Chapter 14 #2
"I want you to fuck me in the ass with your strap.”
I hear her pleased moan in response. I know she is smiling.
"You sure?” she asks.
"I am sure."
"Okay."
She pulls her fingers out. I feel the empty. I feel the cool of the air on my anus. I feel the wet on my own skin from her work and from me.
"I'm putting more lube on the strap," she says.
"Yes."
I hear the slick wetness of it and the snap of the cap.
I hear her hands adjusting the the harness.
I feel the slick head of the dildo against my anus.
She does not push the head in.
She rests it there.
She rests the head of the dildo at my anus, not pressing too hard. The silicone is cool. Slick. She holds it there. She puts her hands on my hips, palms flat, both of them, broad and warm. She bends a little forward. I feel the front of her thighs at the back of mine.
"Breathe out," she says.
I breathe out.
She pushes into me as she holds my hips.
It is not the press of a finger or two fingers or perhaps even three. It feels different as it enters me. It is wider. It is firmer. It is silicone. The head of it sits at me and asks the muscle, and the muscle has been asked already three times tonight and it remembers, and it gives.
She comes inside me. Her strap is opening me up.
Just the head is inside. She holds there. I make a sound that is half a yes and half a sound that is older than words. My whole body is one drawn line.
I feel so close to the edge of pleasure and pain and her hands on my hips are holding me, stopping me falling over the edge.
"Okay?"
"Yes."
"Talk to me."
“It hurts a bit. Just a bit. But I also…. I want to… please don’t stop.”
“Hey,” her hand strokes my hip a little. “Relax, it will ease. I will just hold here until your body lets go. I promise it will start to feel good.”
"I trust you.” I say.
“I’ve got you,” she says. I feel my body let go, as if exhaling and opening further for her.
I feel her hands firm on my hips as she presses an inch further into me.
I have a hand at the far edge of the table. I grip it. My left palm is warm against the wood. My nipples are pressed against the wood. The wood is cold against them. The contrast is making my whole body confused in a good way. The heat of the lube and the dildo in my ass feels burning hot.
"Max."
"Yes."
"You feel….”
"What."
"You feel like you are everywhere. Through my whole body. This is the most incredible thing I have ever felt.”
"I am everywhere, baby. I’m in all of you.”
I feel my hips moving and my mind blurring. This feels so good, I want to lose myself more in it.
She holds my hips firmly and presses the rest of the way in.
It takes a count. She does not rush. She lets the muscle take her in piece by piece. She bottoms out against me and she stops. The curve of the silicone is up against a place inside me I do not have a name for. Her hips are flush to mine. Her hands are flat on my hips holding me firmly.
I am not breathing.
"Breathe," she says.
I breathe.
"Okay?"
"Yes."
"You're okay?”
"I'm okay."
"You're so full, baby. You’ve taken all of me.”
"I'm so full.” I feel my body pulsing and taking on a mind of its own. I hear my moans, deep and earthy.
"Tell me when, baby.” Her voice is kind. I know she is going to fuck me and I want it desperately. I want to feel anally fucked by her.
"When." I say. And I mean it.
She begins to fuck me.
She moves slow. Her first stroke is a quarter pull and a quarter push. The second is half. The third is half. The fourth is full. She is working me up. She does not go fast even when I would let her. She keeps the slow in and out that she is doing.
The slow in and out is what is going to break me.
The slow in and out lets me feel every inch on the way out and on the way in.
The slow in and out lets me feel her hands on my hips when she pulls and the front of her thigh against the back of mine when she pushes.
The slow in and out lets me hear her breath go a little short in her throat.
The slow in and out lets me hear my own sound build in my chest from the bottom up.
She slides her right hand off my hip.
She slides it around under my hip.
She finds my clit.
I make a sound that is not a sound.
"There," she says.
"There."
"You can have both." She begins to rub my clit.
I moan.
"You can come on both."
“Mmmmm” I think my words have gone.
She works two fingers on my clit in a small steady circle. She matches the rhythm of her hips behind me. She is fucking me in two places with the same beat. My body does not know what to do with it. My body says yes on every stroke. My body is climbing.
“I’m…..”
"Yes."
I moan as she fucks my ass, one hand holding my hip and the other firm against my clitoris. She is taking me there. And I am so fucking close.
"Come for me, Evangeline."
I gasp.
"Now."
I come. Crashing through me. More overwhelming and full body than anything ever.
I come with her deep in my ass and her fingers on my clit and her breath on the back of my neck and the kitchen smell of stew and bread and her around me, and the come is a long pull that starts at my heels and goes up through my legs and through my belly and through my chest and out the top of my head, and I am open at both ends of myself, and the open lets the orgasm tear through me without stopping.
I scream into the wood.
I have never screamed in sex.
I scream low and full into the table top and my hand grips the edge and my hips push back into hers and my cunt pulses against her fingers and my ass pulses around her, and the pulse on both ends is so loud in my body I cannot hear the kitchen.
Max comes.
Max comes against my back. Her hips lock to mine.
She makes a sound I have not heard from her, low, drawn out, deep in her throat, and she presses the leather of the harness hard into the back of me, and I feel her shake with it, her thighs against mine, her hand flat on my hip, the come of her not in my body but into the leather and into the place she wears the harness on, and the fact that she comes when I come, into her own body, with me on her, is a new thing I am going to need a long time to think about.
I had not thought a woman could come from giving. But here she has, twice.
I had not thought of it. I have been a woman in a marriage where the giving and the getting were two different acts assigned to two different people.
I was the getting. He was the giving. The giving was a small joyless thing he did and did not enjoy doing, and the getting was a small joyless thing I received and did not enjoy receiving, and the two were not the same thing happening in the same body.
Tonight they are. Tonight Max gave and got at once, in the same body, and the body in question is mine and hers at once, and I am in it.
I cannot think about it now.
I am coming still.
I am coming through the second wave of it that her movement through her own come is dragging out of me, and I make a sound that is her name, and she stays in me, and her hand stays on my clit, and the second wave breaks on me, and I gush again, hot and full, around her and down my thighs, and the kitchen smells of me and her at once.
She slows.
She does not pull out.
She leans down. She lays her body along my back. She fits her cheek to the back of my shoulder. Her arm comes around me, soft, under my breasts. Her other hand stays where it was, between my legs, flat now, not moving, holding.
"Shh."
"Max."
"I have you."
"Max."
"I have you."
I am sobbing.
I am sobbing the way I sobbed last night and worse. Every nerve in me is on the surface of my skin. I am shaking head to foot. The wood is wet where my mouth is. My hair is wet. I am not afraid. I am not unhappy. I am undone. I am undone in the way she said she was going to undo me.
I cry into the table.
I cry for a count I do not keep. I cry for the woman I have been for eleven years who did not know her body could do what it has just done.
I cry for the husband who is dead in a freezer in a Redwater coroner's office whose body did not, in eleven years, find any of the places this woman has found in me in five days.
I cry for my father who said please on a porch in Sag Harbor yesterday and who I cannot call.
I cry because Max has not let go of my back.
I cry because Max has not asked me to stop.
I cry because I do not have to. I cry because she is letting me have this, and she does not need it to be quieter or smaller or finished sooner than it wants to be finished.
She lays her cheek on my shoulder blade.
She does not say shh.
She lets me cry.
She pulls out of my ass.
Slow.
She pulls out in inches. She lets the muscle close on its own. She sets the dildo against my thigh. She does not get up.
She lies on my back a moment longer. She kisses the back of my neck. She kisses the knob of my spine. She kisses each shoulder blade. She kisses the small of my back where her hand had been.
"I'm going to pick you up," she says.
"Yes."
"I'm going to take you to the bed."
"Yes."
"I'm going to clean you up."
"Yes."
"And I'm going to hold you to sleep."
"Yes."
She lifts me off the table.
She lifts me like I weigh nothing, one arm under my knees, the other around my back, and I put my arms around her neck and I put my wet face in the side of her throat and I let her carry me down the hall.
---
The bedroom is dark. The lamp is low.
She lays me down on the quilt. She kneels beside the bed. She takes the harness off. She sets it on the chair, gentle, the strap on the seat, the buckle quiet. She crosses to the bathroom. She comes back with a warm washcloth and a clean towel.
She washes me.
She washes me the way she washed me yesterday in the bath.
She washes between my legs, soft, slow, a careful cloth.
She washes the come off the inside of my thighs.
She washes the lube. She washes my back.
She rolls me to my side and she washes the back of me.
She is patient. She is the patient she always is.
She kisses each place she has washed.
The inside of my thigh. My hipbone. The small of my back. The knob of my spine. The shoulder. The wrist where the rope was last night. The bandage on my left palm. The cheek where I was sobbing. The eye where the wet has dried.
She does not speak.
I do not speak.
I do not speak because I do not have a sentence that would be the right size for what is in me. I have not been touched like this. I have not been spoken to like this. I have not been, since I was a small girl, held like this. I am not going to put a small word on it.
I lie on my side on her quilt and I let her work.
I watch her face. I watch the line of her cheekbone in the lamp light.
I watch the dark of her hair. I watch the scar on her forearm move when she lifts the cloth.
I watch her eyes on my body, careful, gone soft.
I have never been looked at by a person who is looking at me as a thing to take care of.
The look is not a look I knew a person could be looked at with.
I had not understood the difference between the look of being wanted and the look of being tended.
They are not the same look. Tonight they are the same look on the same face.
"Sleep, sweetheart.”
I nod.
She pulls the quilt up.
She slides under it next to me.
She gathers me into her chest. She lays my head on her collarbone. She puts her hand in my hair. She breathes.
I close my eyes. I put my hand flat on the front of her chest, low, where her ribs come together. I feel her heart. The rain is still on the cedar. The lamp is low. The kitchen is in the next room and I can smell the stew from here and the smell is good and the smell can wait.
The brass key is on the counter in the next room.
The strap is on the chair.
I think the sentence I had not let myself think yet.
I think I am safe.
I have not been safe in a bed in eleven years.
I had not known I had not been safe. I had thought safe was a thing other women had and I did not.
I had thought that was the shape of my life.
I had been wrong about the shape of my life.
The shape of my life is on a chair in this bedroom and on a counter in this kitchen and under my cheek in this bed, and the shape of my life is breathing slow, and the shape of my life is going to wake me in an hour to feed me stew at the kitchen table I came on.
I sleep.