that screwed on just right? Cunt juice dripped down her thighs—she could feel it. She knew what it looked like from watching former lovers—it slid milky as pearls. She wondered if she'd ever see Logan's cunt. Was the very expression “Logan's cunt” a misnomer? They didn't have a cunt as much as a
difficulty
between their legs, and it wasn't something they cared to share. No chains of pearls here.

“You just should,” Ajax said. She kicked herself for leaving the moment—for thinking. If she wanted to come, and she did, if she wanted to make that bond with Logan, she needed a blank brain, or an effectively fantasizing brain, at least, but definitely not this, this analysis of what her lover had gone through/was going through/would go through, if, as Ajax suspected they would, they officially transitioned. Or the wave of clit-deflating sadness that always followed imagining Logan's pain.

Shitballs on speed. Shut up, brain.

“I asked you why.” Logan stopped touching her, raised their eyebrows, the right higher.

“I've been bad,” Ajax repeated, swallowing. Even clamped and blanched, her nipples hardened further in a waft of wind. They grew numb. Bad, because she knew where Logan taking the clips off would take her.