Afterward, each of them would remember their first sighting of the boys as the moment the change occurred. They shared this perception though they didn’t later discuss it, and in fact both were wrong. It was a silly memory on the face of it, because it treated the boys as though they had some strange power to transform when in fact they were just youths. The true power lay elsewhere, and the change wasn’t as quick as all that.
Perhaps the Jardin Botanique itself played a role. Who knows what affects our desires? The gardens didn’t necessarily conspire, but they were so awash in flowers and so filled with plants exotic to their eyes, even the grasses different from those back home, that the ordinary state of the world was undone. It may have made a difference that they were in Montreal, exploring the city without any knowledge of French and together only because of the unbelievable coincidence that had brought their meetings here simultaneously.
It had to have helped that they could play for four days with no chance of discovery. When her husband had let her know he wasn’t interested in seeing Quebec with her, she had thought both ‘of course’ and ‘thank goodness.’ Her lover’s chore had been larger -convincing his wife they should travel together some other time when he wouldn’t be in meetings all day. Both were becoming practiced liars.
When they first saw the boys, their sun was rising bright and pure and they were simply happy. They were nothing special, just ordinary lovers, ordinary adulterers, sweet, affectionate, still unused to living across the line from faithfulness. Their relationship surely would have wound down from the early intensity toward routine and comfort. The process had already begun, though they didn’t recognize it.
They had, to that moment, done all the ordinary things lovers do, walking everywhere hand-in-hand, stopping to kiss boldly at street corners, feeling each other under the table when they ate at sidewalk cafes. They did that afterwards, too, but it was different.
Because it was cooler than in the Carolinas, cool enough for her to wear sweaters in the mornings when they walked down to the old town for breakfast, he had gotten to hold her close often. They’d been separated only when each had called home and the few times each absolutely had to attend a session. They’d rush back to the little place she’d found on St. Denis, just outside the Latin Quarter and far from his room downtown, for romance.
Such nice sex they’d shared. The first evening they had played until he was close to orgasm. He wasn’t a fool about how often he could come, and so he’d interfered when she wanted to bring him over too early, the better to pleasure her properly afterwards. They had stopped to take a hot shower together, soaping one another and keeping each other bothered. After that she had stood under the heat lamp while he spread lotion all over her, ostensibly against the drying of Canada’s winds, but really to extend her desire until they retired to the bed and crawled under the covers to continue their tryst.
The second day there had been soft love early in the morning, before breakfast, then separation for meetings in the afternoon. In the evening they had lain in bed kissing in front of the TV for a long time before she climbed on top of him so they could sixty-nine and then fuck. He’d awakened around three a.m., surprised to find he was erect and horny again, but when he had tried to rouse her she hadn’t even opened her eyes before saying, “Not now, darling, I’m so sleepy,” and turning away.
Morning brought their last full day.
They were not actually boys, at least not young ones though not yet adults, slim like boys, dark clothed and eyed, one appearing almost a man, the other little more than a child. When he first saw them the boys were walking side-by-side along the roadway that circles inside the gardens, their hands so close they touched every few steps but not so close that they couldn’t deny their sexuality. He pointed them out and whispered that she should be worried they’d steal him away from her.
He said that because the sun had just slipped out after a cloudy early morning, and her delight with the gardens crowded out her delight in his contact. He wanted to stop and kiss her, holding her from behind, but she would stand only for a moment before saying, “Come on, darling,” and pulling him away to the next shrub or herb or flower. She did that in the tulip garden first, then in the others as they came to them. Not in the rose garden, since the roses weren’t yet blooming, but there she broke away from him to run through some long, soft, grass filled with dandelions. No one in her neighborhood would suffer a dandelion to live, but she loved them, and here they were legion.
When he threatened her with boys, she had just run to a row of lilacs that followed the perimeter fence and was smelling the flowers to pass the time while she waited for him to catch up. She glanced at the boys, but they couldn’t compete for attention with that pink scent.
Oh, she wasn’t unloving, just distracted by other things. It was, after all, their third day, and the edge had been blunted enough to let her be drawn to other passions.
In the Chinese Garden they saw the boys again. It was hardly a coincidence worth mentioning except that the couple had climbed the rock tower in the middle of the garden and, looking down, she saw them kiss.
She looked, and then she looked again more slowly. She drew in a massive gulp of sweet air, grabbed the rail, and leaned outward. She knew gay men did that, but she’d never seen it, not really. She’d seen actors deep kissing once, in “Angels in America,” and had been embarrassed by it. The boys’ mouths were open and she could see everything. She had never really thought about it, not once, but now she could imagine the feel of mouth on mouth. She was possessed by the thought that each must taste like her lover.
So that’s what it’s like.
She turned away, paused, turned back. Their tongues must be caressing each other. Did they feel to each other like her lover? Were their tongues like his?
“Look,” she whispered, pulling him by his hand.
The boys had stepped behind some yews and self-consciously looked around until the older-looking one again pulled the other’s face to his. No one would have been able to see them from any direction except up. No one but the couple could see that the younger, slighter, more hesitant boy tried to pull away, and that the older one pulled him back and made him -made him! – kiss open-mouthed, while rubbing a palm slowly over his fly.
Her lover made a move to draw her away but she shook her head and held the rail tightly.
“Just a minute, sweetheart. Wait.”
She continued to watch them. Her mouth was slightly open but she was almost holding her breath. Had the boys looked upward they would have seen her peering into their little sanctuary. Just how much would they have seen? Her lips forming an oval? Her eyes fixed? Her sex pushed into the rail?
The entire scene couldn’t have lasted more than a minute or two. The boys parted and left the Chinese garden, walking northward, but not before the older boy had put the younger one’s hand on his fly and said something that brought out a look on the other’s face that was not exactly excitement but not exactly anxiety either. From the distance and the angle she couldn’t tell.
“Okay, we can go,” she said brightly, as though she were finished looking at an interesting specimen of iris. But her eyes had changed.
They left the tower and walked this trail and that, pretending to still explore the gardens, but her lover noticed how she no longer lingered at novel plants and that she always led him northward. She tried to cover her new preoccupation, a valiant, losing effort. She couldn’t keep her attention on what she was saying, and she started to lose her sentences half way through.
The man found the boys first. They were off to the left, hand-in-hand, walking a path between hedges, looking around to see if other people were anywhere nearby. It was obvious what they wanted to do. He whispered, “There they are, love” in a tone that let her know he knew she was hunting. That brought her up short. She blushed exquisitely and turned away, taking a red that was brighter than the windburn on her cheeks.
After a moment: “Was I that transparent?”
“You were that transparent.”
“Oh God.” Then, “Oh God,” again.
She looked around to him shyly, shy for the first time since they had broken their vows a month back. He was looking at her, then in the direction of the boys, then back at her, and she was so afraid of what he was thinking that she asked, “Do you think I’m disgusting?”
“I think if we’re going to stalk them, it’s best that we move ahead and beside them, not trail behind.”
He made a soft smile and she jumped him, circling his neck with her arms, laughing in her relief and excitement, and making him stagger.
“Thank you, darling. Oh I love you so much! I don’t know what it is, what’s going to happen, but I have to see it. It’s so… I don’t know exactly. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Well come on then.”
So it was that they circled ahead of the boys, hurrying forward, finding protected spots to spy from, as the boys walked further north into the area of the gardens devoted to trees and forests, the area that would be all but deserted. They spoke in whispers, waiting for an opening before sprinting hand-in-hand to the next hiding place. She was laughing under her breath at the wickedness of it all, and gasping from the running and from the odd passion sweeping through her. At each stopping point she hugged him and kissed his neck or all over his face or his chest. One time she knelt to mouth his penis through his slacks, then they were off again.
They had gotten far enough ahead that it was time to stop again, but there was no more cover, not for a distance. The trees were scattered, the earth between filled mostly with grasses and more dandelions. They couldn’t go further and watch unobserved, so they stopped at the last really good bit of cover, a boulder of some sort with two enveloping junipers. He leaned back against the rock to wait, and she leaned back against him.
He had his left arm around her waist and his right over her smooth chest. He enjoyed feeling her hard breathing and her heart pounding through her nipple. She lay her head back on his shoulder and he kissed her neck. He didn’t give a damn if the boys came all the way up here, but something special was going to happen in any case. He lowered his left hand to the front of her pants and massaged her vagina through the cloth. She spread her legs, melted further back into him and leaned her cheek to his head, as close as they could be without fucking.
Finally there they were, the boys, still walking northward, still hand-in-hand, the older almost continually reaching down to touch the crotch of the younger, now and again pulling the other’s hand back to his crotch.
She pushed back into him harder. It had to happen soon.
A sudden fear. She turned her head to his ear and whispered, “There aren’t any other hiding places! What if they come to ours?”
“If they do, turn to me and we’ll pretend we’re making out. They should appreciate that. I know I will.”
On they came, ever closer to the couple, while she whispered to herself: Don’t come here, not here, not to our place. Don’t ruin this. Her lover’s hand was steady in its massage, palm and fingers rubbing past her fulcrum, down and up.
The boys didn’t invade the lovers’ nest. They walked past, and she whispered to herself: Stop now, do it now. Don’t walk away from us! Her pleasure was rising. She wanted it to coincide with whatever the boys would do.
And they did stop. It almost seemed that her thoughts commanded them. She felt her neck hairs rise, those lovely, fine, downy hairs her lover enjoyed nuzzling. They stopped at some kind of small tree, a birch or something, with branches that shot from the trunk about five feet up. The older boy grabbed the shoulders of the younger and twisted, twirled, pushed him to the tree, so his back was against it and he was facing the older one. This was where it would happen.
“But they’re out in the open! Anyone can see them!” She was so excited now that it was hard to whisper. Her words were almost masked by her breathlessness.
“Yes. I think that’s part of the thrill, that they could be caught. Not that there’s anyone way out here to catch them. “
No one but them. He moved his left hand back down to her vagina again and began fiddling. Not just rubbing, no, but feeling for lips, for a crease, for her slit, and massaging with two fingers and a thumb. She spread her legs a bit farther open and moved her hips just a little, but in a minute she whispered, “No. Not there.”
She grabbed his hand and positioned it better, over her clitoris, and pushed his fingers down to where she wanted him to rub.
“Do it there, like this,” and she moved his fingers to show him.
During all of this her eyes stayed on the boys. There was nothing else in all the world.
When the older boy grabbed the younger one’s arms and pulled them up to two branches, she leaned forward, pushing against her lover’s arms. She would have pushed forward further if he hadn’t held her, but he helped by leaning forward himself. The boys weren’t more than forty feet away. The older leaned his face to the younger and spoke, and they were so close that the woman could hear them. She cursed herself for not learning French. The boys were as intimate as the adults, whose faces touched, cheek to cheek, while his fingers played with her sex.
What was the older one saying? She was trying to pick out words, watching the younger boy grab the branches and hold them tightly, arms over his head, while the older one used a hand to pull his mouth open and lick him all the way around inside his lips. She saw them kiss wide-mouthed and the older pinch the child’s nipples. He made a cry she could scarcely hear because it went into the other’s mouth.
Her lover pinched her pants, catching her labia, then moved the bundle about in a circle. She grunted, a whispered grunt. She felt pleasure, and heat from the friction of cloth moving against cloth, cloth moving over flesh.
The older boy unfastened the little one’s pants, baggy American-style pants, and yanked them down to his knees, letting his erection spring out. Such a sweet thing, not brown and red like her lover’s but pale, without many hairs at the base. Not small, though, not as she’d imagined, a little boy’s penis. No, he could fuck her with it. That knowledge added to her store of excitement and unloosed a quiver that was new to her, one that began far down inside her, beneath her labia, and spread out across her underbelly. Oh God, she thought, oh please.
She felt her lover unfasten her pants and pull them down from behind. She shifted her hips to make it easier for him. He had to take his hand away from her sex for a moment to push her pants all the way past her knees, so she could spread her thighs for him. She was cooled by the air from hips to knees, and she felt open to the world. When his hand returned he moved it down to find her slit and began masturbating her directly, his fingers moving through her lips, slipping smoothly as though oiled. She was panting and trying not to moan, afraid she’d give them away.
The older boy looked different to her now. He seemed almost a man, and for a second as she forced her eyes from the boy’s penis to the young man’s face, she wondered how she ever had considered him anything else. It was a man masturbating the boy, kissing him deeply and whispering something intimate. She couldn’t, wouldn’t look away as the man’s hand grabbed the penis just behind the head and pulled it out and back. The boy’s eyes were almost closed and his hips twitched. Her hips were twitching to her lover’s hand. She thought: We’re the same, we two, being done by our men.
She was still trying not to groan, breathing fast, shallow breaths, and was getting close when she turned her face back to her lover’s again and whispered, with luxurious breaths and squeaks for punctuation, “Darling, I wish that were you. I’d like it … oh! … I’d like it if you did that to a boy and let me watch. Oh! Oh! Don’t make me come yet. Please! Not yet. Oh God. It isn’t what I expected. I know I’ll dream of it later. I’d get so excited if I saw you doing a boy.”
He didn’t respond at first, not verbally, but he slowed his hand almost to a stop. Then, in her ear, “You are a perverted slut, aren’t you? My slut.”
He took her earlobe in his lips and bit it softly, circled her ear with his tongue, then probed his tongue into her ear canal, all the while watching the boys and moving his penis up and down, feeling her ass through his pants. He was almost as close as she was, as the boy was. * * * * *
At exactly that moment there was a change in key. The sky didn’t change, or the colors, or the bird songs. Only their private world changed. The almost-man moved the hand that had been holding the boy’s face, moved it all the way down below the hand he was using for masturbation, to his scrotum. The couple both knew what he was going to do before it happened. The woman didn’t trust her insight, but she knew. The young man grabbed the boy’s testicles and squeezed them hard.
She jerked straight upward, almost dislodging the fingers her lover had been pushing up inside her. He jerked too, and forgot to stroke her. His penis pressed hard against his clothes. He thought: My God! Domination! Then: Oh goddamn it! This will disgust her. Don’t get turned off honey.
He needn’t have worried.
The boy writhed, stamping his feet on the ground, twisting, screaming aloud, then he let go of the branches and tried to free his balls. He was no match. The other let go of the erection and used that hand to slap his face, two, three times, fast, first one side then the other, then back. He put his face right up to the boy’s and said something in the most intimate and conspiratorial tone she had ever heard, and the boy grabbed the branches again.
“What’s he doing? What’s he doing?” She could hardly talk.
Her lover couldn’t answer right away. Finally, “He’s hurting him, love, making him submit.” He had trouble saying it because he was short of breath too.
She looked at the boys, then to her lover, then back. She squirmed for a minute, pulled her arms tightly to her chest, and pushed herself even closer to him, as though shielding herself, after which she had eyes only for the boys. She tried to control her breathing, to slow it, but it came out in bursts, like a machine gun.
Only a month before she couldn’t have thought she would ever take a lover, couldn’t have guessed her guilt would evaporate, that she would be at peace with herself. Now the maw yawned for her and she let herself slip down easily, like an oyster, hypnotized by the sight of the larger young man squeezing and now twisting the balls of the boy, his arm tensing and turning, the muscles and tendons in his hand and wrist showing the strength of the grip, the boy jerking his face back and forth, moaning but holding onto the branches, his face red and shining with tears, grimacing, trying to cry quietly.
Finally the older one relaxed his grip and began to masturbate the boy again. Slowly. The pale penis had drooped, half drooped, but he played with the foreskin and the head and after a few minutes his magic hand brought it back. Its owner had stopped squirming, but she could still hear him gasping. He made little cries, too, high pitched boy’s cries. His penis swelled and, after a minute, he pushed his hips outward. His chest and belly rose and fell, deeply and quickly, though they couldn’t hear his breathing anymore, and he leaned his head back against the tree.
Then the squeezing of the balls again, along with masturbation. It was sudden and the boy cried out again, until the pain was taken away while the masturbation continued. His penis swelled up more. Then a squeeze, then none. On and on it seemed. Every time the boy’s balls were squeezed the woman pushed her feet hard against the earth and moved her hips, pushing her sex to her lover’s fingers, not wanting him to go slowly anymore. She couldn’t help making little sounds. Her lover refused to accelerate. He moved his hand so very slowly, she thought, and he whispered to her, “You’re going to come when I let you, bitch. When I say.”
She was on the brink in any event, so he took his free hand from her chest and placed it over her mouth. He felt her mouth moving under the hand and her breath bathing the skin on top. His other hand, from thumb to index finger, was spread against her sex, spanning more than the length of her labia, and he moved it up and down in slow repetitions, up and down her slippery pussy, trying not to push his penis against her because he was so close himself.
The older boy masturbated his victim faster. His hand moved out and in, almost a blur to her. She begged in her mind, do me faster.
Then the boy started to come. He made a different cry, closed his eyes, and tried to push his penis toward the older boy. The woman could see spurts of semen shoot upwards and away from him, then fall to earth. As soon as he saw it start, her lover quickened his masturbation and she too started crying out and closed her eyes and pushed her sex to her lover’s hand. Her orgasm would have been loud except for the hand that held back everything but squeaks. She didn’t see the boy move his hips, out and back, or gasp for air. She thought she couldn’t hold herself up and she began to sag into her lover. She was so caught by her bliss that she missed the boy feeling his balls squeezed again, missed his cry of pain, missed seeing him start to collapse. She pushed her hands down against her lover’s hand, pushed it harder against her vulva, pushed her feet into the earth in front of her, and held her head back as far as it would go.
Finally the boy let go the branches. His knees spread to the sides. He seemed to be held up only by the grips on his balls and penis. He sobbed and turned his head back and forth, put his hands to his scrotum, then to his face. The older boy let him go and he fell to the ground, where he cradled his balls and cried. The woman pulled her lover’s hand away from her sex because now the sensation was too intense.
The next events had dream qualities. She lay against her lover in such lassitude, gasping, gasping, floating, not even holding herself up any more, trusting her lover’s arms, feeling him nuzzle her neck, still interested in the boys but as one is interested in something distant. Pleasure still flowed through her, like a vibration.
The older boy had waited. Now he acted. He said something to the boy, something in a commanding voice. The boy looked up, tried to rise, fell back and held his balls again. The older one grabbed his hair, pulled, and up rose the boy to his knees, still holding himself. The older one pulled his own pants down and brought his dick to the boy’s face.
It was a dark penis, she saw, a man’s rather than a boy’s, one that curved upward.
Her lover caressed her hair as the boy used one hand to pull the penis to his mouth, still holding himself with one hand and listing to one side. He licked, then sucked in the head. He jacked it with his hand. The other said something and when nothing happened he slapped the boy again. The boy whimpered. She could hear him again. He raised his other arm from his crotch and used that hand to caress and tickle the older one’s balls, gently, lovingly, while he fellated him. She saw that the balls were large and hairy. They were a man’s too.
He let the boy suck him for a few minutes before he began fucking his mouth. It became like a dance. The older drove his hips in and back, pushing at the boy’s mouth. The boy moved his head and shoulders, trying to be good without gagging, trying to close his lips around the big cockhead, jacking and caressing. They couldn’t see much of his face because the older boy’s ass blocked the view. She wished he would turn a little to the side.
Dreamlike. There was almost no sound at all, at least nothing human. Birds, wind, something unidentifiable at a great distance. The young man broke the silence with a loud groan and pushed his prick as far in as he could and it was clear he was coming. The boy took as much in as he could, still caressing those balls and jacking the thing, and after a minute it was clear he was swallowing. One could see his throat move as he did it.
When the boy was finished swallowing the young man simply pushed him away, so that he again fell to the ground. The older one pulled his pants up, putting away his man’s penis. He zipped and fastened his pants, turned, and walked away to the south as though nothing had happened. He went right past the couple’s hideaway with his hands in his jacket pockets.
The abused boy was slow to move, but gradually he rose, again holding himself protectively. He was slow to fasten his pants. When he was finished he lurched after the other in a half-stagger, one hand wiping his face, the other held at his crotch. His head was down and he was whimpering as he passed the couple.
They stayed still until the boys were completely out of sight. Not completely motionless. Her lover kept caressing her hair. He had moved the hand he’d used to masturbate her up to her waist to hold her against him. She might have folded to the ground otherwise. He ran his lips along her eyebrows, her cheekbones, and the side of her neck.
When she had recovered enough she pulled out of her lover’s arms, turned around, and sank to her knees. She didn’t bother to pull her pants back up. Neither said anything. She unfastened his belt, unsnapped his slacks, and unzipped him. She looked up and down: up to his face, down to her task. She pulled his pants and underwear down, starting to hurry. His penis was dark and red, like the young man’s, but his hair was shot through with gray.
She pulled the prick to her mouth. How had the boy done it? She took it in mainly with her lips, tried stretching her lips across the head all the way to the ridge, though the head was really too large and meaty for that. This must be about right. She rubbed it with her tongue. She didn’t hurry, just rubbed as hard as she could with her tongue, first on the top, then on the underside, and at the same time jacked him and sucked. She wished she could know exactly what the boy had done. He must know so much more about this than she ever could.
As she tasted his meat her lover moaned, a new thing. He’d always been such a quiet lover, enough that she had to rely on his breathing and body to tell how much pleasure she was giving him. First a moan, then he said something in a heavy voice.
“My sick little slut. Suck it, slut. It’s what you want. Suck it!”
He put both his hands on her head, on the sides, near her jaw, and began moving his prick in and out of her. They danced the dance of the boys, he pushing for depth while she tried not to gag or be asphyxiated. She tasted the silky skin below the head and kept sucking him, trying to give him the most pleasure. He said, “Suck it” as he exhaled. He groaned again and began moving his dick fast, and then he shot a spurt of semen so strongly that she coughed when it hit the back of her throat, though she managed to hold it all inside her. He kept saying “Suck it” until he was finished.
All the way back to the hotel they were solemn. They didn’t speak as they walked back down the garden road, arms around waists. They looked to each other, then away, as though each was ashamed at being found out. They didn’t speak in the car until he took a wrong turn, and then the words were few and perfunctory.
She came out of the bathroom in panties, her body slightly damp. Wet strands of hair clung to her chest and back. He told her to stand there while he used a large bath towel to dry her the rest of the way, rubbing briskly even over her nipples. When he finished the nubs poked out from her chest. He had packed baby powder. She lay on the bed, first on her stomach, then on her back, while he powdered her from feet to neck. He pulled off her panties to powder her vagina and ass, but he didn’t concentrate on them, not just yet. He hadn’t undressed.
Finally they talked. With her cheek resting on his shoulder she put her lips close to his ear. “Darling, I’ve never had an experience like that. In all my life.”
“I could tell. And me too, love.” After a moment, “If I’d known that was lurking in you I’d have ordered up a helping of boys long ago.”
“Well, if I’d known it was lurking in me I’d have told you to order up a helping of boys long ago. But don’t tell me they didn’t excite you just as much as me. You turned into such a monster.”
He ignored the last sentence.
“They didn’t excite me. You excited me. Damn, you did! Not the boys. You know you won’t get your wish of seeing me fuck one.”
She smiled and stretched, running her feet as far down his legs as she could reach. She felt sexy, being naked and powdered while he was still dressed, and talking about what had happened.
“You’re a big liar. You can’t tell me you didn’t love watching them. Especially watching the big one hurt the little one.”
“Uhn-uh, sweetheart. I liked your watching them and I loved sexing you while you did it. I’d like to do it again.”
She could see he was erect under his fly. She ran a hand over it lightly. Oh my.
“Am I going to get lucky again, my sadistic, homophobic lover?”
“If you play your cards right, sister. And I’m not homophobic.”
“You can’t fool me.”
She made up a rhyme: “Homo-phobic, Homo-phobic, really wants another dick,” and she sing-sang it until he started tickling her, which led them to wrestle. He got her arms behind her back and kissed her to shut her up. They kissed for a few minutes, but when they pulled apart she wasn’t finished. The moment her mouth was free she teased,
“You know, I bet you’d really rather be sexing a boy than me.”
“You know, with these teeny tiny titties of yours you could almost be a boy.”
“Oh you bastard!”
She pounced on him and they wrestled across the bed, rolling almost off the edge, then back. She was wildly enthusiastic, and he was afraid of hurting her, so it took a few minutes before he was atop her, his face almost touching hers, her hands trapped beside her head. Now that he had a good look he saw that her eyes had that look from the Jardin, desirous, almost desperate. She was panting, not just winded from the wrestling. She was afraid to tell him what she was thinking, but she forced herself.
“Darling, you could do it,” she said. “You could if you wanted to. You could treat me like the boy. I’d be a little toy for you to use.”
He stared down at her and didn’t say anything at all. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her neck, never letting go of her wrists. She thought he was going to find a way to change the direction of the conversation. No.
“If you were my toy I’d make you do things.”
She stopped breathing entirely for a moment, then her chest pushed against his, up, down. Her neck and chest grew red. What would she say? His weight smothered her. Her hands were useless. She was helpless, small, somehow close to tears, and her chest and stomach were filled with that strange moving current. She swallowed and blinked before answering in a tiny voice,
“I’d like …” She hesitated, reconsidered her words. “I’d have to do anything you told me.”
“What if you hated it?”
Almost breathlessly, “You could make me do it anyway. I wouldn’t have a choice.”
A silence while he kissed her sweetly.
“If you were my toy I’d fuck your ass and make you like it.”
Another silence. These weren’t empty words. They gazed at each other, exploring each other’s faces. Finally she whispered, “Tell me what I have to do.”
Her head was almost to the headboard, resting on a pillow and turned to the side. She had drawn her knees as far up under her as she could. He was smearing antibiotic ointment around her anus with his right hand. It was the only grease they had between them. With his left hand he played with her vagina, his thumb deeply in her and his fingers strumming across the front.
He pushed his right thumb into her ass and moved it back and forth. A twitch was her only sign of noticing. Next, two fingers. He turned the hand clockwise, then counterclockwise, masturbating her with the left hand all the while. She said “Oh,” in what was mostly breath, and held the sheets beneath her tightly, so tightly that her knuckles went whiter than her fingers. Three fingers inside her. She whimpered and turned her head this way and that. Her knees began sliding down the sheets.
He drew out his right hand and slapped her ass as hard as he could. The sound was loud. Her cry was loud, full of shock, but his reply was quiet. “Keep your knees up. Do what you’re told.”
There was a bright pink handprint on her ass that matched his right hand. He watched it as she drew her knees up. She was making a tiny sniveling sound, like a person with mild asthma, more a wheeze than a whimper.
“Now spread them further.”
She spread her knees as wide as she could, so that her anus and her pussy were completely visible to him. He went back to playing with them. He pushed the three fingers back into her rectum and began twisting them again, and she continued to make little high-pitched whimpers, but she held herself still.
When he thought she was ready he told her to hold the position while he got up and took off his clothes. He took his time, to make her continue displaying herself, and when he came back he could see that the strain of holding herself just so was causing her to tremble. He spread ointment on his dick, knelt behind her, and held his dick head against her anus.
“Push out, now, like you’re going to go.”
She did while he pushed in, and in a few seconds the head was inside. The feeling was so intense that he pushed all the way in immediately, and she cried louder and said, “Oh God!” He couldn’t believe the sensation. He had intended to stop moving for a few minutes and masturbate her while she adapted to it, but the sensation was so much more intense than when he fucked her vagina that he couldn’t resist another plunge. He pulled back until everything but the head was out, and then pushed in again. Oh, Jesus. She made a sound when he pushed in, something between a groan and a grunt, with a big, breathy exhalation, but she didn’t say anything else.
Now to pleasure her. He’d brought over the vibrator, but he wanted to save it for a last measure. Instead of using it he reached down past her side, in front of her legs, to her sex and grabbed the whole thing in his hand, labia and all. Then he squeezed the folds toward each other until they came together in a kind of roll, a faux penis, and he began to jack her. He wanted to treat her as much like a boy as he could. He jerked the mass forward and back, making sure that at the front of the stroke the mass rolled against her clitoris. After a few slow strokes he sped up. Her breathing was interrupted by a long “ohhhh,” which could have been either pleasure or hurt. She still didn’t say anything.
He began fucking as slowly as he could make himself, while he jacked her, afraid that if he sped up he’d come too soon. She changed over from occasional sounds to those beautiful pleasure cries, which grew shorter and faster as he jacked her faster. Her back muscles tightened, her head drew back, and she huffed out her first words, “Now, darling, please. Please.”
Only then did he use the vibrator to bring on her orgasm, not stifled by his hand this time, and at the same time he fucked her in full, fast strokes and came while she was in mid-cry.
Her legs had given out, sliding down the bed, and he was lying atop her. She hadn’t stopped panting when he rolled off her to let her breathe more easily. Looking down, he found no mess at all, but there was a smear of blood along the side of his penis.
“Lie still, love. I’ll be a second.”
She didn’t open her eyes.
She still hadn’t moved when he returned.
With the hot cloth he cleaned her ass tenderly, brushing around and a little into her anus. He was as gentle as when he had cleaned his firstborn. He didn’t find any more blood, but he held the cloth to her ass for a few minutes to be sure and then massaged a large glob of ointment into her with his fingers. After that he lay down next to her, and only then did she, barely, open her eyes. She took his hand and kissed it, smiled at him, and closed them again. He lay next to her, a hand on her back, and dozed.
She was still lying on her stomach when he came out of afterglow.
He began to stroke and arrange her hair. Though most of it flowed down her back, some strayed across her face and a few strands were tangled. He pulled errant hairs back and petted the lovely mass of it. Once her hair was completely untangled he ran his fingers through it several times and played with it gently.
More time passed before she lifted her head a little and yawned. She turned slightly toward him on her side and put a hand on his chest while he slid an arm under her head. She dozed again almost immediately. He continued to caress her hair.
She opened her eyes again, once more just barely.
“You’re my girl. You can be my boy any time you want, but you’re my girl all the time.”
She smiled up at him and moved her hand to his cheek.