19 November 2008

One such femme

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Beatrice as she prepares to make love to herself. Photo by Eric Francis.

Beatrice was one such woman: generous with herself, and she knew what I needed. We played a game in which she smacked me with a riding crop and I requested and pleaded with her; with no expectation that she would comply. The game was about asking and being told no, and feeling it deeply. Being told no is making contact with feminine authority, and that was the basic psychology.

That Paris night, she made me admit that I was thirsty and that I was helpless without her.

After begging myself into a place where I submitted to the notion that it would never happen, she said yes. I lay handcuffed, propped up against some pillows and breathing woefully through my parched mouth—stunned at what was about to happen. I couldn’t imagine that she would to this. She knelt up and pressed her bush onto my face. With two sets of fingers, she parted her vulva as she did. I glanced up and she had the most compassionate expression on her face. She understood what she was giving me.

I slipped down a little and was able to make perfect contact, and she felt me do so and melted into herself, inviting me to suck her off. She knew how to do it to me—how to make cunnilingus fulfilling in the way it so dearly can be. B’s vulva is long and it stands erect when she is yearning, perky and blossoming; and I feasted, and swam in her overflowing.

She moaned in admission as I sucked her with the vivid intention to get her off. She mashed her cushy, furry labia into my face. I enjoyed her gesture, warm against my cheeks; and I sucked on her waddle like it was a giant nipple, swallowing and snorting to wash in her scent greedily.

She had more for me, as if she was saving some for the end. When she crested that climax, her pelvis rippled with rapid heatwaves. She tipped forward slightly and my mouth flooded with her human nectar. I too moaned in communion as she soaked my cells and my consciousness.

She withdrew for a moment, leaning over me, and undid my handcuffs with a key on her bracelet. Gradually, I pressed my cheek against her belly and wrapped my arms around her waist, pressing my fingertips into her back muscles. My mouth was watery and wet.

Reaching into my mindspace with her eyes, she glanced down at my firm cock and asked me how I wanted to get off. “I’ll do whatever you want. Except for one thing, which is you can’t fuck me.”

When I didn’t say anything, she said: “I understand if you need to be alone for that.” She could feel my vulnerability, and I nodded slightly yes. She took a few moments, gathered her belongings, kissed my mouth softly, and gently left me to my anarchy.

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