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Devoutly to be Wished Ch. 01

By: Will_and_Bijou



"It's God Himself, I think. That's the true lost lover. At least, I think that's the place where Will gets sad."

Bijou curled her legs under her and leaned forward to refill Sara's wineglass before she continued.

"I don't know, it's merely a theory. But I think he's smart enough to be aware that faith is beautiful and necessary, that magic and the angelic do exist, but too smart and too left-brained to let go and just dive in and believe things that aren't rational."

Sara nodded. "I've often wondered about it. He's so bloody normal but then sometimes he's so terribly sad, so obviously isolated. It feels like if I get too close he pulls back so I leave him alone. I understand not wanting to let just anyone in. I respect that." 

She ran her hand up the back of her neck and through her hair. "He is delicious though. He's one of those people... I mean, he could be a head in a jar and I would still fuck him as long as his mind was there." She grinned and blushed. "God, that's bad. Must be the wine. Although it's easier to say what I'm thinking with people who actually understand."

Bijou chuckled. "The Alien Grrrl's Club. Meetings weekly at midnight."

Sara laughed. "I remember when I read the one story where you sit there thinking that soon he's going to figure out you're not as smart as he thinks you are. I laughed out loud. That's me every single time I talk to him --about anything." She looked ruminative. "But it makes sense, that the lack of tangible evidence in a greater spirit would bother Will. With faith, I'm in transition myself, from the faith I grew up with to the faith I have now."

"I don't know that I've ever had that sort of faith crisis. The one where everything I know is wrong, yeah. Regularly. But I've never lost my religion, not like that. I can't imagine," said Bijou, looking distant.

"It was fairly devastating, to lose the security of a belief system I had known for so long," murmured Sara, almost to herself. "It's especially devastating when you're dealing with death and not being sure of what you believe. New faith is only just being born inside me now but I can feel it. I don't think I could have lived my life with that hole in me forever." She finished her wine and Bijou poured another glass before she could argue. 

"A hole where faith should be," said Bijou. "But faith is a word I have trouble with anyway. I don't think I have any, if it's defined as the evidence of things unseen. I've seen everything I truly have faith in -- love, people, compassion, miracles, beauty, ecstasy. My gods are just... I don't know. The embodiments of those things. The ideas. But it's all right here." She sighed. "Maybe I just don't understand the struggle people go through. How can you not see God? He's a tomato. He's a stone."

"Ah, but we're talking about Will, not you or me. God is a Mind," said Sara, grinning again. "A great big sexy amazingly smart mind like his. The imaginary universal intelligence, the Super-brain he could actually trust." 

"True. We make God in our own image," Bijou said, suddenly very distracted by Sara's cleavage. It was, admittedly, rather spectacular, and Sara had worn a low-cut top that Bijou would assume she'd save for a far hotter date than this one was supposed to be. She tried to focus. "But really, there are so many things that already affect him, or seem to, spiritually. Where does Will find his divine? Where does he see God already, whether or not he's willing to admit that that's what draws him and affects him? Music. Art. Poetry."

"Sex," smiled Sara, shifting around in her seat, casually tugging the neck of her shirt up, only to have it slide right back down. "At least, I'd be willing to bet he looks for it there pretty often." She looked at Bijou's legs, now stretched out along the couch toward her. Very long legs. She couldn't help but imagine them around Will, since she knew perfectly well they'd been there. More than once. The idea alone made her blush again. She turned so Bijou wouldn't notice, but Bijou noticed. 

"You realize this is all theoretical anyway," Bijou settled back, tracing the edge of her wineglass with a fingertip. Round and round. Sara's eyes moved from the circling fingertip to Bijou's lips, wet from the wine. "I mean, I know him, but hardly well enough to diagnose and treat, or even assume the existence of, some deep existential crisis in his darkest soul. For all I know, what I read as the Lost Alchemical Marriage might just be mild indigestion. Not a hunger for God so much as a simple need for Pepto Bismol." Sara spluttered, swallowed her mouthful of wine and giggled. 

When she'd caught her breath, she nodded. "There's something about him, or at least what I see in him so far, that makes me want to make him happy. I want him to see the good out there. We've talked so much, without ever really meeting. And he feels very far away, even in person, for whatever reason. He's a tough one. Smart enough to be very self-contained." Suddenly she wanted very much to kiss Bijou. Just to see how it felt, she told herself. But she wasn't at all sure how to go about it. It was getting difficult to listen to both Bijou's voice and her own internal voices, all of them drawing her closer even though she was afraid to move. 

"Well, I don't believe one can actually make anybody else happy," responded Bijou, "not as such. But perhaps we do put the occasional light on someone else's path, so they find their own way more easily. Still, what are we really doing, after all? All we're really considering, at the bottom line, is seducing him properly. If he manages to see God in the process, well, that's just frosting."

There. She'd said it. Sara would either run screaming into the night right now, or she'd stay. And if she stayed... Bijou snapped that train of thought off instantly. Stop that. Too much to hope for. 

"It's more than that with you -- you see yourself as, what, clergy in this realm, right? A priestess?" Sara hesitated over the word. It sounded cool. A bit intimidating. Was she considering kissing an actual sex priestess? Was that what you called it, even? There were always questions with Bijou but never a fear of the answers. 

Bijou chuckled. "Priestess. Well, maybe. A temple whore, at the very least. A 4000-year-old sacred slut. But see, I don't force my various religions on people, not even the spirituality of sex. Trying to get him to see God would be too much like proselytizing for my taste."

Bet he would, though, thought Sara. Bet he'd see at least some kind of god. She allowed her mind to imagine the three of them together, just for a moment. That would, she realized, include, um, interacting with Bijou. Her eyes closed and she could see hands all over her own body. His hands and hers. She blushed again, furiously. Damn this tattletale skin. Surely Bijou could tell everything she was thinking. She chewed on her lips and focused on her wine glass trying to think about the weather, find some control in distraction, or at least get control of her distraction.

"I can't help but admit to at least that much of an agenda -- and you're crazy too so you'll understand this. I want to think that between the two of us we could show him the face of some divine, if not The divine. I guess that's why I keep trying to seduce him, not the body but that amazing mind. I feel like there has to be some tangible angelic core, something ecstatic and real, in me, in you, in him, that he could truly feel and believe in, if only I could get him in contact with it. I guess I just want to believe that."

"Maybe it's just greed," sighed Sara. "Maybe we're just so fascinated with this particular clock that we're dying to take it apart to see what makes it tick." She took a breath. "There's that other question too, of course. That practical one: Is he interested in me at all?"

Bijou laughed, loudly. "Are you serious?" 

Sara's face went quiet and she looked out the window. "Oh, half the time if he and I are flirting I think he's just playing. Being nice to me." Sara leaned forward. Bijou took the wineglass, from her hand this time, and their fingers brushed, quite deliberately. This is the way women seduce each other, thought Bijou. With words, delicately, with the lightest of touches. She shut the thought down again, firmly. I will not take advantage of this amazing chick, no matter how much...

Bijou took a deep breath. She spoke slowly, deliberately. "Let me figure out how to tell you this so you actually believe me. I am pretty damn sure that however hot he is for me, or anyone else, this is the true truth: you are, and have always been, the first and fiercest love he's ever had, in that particular online world anyway. I just happen to think I know that. Psychic, an' all. And judging by his response to you at the coffee shop the other day, that carries over quite completely into the real world as well." Bijou leaned forward, both for emphasis and to hand Sara's wineglass to her, refilled. When Sara's hand took it, Bijou kept hold of it for a moment. Sara started, and looked up. Their eyes met. 

"You do believe me, don't you?" said Bijou, locking the gaze firmly. 

Sara paused, looked straight back at her. Then grinned, widely, but didn't take her eyes away. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've forgotten the question already." 

Something in the moment snapped and relaxed. It was good. They both knew now where this was heading, and it was okay. Each of them took a moment to process, and finally Bijou released the glass. 

"Long as that's understood," she said. "And I say that with something far different from jealousy, believe me. I admire his taste. I agree with him completely." 

Bijou was distractedly remembering the way Sara had talked about force. She liked being held down, got off on being topped a little. But gods, that would be ballsy, to just go there. Bijou found herself at her perpetual loss. Men were understandable. Women, not so much. How much could she get away with? How dare she even start thinking like that? 

Sara saved her by changing the subject. Or maybe not changing it. "I was re-reading the stories you two wrote together. I barely blinked when I first read them, just devoured them all one by one. Maybe it's cause I know you both, but well, they just seem good and true and hot. They're the best mind-fuck stories I have ever read. They're smutty porn for smart people." 

Bijou laughed. "Alliteration, even. We're putting you on the book jacket, for sure." She paused. "Maybe you should join in the writing. We could co-write something, and as an added incentive, I suspect strongly that the idea of you and I writing a story together about him would drive Will out of his motherfuckin' mind. And that can't be bad." 

"Neither one of us knows him, really," said Sara. "Not enough to give him religion. But maybe between the two of us, combined..." 

"Are we still talking about writing?" asked Bijou, knowing the answer. 

"Sure," smiled Sara, now very relaxed, despite the deepest blush yet this evening. "Sure, that too." Sara normally guarded her sensual self from people, not because she was afraid of them but more because she was afraid of herself. With Bijou there was a peace and acceptance that meant there was no question of yes for Sara. It was only a question of when.

"We'll need to..." Bijou looked away, feigning innocence and failing terribly. Her look was pure mischief. "...do some research. Outline this a bit." 

Sara said nothing, but set her glass down deliberately on the table. Then she sat back, just as deliberately, and looked intently at the objects on the table, trying to focus her mind. Coin. Candle. What is about to happen? Pen. Plate. Wine glass. Bottle. Bottle. What should I do? Wine glass. Book. Grapes. 

Bijou leaned forward and very carefully rearranged a lock of Sara's hair, so that it laid curled against her neck. Then she drew her hand back, and grinned. 

"C'mere," she said.

It felt like Bijou's hands reached inside Sara, pulled a string of breaths from her and wrapped them around her body. It was heady, this strange feeling of weight and weightlessness. 

Sara's voice was a little deeper and her mind had focused down completely on Bijou's lips. "So, we're going to uhm...explore." Swallow. She was just talking to herself now, "Each other. Okay. Yes. Please." The last was just a whisper. Bijou had shifted forward on the couch. They were dangerously close. 

Bijou reached out and slid a casual hand up Sara's back, under her hair, pulling forward. Sara stopped, momentarily snapping out of the trance. "Is Will coming over tonight? I mean, does he know I'm here, with you. Is it okay?" She was well aware she was stammering, but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

Bijou smiled and continued to stroke the hidden skin on the back of Sara's neck, threading her fingers through the wavy strands of her hair. "He's having dinner with some faculty member or other and then he's coming over later. As to the rest, the only thing he will mind is that he missed this." With that Bijou closed the rest of the distance between their lips. She tested Sara's, brushing, sliding, pressing until they opened. One, or perhaps both of them sighed, a sound that seemed to unlock both minds and hands. What had been a motionless statue seconds before was suddenly alive.

Sara's fingers found Bijou's leg, circled her ankle and slid up to rest against the inside of her thigh. Her fingers stopped there and mimicked the circles Bijou had used to caress her wineglass. Her other hand interrupted their kiss, finding Bijou's lips, touching them as if to ensure they were real. 

Bijou smiled and their eyes met again, this time in such fierce connection that Sara squeezed the thigh under her hand. Then, suddenly, Bijou drew back and looked serious. Shit, Sara thought. I did something wrong. I've gone too far. Maybe she doesn't want me. Maybe...

Bijou's drew her hand around to touch Sara's collarbone, lightly. Sara shivered, nearly overcome. Bijou's voice was low and serious. "You sweet, sweet creature," she murmured, "I would give just about anything to seduce you right now. You're a fucking dessert cart, I mean look at you, and I fell in love with your brain three years before I ever saw you in person, so you're doubly dangerous. But I will not, will NOT," and here she took her hand away completely, so she could focus. It took all her strength to move her hand, but she wanted to be sure. She took a deep breath, "I will not talk you into something you wouldn't ordinarily do. Just because I..." I shouldn't say it, she thought. No, dammit, the truth. The truth or nothing. "I find you luscious on every level, and it would be an honest dream come true to take you straight into the bedroom and see what kind of noises I could get you to make..." She trailed off, distracted. Shook her head. "You've had three glasses of wine, and I know you didn't come here to... and I won't let..." She trailed off again, lost. 

Sara chuckled, enormously relieved. She hadn't let go of Bijou's thigh, and now she ran her hand up, very deliberately, over the soft waist, deliberately brushing a nipple as she went by, and tugged a handful of Bijou's hair. 

"You've known me long enough to know I can handle three glasses of wine," she said, "and as for the rest of that, um. All I know is I can't keep my eyes off your mouth, and..." she drew her fingers around to touch those lips, now opening into a smile that was both relieved and agenda-soaked. Bijou leaned forward and took her fingers in, two of them, biting them gently and then flickering the tip of her tongue between them. 

She watched as Bijou sucked the two fingers into her mouth, her own mouth mirroring with a half moan, half whimper. Then Bijou slipped the fingers from her mouth and pressed them firmly into Sara's own mouth, smiling again as she watched her skin flush. Bijou felt an electric surge, watching Sara respond so clearly to her own touch. There was a clear test of power here, and Sara had clearly gotten off on the interaction. Both of them felt the heat rise at what had just been taught, and learned. 

Sara flicked her tongue over the tip of her fingers as she slowly pulled them from her mouth and then slid off the couch onto the floor at Bijou's feet. She watched a flicker of surprise cross Bijou's face over her sudden move, but Bijou didn't stop her or follow. Sara was just doing what she always did when she wasn't entirely sure of herself-she was taking the lead. 

She stood up and put her hand out for Bijou. She pulled the taller woman up so she was standing. Sara walked around her once and then stopped behind Bijou and whispered into her ear, "I want to be able to touch all of you, so I need you standing." As if to make her point, Sara drew her fingers from the tops of Bijou's feet, swirling around her legs, over the curve of her ass, around her ribs and up until she traced her collar bone. 

Between two other people, this might have appeared to be a power game, but not between Sara and Bijou. Somehow this was completely familiar to them both. Perhaps this was their first time being intimate in the flesh, but each of them felt the history that went far beyond that. "I want you to stay still," Sara whispered again into Bijou's ear, fingers stroking up both her sides. Sara knew she wasn't wearing anything under her the simple summer dress. The sun had helped her see the naked outline of Bijou's body earlier that day. She crushed the soft material in her hands and rubbed it across Bijou's stomach, her touch drifting lower and lower with each circle. 

Sara kissed Bijou's shoulder and then whispered, "Don't touch me. You give to people all the time. I want this first moment to be my gift to you." As she said this, Sara slipped around to face Bijou again, kissing her shoulders as she slowly pulled the straps of her dress down. Bijou looked like she was going to say something but Sara gently pressed her fingers to her lips and shook her head. When she took her fingers away she didn't wait for an answer. She grabbed the remote and pressed play on the stereo. Both women smiled when the first few notes of Lakme began to fill the room. Bijou had been mooning around to the liltingly sexy Flower Duet earlier in the day. Go figure. 

Sara's mouth moved down Bijou's neck, biting, kissing and tasting. She felt an intense surge of emotion when she saw the necklace of bat-shaped charms that Bijou always wore to commemorate her lost daughter. Strangely moved even in the midst of her desire, she kissed each of the bats before moving back to skin. She murmured between kisses, more to herself than anyone, "So soft." Her fingers pulled the dress again and this time it was enough for it to fall to the floor. "Beautiful." Sara's grin held more than a little evil as she deliberately circled Bijou's naked body, and then stood behind her without touching at all. She stood on tiptoes and lightly kissed just the edge of Bijou's ear. "Waiting is good," Sara whispered in answer to Bijou's frustrated little whimper. 

Sara reached around Bijou, pressing her own clothed body into Bijou's back, and cupped her breasts. "Mmm," She opened her hands and rubbed her warm palms up and down across Bijou's nipples. Bijou cooed and writhed back against her, and her hands went up to cover Sara's, to press them down hard against her, to wind their fingers and arms together, seething with need. The touch rocked Sara's hips forward and she pressed her open mouth onto Bijou's shoulder. "God," she moaned. Their bodies together, even like this, were electric. But she had wanted this part to be simpler, less overwhelming. She gathered herself and straightened her stance. 

"No no. This is about you," she purred, but she was honestly amazed to see Bijou's hands go obediently down to her sides. Being submissive? She looked around at Bijou's face, which, although her eyes were closed and she looked a little drugged, wore an enormous grin. Not at all a submissive look, thought Sara, laughing to herself. I thought not. But she's willing to play, oh yes. And that's where I want to go first.


Devoutly to be Wished Ch. 02



"But you choose," Bijou's light growl was right next to her ear again, a barely perceptible breath moving the hair on her neck. "I want to hear what you want. I could drag you off right now, I could just undress you right here and slide up against you, or, I don't know, just off the top of my head, I could go sit over there and just watch you take your clothes off, kinda slowly, like you would if you knew someone were watching you. Honestly, it would be really hot to see what it does to you, to make you wait a bit. But it's up to you – tell me which one sounds," she punctuated her last word with a distinct nibble, just a single light press of her teeth, on Sara's ear, "...good." Sara shuddered. 

***

There was a long pause, while Sara gained her breath, and thought about what to say. It wasn't helping that Bijou's breath was warm and patient on her ear. Finally, she gulped, and whispered, very softly, "The last one." 

Bijou moved even closer, pressing her body up against Sara, and kissed her very carefully, in what was clearly complete adoration. 

"Which one, precious? Which choice exactly? I think I know what you mean, but honestly, it would make me so crazy to hear you say it, straight out. Which one do you truly want right now, more than anything, you exceptional creature? You just say what you want, and watch it happen." 

"I....um..." said Sara, writhing back against Bijou. This was insane. It was already so over the top hot. 

Bijou breathed in her ear again. "It would kinda send you, I think, to say it out loud, wouldn't it? I think it would. So what do you truly want, angel? Tell me." Bijou punctuated her words with a smooth, slow press of her hands against Sara's form, up her waist, to her arms. 

"I want... to undress... to undress myself, to have you watch me..." Sara breathed it, hardly daring to whisper, overwhelmed by perfection. Bijou's hands had reached her wrists, and they wrapped, slowly and deliberately, those long thin fingers around her, holding her firmly. There was no arguing with that grip, only surrender, only losing control, giving in. Bijou, with suddenly stony power, held her wrists firmly just long enough to guide them behind her, as if she were bound. She moved Sara's arms and took both wrists into one of her hands, quietly demonstrating what she liked, what she wanted. This is me, being in charge of you. 

Sara was breathless, already crazy with hunger, but strangely calm. She knew herself well enough to know that this was where she liked to go, but this was also a dangerous place with which to trust people. She couldn't afford to lose control with just anyone, and she was always so very close to losing control. What some people perceived as a cool reserve was the thin shell that covered her, kept her from surrendering to the wrong person, or in the wrong way. She was always so close to the edge, so constantly vulnerable to the right voice or the right set of touches. She had to keep her distance. But here, she knew somehow that she was in good hands. Not just good hands, but hands that adored her and respected her, hands that had the skill to take her where she truly wanted to go. Something told her that. Bijou was like her, a volcano, and she seemed to understand. 

But she also knew that Bijou was intense, that she had edges, kinks, wild territory. She'd read Bijou's stories. Bijou could go anywhere, and Sara was a bit intimidated by the impressions she'd had of Bijou's wild streak. How much of her fiction was real? 

She chose, at that moment, to trust. Completely. She felt safe, despite her unfamiliarity with this strange, sharp creature, because at the other end of her surrender was a knowledge, beyond doubt, that she was adored. Bijou's eyes were undisguised, and the affection that beamed from them was unmistakable, bright as a floodlight. 

"Undress for me," breathed Bijou into her ear. "Nothing contrived. Just you, surrendering. While I watch."

Sara felt suddenly plain, and completely raw. She didn't have to decide anything; she couldn't do anything but hear the voice and move toward it, pursuing her own hunger to its endpoint. She began to undress. At first, she closed her eyes. Bijou had moved away, she wasn't sure where, but she did feel, suddenly, quite alone, and she let her mind move to those moments when, by herself, she had undressed, she had moved and danced and been seduced by her own images, her own thoughts. 

She stripped her shirt over her head, glad to be rid of it. She found herself suddenly immensely impatient, bound by her clothes. Going slowly would have been contrived; if she'd truly been alone she'd have kicked off every stitch in moments, impatient to be rid of the constraint. And so she did – Bijou wanted her real, and dammit, she'd be real. It wouldn't be a sexy dance, or something from a movie. It would be a finally free, solitary woman who'd been bound into clothes all day when she'd have preferred to be naked, or at least close. Her clothes felt like handcuffs, like a straightjacket, and she needed them off, instantly. 

She stopped thinking about the fact that she was undressing as a performance. She tore her clothes off as if they were soaked with poison, eager to get them away from her skin. She dropped them one by one on the floor where she stood, every bond she had. She kicked the skirt away and then unhooked (god, what ecstatic relief) the lacy bra that held her generous breasts like a vise. The latter she balled up and threw, with not a little rage, across the room. 

When she got to the panties she stopped. They were hot, and she knew it. She'd always had a bit of a thing for sexy underwear, and knowing that Bijou had a major fetish for lingerie had raised her consciousness about it even further. This piece was one of her favorites. The thought arrived in her head, strangely sudden: Bijou would want me to leave these on. 

Free now, her skin felt fresh and hungry, and she stretched, ran her hands up her sides to cup her breasts, and she kneaded her shoulders where the tension always sat, dragging her hands along the muscles, breathing deep. Free. And I know what Bijou is seeing right now, and I think I might even know how she feels about it. I think I might already know...

She opened her eyes, finally, and looked across the room, where Bijou had coiled herself back on the couch, her legs folded under her. She held a glass of wine, which was deep red against the background of her skin. Her face was blissful, amazed and amused all at once.

"O my god you are so fucking beautiful," she said in a measured, peaceful tone, her eyes never leaving Sara's form. "You just make me speechless. Jesus Christ you're hot. You're like, better than Christmas." 

She uncoiled then, and stood up, moving toward where Sara stood, frozen. "And that was easily the finest striptease I've ever seen. It was real. And leaving these on," her hand now reached for the french-cut bikini Sara had worn, knowing it showcased her ass perfectly, not knowing why that was going to be important on this particular night, "leaving this on, which looks stunning, by the way, was a very nice touch."

"I thought you'd like it," breathed Sara, and found that what she said was true; that honestly, she had considered this entire scene quite early in the day, and though part of her had denied the possibility, another part had known, and had made plans. 

"Oh, the word like doesn't even begin to describe how I feel about that," said Bijou, her hands running firmly all over Sara's form. There had been no preamble; she'd just walked over and begun to pet every inch of Sara's skin, watching her own hands as they traced the curves of Sara's body, up and down. As if she owned the place, thought Sara, and smiled inadvertently at the phrase. 

"I take it you like what you see," said Sara, feeling sassy. "Or are you just studying Braille these days?" Bijou laughed, and gripped her a little harder. "Gods, you're a smartass. I love that about you. Alright, Ms. Mindreader, yes. I am a little overwhelmed at this moment. You have, and this may sound blunt and unromantic, but that's how I am, so that's how it comes out, one of the finest pairs of tits I've seen in a damn long time. God, those are spectacular." Bijou's own breasts were rather small, nicely rounded handfuls that fit with her rangy frame. Sara envied the fact that Bijou never had to wear a bra, but she knew that her own breasts were, in fact, the kind that everyone seemed to love. It was almost worth the trouble to have that automatic appeal. 

Bijou continued, although her eyes – and for that matter her hands - were still fastened on Sara's cleavage, "I mean, the rest of it is unbelievable as well, which doesn't surprise me. But you'll pardon me if I focus on one thing at a time. Or two, as the case may be." 

"I could get you something for the drool on your chin, if you like," retorted Sara, who was amazed at how sharply her mind was still working, given the fact that she was riding an insanely high edge of arousal, stoked by the fact that Bijou was now running her thumbs, and occasionally her tongue, over her nipples and up to the edges of her collarbone. It was hysterical, and yet even within the fog she felt her smartass inner voice, usually a hindrance in these situations, awake and amused. Whatever she felt like saying, it would be alright. It would be correct. There was no playacting necessary. 

Bijou snorted. "Nice. You may have to. I'm pretty entranced right now. If I've gotten all stupid you have only yourself and this spectacular body to blame. You're just what I've always wanted. I must write to Santa tomorrow and thank him." She continued to mostly just stare at Sara's various body parts, running her hands up and down, gripping here, stroking there. Sara was nearly insane with the touch. 

"So were you going to fuck me or just stand here and admire the paint job all night?" she said, and then couldn't believe it had actually fallen out of her mouth. She'd intended to lean a bit toward the submissive and respectful, knowing that it was a conventional dynamic with someone as toppy as Bijou. But Bijou cracked up, and as she moved in toward Sara she widened her stance so that she stood lower, and suddenly they were face to face. 

Bijou slid both hands down to Sara's ass, cupping it lovingly. "Keep being a saucy bitch like that and see where it gets you," she said, "because I really like it when you mouth off. It's the first thing I ever loved about you." 

"But," she continued, suddenly standing back and grabbing Sara's hand, "Don't think I can't still think straight, just barely, even with the onslaught of that immense hotness." She began walking toward the hallway, clearly heading for the bedroom and dragging Sara by the hand as if she were leading a fellow nine-year-old toward the Double Secret Treehouse. "Cause I've had some really cool ideas about you and I'll tell you all about them while I'm fucking your brains out, 'kay? C'mon." 

Sara, her mind blown and a wide amazed grin emerging on her face, allowed herself to be led down the hall. 

***

In the bedroom there was no preamble. The opera had faded in the next room and Bijou punched a button on the stereo in the bedroom. It was one of her mixes, with everything from Led Zeppelin to the Cure and Juno Reactor, all energetic and mostly instrumental. Then she turned immediately to Sara, and without warning shoved her backwards onto the bed. Sara fell, and then relaxed and laid back, giggling. Bijou's expression was terrifyingly mischievous. She moved toward the bed and knelt between Sara's spread legs, looking down. Without any warning, she grabbed the panties Sara still wore and yanked them down and off. "These are lovely. They are stellar. I may build a cathedral to them later. But they must go now," she said, and threw them over her shoulder before she sat back, looking Sara up and down. 

"What does it like? How does it work, exactly? How do I wind it up and make it go?" she murmured, pretending that she was merely talking to herself. "And how on earth am I going to wrap it?" Sara didn't understand the last question, or perhaps she'd misheard, but it was too late to think about it anymore because Bijou had bent down and curled her forearms suddenly under Sara's thighs, lifting them up off the bed and spreading her open. Suddenly her thighs were clamped firmly in Bijou's grasp, and Bijou bent down and ran her tongue, with no warning, round Sara's clit, once, twice, and then stabbed deep against it, making Sara writhe. Being touched suddenly, without any preparation, made her realize that she was already just inches away from coming. It was agonizing, and then just as suddenly Bijou pulled away and watched Sara rise and fall, almost spasming in surprise at the quickness of the move. 

"It is all I can do, just everything I can do right now," she murmured, releasing Sara's legs and laying them down gently onto the bed, "not to simply lean over you and devour you and take you straight over the edge, and myself as well. But you deserve my best attempt at self-control. And I did say I had some ideas. That is, if you like them." Sara lay, completely relaxed, feeling like a treasured pet, like a jewel being admired. Or, judging from Bijou's edgy grin, a meal about to be consumed. 

"Your pussy looks incredibly sweet, and I really want to see more of it," she purred. "But if I touch you right now I may not keep my promise to myself, that I was going to take my sweet time and torture you like I've always wanted to. So how 'bout this idea," and her voice sounded completely sweet and reasonable even as her words lit little fires all over Sara, "How about you do it. Run your hands down, and stroke that lovely rose open, and show me a little more. Let me see your fingers, moving, and open that flower all up so I can learn all about you. What do you think, would you go there if I asked you to?" 

But Sara was already doing it, hypnotized by the straightforward voice. Her hands roamed down her belly, rounded her hips, crept toward the center, and her mind strained and snapped as she found herself doing exactly that, shameless, drawing the lips of her pussy apart with her fingertips, letting one finger play around the divisions, flicker across her clitoris, making the pearl rise and harden. 

"You wouldn't come, would you?" Bijou's voice hummed suddenly close to her ear. "Not without, like, letting me know before hand so I could stop you if I wanted to, right? Cause that's another of the ideas I had, and I wanted to run it by you, see what you think. No don't stop. Here, let me echo that. Let me learn that move," and she traced one of her own fingertips down Sara's torso to press in against her clitoris, stroking the little pearl round and round, then stopping suddenly when Sara's hips began to rise. 

"Oh you are stellar, and juicy, and I want to put my mouth on you right now, right right now," said Bijou, "But I'm really concerned that I'd make you come if I did that at the moment, and I really want to see exactly what it does to you to make you wait. And wait." Sara moaned, writhing against her own hand. Bijou took her hand away then, and Sara whimpered in genuine hunger as her fingers were brought up to her own lips. They were moist and honey-scented, that familiar perfume. 

Then she felt Bijou's hand slide down her hip, find the valley of her thigh, and move inexorably in, until there were fingertips sliding delicately between her lips and into her, so slowly as to be almost imperceptible, except that with every millimeter she was invaded, shocks ran through her entire body, subtle and white-hot. 

"Completely relaxed," breathed Bijou into her ear. "Just breathing, just relaxing, just letting go, while I tell you my idea. Oh. Oh my god that's sweet," she added, almost plaintive, as her fingers slid smoothly in, deep and delicate, and explored, almost without motion, deep along the inner ridges of Sara's cunt, pressing the flesh inside, feeling the muscles flutter. 

"I want to make you come so bad right now I can't even remember my own name," she growled softly. "More than anything, at the moment, I want that. But I have this idea, and I don't want to bias you," she moved her fingers, just a flutter against the soft upper wall of Sara's slick pussy, "by getting you into an altered state or anything. It wouldn't be fair." Bijou's soft voice stayed steady and hypnotic, overpowering Sara with words alone, with the steady purr in her ear. Sara was so close to the edge her thighs trembled, and she moaned. 

"I'm thinking about offering you to Will as a sort of present. Like, all tied up in a bow," said Bijou, punctuated her sentences with more little flutters of her fingertips, pressing in, rocking her hand gently against the juicy gate, and pressing her teeth, gently but distinctly, round Sara's nipples. "I really think that might be easily the nicest present I've ever given him." At the sound of Will's name, and the memory that he had been the starting point of all of this, Sara gasped. She had wanted him for so long. For a moment the thickness inside her, now three of Bijou's long fingers beginning to slide slowly in and out, became his cock, thrusting in, and the idea alone made her entire body shudder. 

Bijou recognized the response. "Oh yes," she purred, grinning, "we mustn't lose track of the fact that at some point, he's going to show up here. I certainly haven't forgotten that. And I'm thinking it's going to be relatively soon." 

She began sliding her fingers deep, rhythmically in and out of Sara, fucking her, distinctly and firmly now, but watching carefully to make sure she didn't get too close. "Relaxing, precious. Just relaxing and breathing. Letting it roll over you. Oh those are lovely noises," and they were; Sara was keening now, moaning with every breath, hypnotized by the sensation of being split up the center by the insistent, maddening rhythm. Fingers. Cock. Whose. Everyone's. Just fuck, just fuck me. Forever. Just fuck me forever. 

But suddenly it stopped, the fingers slid slowly out of her, and her whole body went wild, shuddering. She heard herself growl, genuinely frustrated. The ideas rolling randomly in her head crashed together and broke like waves. Her completely feral need to come. The hypnosis in Bijou's voice, and how much she wanted roll over and slam everything she had into this maddening woman, and the sheer, soul-deep panic, off in the distance, of the idea of Will's arrival. It was too late for any control over the situation, and she surrendered, finding herself suddenly, surprisingly, amused. She was in it, and there was no turning back, and this was what she'd wanted all along anyway. Will. And bijou, this maddening, hypnotic catalyst, taking her over, every inch of her. 

***

Bijou realized that she had had Sara on the edge for ages, and while she truly wanted to offer this armful of roses to Will in the heightened state it was in, she also knew that making a delicately wired creature like this stay on the edge too long would be cruel, and counterproductive. Sara was truly desperate now, whimpering plaintively, her pussy undoubtedly throbbing and hungry beyond rational thought. She needed to be spread. 

Spreading was something she'd tried before, but she wondered if it would work on someone as close to orgasm as this, and on Sara, given how much of a hair trigger she had. But it was worth a try. 

"Come down, baby," Bijou crooned, almost maternal. "Come back down a bit, and breathe. Think about the top of your head. Think about your heart." She began the acupressure, the smoothing of her hand upward over Sara's torso, spreading the heat down along her legs to her feet, firmly so that her touch was more healing than sexual. Then up, up the center of her torso, up to her scalp, which bijou massaged gently, releasing the snakes that had gathered and coiled there. It seemed to be working. Sara sighed and seemed to relax. The tension went out of her hips and her hands released the bedspread, which they had been clutching tightly. Bijou knew she was feeling the arousal more generally now, all over her body, and that the congestion of both blood and energy that had centered around her hips and pussy was spreading through her body. 




Devoutly to be Wished Ch. 03



Sara was thinking about Bijou's question, too. What is Will supposed to do next? And she found, amidst all the confusion in her mind, that she knew exactly what she wanted him to do. There was no way to tell him; he would have to guess, because there was no way she could force it out of her mouth, aloud. But yes, she knew what she wanted Will to do. There was no avoiding it. 

A hot red silence coalesced within her, and she felt as if her skin were on fire for the man that was waiting in the next room, the one she had been waiting for, the one who was waiting for her. It was just like it had always been, at that moment; knowing he was right there, almost within reach, nearly tangible, and yet still invisible. 

Bijou watched her, and thought fast. 

And Will was indeed trying to decide what to do. 

***

He'd let himself in quietly, expecting to find the two women still chatting in the living room, since Sara's car was still out front. It was obvious the moment he walked into the living room what had been happening. Bijou's dress in a heap on the floor, what must have been Sara's skirt and a blouse, and

oh oh god

hanging off the edge of a bookshelf, the hot pink lace brassiere, (never saw those much around bijou's place, his mind said idly, desperate to find something rational to do) that had to be

jesus. Hers. Sara's. He'd never been a fetishist, never had more than a normal straight man's interest in women's lingerie, but it was suddenly all he could do not to just... walk up, pick it up, perhaps (christ, get ahold of yourself, man) bury his face in it, breathe in. It was tangled badly, and far from the rest of the clothing. That would mean what, about the scene that had happened. Had she (Sara, my god, Sara) walked over, wearing nothing but... and where were the underwear? Did she not... or were they... suddenly I'm goddamn Sherlock Holmes, he thought wildly. Christ, I'm going insane. 

He didn't touch the bra. And he tried not to think about the fact that it had taken all his strength not to do so. To pick it up, to imagine it shaping those breasts he had tried not to notice at breakfast the other day, those stunning curves. But he didn't trust himself to touch it, because the way he was feeling right now god only knew what he'd end up doing with it. He turned deliberately and walked toward the coffee table, his mind racing. Sara and bijou had been drinking this wine, here, holding those two glasses, still on the table, still with their lip prints on them. Two pairs of shoes had been kicked off. A tray of grapes, a corkscrew. Then they had... and then they had...

God. Perhaps even right now. For the first time, he listened for noises. Bijou was noisy. There was no missing it if she was involved in anything sexual. (He didn't know about Sara. Yet, his mind said. Yet.) What did Sara sound like, aroused, coming? Dammit, stop that right now. Focus. 

But there was no noise, nothing at all. 

They were asleep. They'd forgotten about him. He should just quietly leave. He couldn't resist peering down the hall a slight distance, and saw that the light was on in the bedroom. And in fact he could hear a low conversation, though he couldn't make out the words. 

The words would have sent him completely over the edge, had he been able to hear them. 

"What do you really want, Sugar?" Bijou's voice was half maternal, half tease. They were curled together on the bed, talking in low tones. Obviously a decision had to be made. "If you were Will's best friend now, what would you tell him to do?"

"I don't know," Sara breathed. It was confusing, putting it like that. What she wanted, what he should do. It was just that her whole body throbbed, her pussy beat like a hungry heart, her hands nearly shook for desire to feel skin, muscle, rhythm underneath them. Real. Him. 

And of course her. Bijou. She looked over, still astounded by where she was and what had happened, which, mind-bending as it was, now seemed only a preamble to this next moment. For a moment she felt guilt-soaked. What was she thinking about, fucking another woman's lover, in her own bed, in her own house? But there was no escape there: this was Bijou. Obviously, she'd be more than fine with that. 

Sara surrendered. She sighed and leaned back into Bijou's embrace. "I want him," she said simply. "I have, for so long. I've always wanted him." Her mind tried to go all sorts of places, old places. He couldn't really want her. He was just being polite. She didn't know what to do, where to start. All the old terror tried to insert itself into the odd, wild peace she'd been feeling. But she didn't let it. I don't care anymore, she thought. I'm so hungry. I've been so hungry for so long. 

Bijou had had her on the edge, so very close, and then had brought her back down, and her body was throbbing with a low hum of need. Every little thought of Will in the next room made the heartbeat in her thighs a little more intense. She balanced on a primitive edge of complete opposites. She was overwhelmed with the pure need to be taken over the edge, by someone, anyone. And she was equally overwhelmed by the specific idea of Will, that unimaginable creature she'd desired for so long on a level that was almost purely intellectual and theoretical. 

It was just too much. And what it came down to, really, at this moment, was whether or not she trusted Bijou to tell her the truth, to push her in the right direction, toward joy, toward what she truly, secretly and most deeply wanted. If Bijou said that Will wanted her, that he was just as self-conscious as she was, that he felt as she did, then it must be true; what reason would she have to lie? 

Bijou watched the internal war, and crossed her fingers that she was doing the right thing. "He has always wanted you too, sweet," she said simply. "You know that. You can tell. You just keep talking yourself out of it. But you know it, don't you? I mean, here?" she tapped on Sara's heart, then slid her hand lower. Sara wriggled and gasped. "Yes," she admitted. "I know. At least, I think I know." She trailed off. 

"You know," said Bijou. "Of course you know. You just can't admit that you could be, that you are, just that fabulous." Sara relaxed for a moment, and knew the truth of it. She was bright, she was hot, and she was worth a great deal. 

But I'll go a step further than that," murmured Bijou, now trailing her fingertips over Sara's thigh, smoothly and infuriatingly. "I'll tell you that giving Will a way to get to you, like he's always wanted to, would easily be the nicest thing I could ever do for him. And I'm very, very fond of that man." Her eyes were shot with threads of steel for a moment, at that last phrase, and then she focused. "I want to give you to him like the best present ever. I want to wrap you up in a bow, in fact. That's what I want. But you tell me." 

Sara already knew the answer, but she said, "Wait. You're talking about going away, aren't you? You wouldn't be here? I wouldn't want to..."

"This is not martyrdom," interrupted Bijou firmly, "and you know it. This is simply how it's supposed to be. Don't you think?" Sara nodded. Right now, her thoughts and her body were so focused on Will, even Bijou lying next to her, and the memory of the last hour or two, faded by comparison. "I'm sorry," she said, knowing it was an odd thing to say. 

"Stop that this instant," commanded Bijou. "That's ridiculous. You're supposed to be completely preoccupied right now. That is exactly as it should be." It was the last piece of permission Sara needed. But she had needed to hear that. It seemed so strange, to switch focus so quickly. But there was also a part of her that knew that sooner or later, she could have them... both. Both. Her mind bent at the thought; the two of them, working together, playing, with her... God. Oh god. But before she could really think about that, Bijou's voice was in her ear again.

"Let me wrap you up. Like a present. Like the best birthday in the history of time. And here's what I'm thinking, here's my idea. You have absolute control over what happens next. "

"But I don't want..." Sara blurted, and stopped. Bijou grinned. "I know. Trust me. Just see what you think of my idea." Sara was already learning to recognize Bijou's domme voice, the friendly, edgy little series of casual suggestions, the insistent, hypnotic patter. "I'm thinking this, and see, I'm just brainstorming, so tell me what you think, and oh, look at you, just look at you at the moment. I wish you could see what I see," and she slid up alongside Sara and pressed her back against the pillows, so that she was half-sitting, languid. 

Bijou sat back and looked at Sara through narrowed eyes, holding her thumb forward and squinting in a parody of a preoccupied portrait artist. "Hmmm," she said. Sara giggled. Bijou leaned in and arranged Sara's legs, out and relaxed with one knee slightly bent open. Then she made a huge production out of arranging the various folds of the kimono, a stunning Chinese red embroidered jacket that hit Sara at about mid-thigh. Sara began to chuckle, occasionally punctuating her soft giggle with a surprised little yelp or a sigh as Bijou purposefully grazed her fingers over a nipple or an inner thigh. 

Lastly, Bijou went to a dresser drawer and pulled out a long black scarf, a length of satin only a few inches wide. She knelt on the bed next to Sara, and very gently drew Sara's arms up until her palms met at her heart. She slid the silk around and wound it, length after length, beginning at the wrists, and then down, so that Sara's forearms were pressed closer together. Sara's hands were now pressed together near her face, her forearms bound in a single slick gauntlet. "Here," she said in a quiet, electric voice, "I give you complete control." She didn't tie the fabric at all, but rather looped it up and slid the ends through Sara's joined hands. 

"Simply let go, and you're unbound. You're only there as long as you choose to hold this in your hand. So it's your choice. Stay there, just like that, or move. It's entirely and completely up to you." 

She leaned forward, grinning, and whispered in Sara's ear, "If you were Sara's best friend, what would you tell her to do?" And despite the rolling boil of panic and arousal that consumed her, Sara giggled again. Yes. Yes I'll stay, and she knows that. I've got nothing, nothing, nothing to lose except this endless ache, this raw hunger. Something will happen. Something good. She leaned her head back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Her fingertips were now against her lips, held in place by the silk, and her forearms pressed down against her breasts. 

Bijou looked down at her, thinking to herself that Sara would never believe it if she tried to express what an astounding picture she made at the moment, like a bouquet of red roses, like a feast. "Close your eyes, sweet one," she whispered. Sara let her eyes drift shut, and went deep inside her body. She heard Bijou's voice, next to her ear, just a breath. "Don't think, sugar. Don't think. Just breathe and dream. I'll be back in a little while." And she was gone, silently. Sara breathed. And waited. Not thinking. But wanting. Oh, yes. Wanting, so much. 

***

That was definitely a giggle, thought Will. Sara. Giggling. 

It is wrong to eavesdrop. It is wrong. I should leave, or at least go back to the living room and wait. Will's mind was absolutely clear on this, but he couldn't seem to make his body move away from the hallway, where he could hear the low murmur of voices. Sounds made him insane; for him, there was nothing more arousing than the auditory aspect of sex. In truth, if forced to choose, he'd rather listen than watch. 

Was that a moan? He took another step. Bijou's low voice, saying something. Silence again. Then again, a laugh from Sara. Something physical, something silent, that made Sara laugh. 

I should not, absolutely should not, be doing this. He strained to hear anything familiar, moaning or gasping, or the sharp yelps and coos he had come to expect from Bijou when she was playing. But again there was silence. 

Before he could argue further with himself about the ethics of what he was doing, he was suddenly too late. Bijou stepped out of the bedroom, looking back, almost walking backwards, and then turned around toward the hallway. She seemed unsurprised to see Will there. 

He was very surprised, however, that she was fully dressed. Maybe he'd been wrong about the whole thing. Except that that had definitely been Sara's bra he'd seen. His mind whirled again, and he had no jurisdiction over his expression -- part guilt for eavesdropping, part amazement, part confusion, and not a little hunger. Bijou was attractive dressed like this, in a large white button-down shirt that looked like it had been stolen from a man of reasonable taste, and a pair of ridiculously torn jeans. She was a bit tousled, her hair unruly, her face a bit flushed. When she saw him, she grinned, walked quietly toward him, and steered him back toward the living room.

"Well now, here you are at last," she said, the mischief in her look telling him that Sara was indeed back in the bedroom, and things had definitely been going on. There was a faint scent, sweet and musky, that he caught as she'd walked next to him in the hall. Was that, perhaps... God. He was uncomfortably hard thinking about it. Bijou's face, her hands, scented with that singular perfume, with Sara...

"I suspect everything you're thinking is true," she said, "but you're welcome to ask, if you like." 

Will turned red, acutely aware that his cock had been tenting his slacks for what now seemed like hours. Seeing, and smelling, Bijou hadn't helped at all. "I wouldn't know where to start," he said. "How about, should I leave?" 

She laughed. "Dear god, of course not. Quite the opposite. You should most definitely stay." 

Will gestured to the stereo, which was playing the last strains of Lakme, "And interrupt the Flower Duet?" He knew exactly why Bijou had chosen that particular opera. She referred to it as 'classical hot girl on girl action.' 

"No baby. Not an interruption. We've moved to the second act. In which Tristan is summoned by the servant girl with an urgent message from Iseult. Or something to that effect. God help me, don't you like anything with a happy ending? It makes operatic metaphors so much more difficult." 

"I'm sure Trent Reznor would have some really upbeat metaphors at this point," Will said dryly. He was inclined to be flip when he was nervous. He was relatively sure where this was heading, at least in the abstract. It was the particulars he had to worry about. And about those, he was both terrified and aroused beyond description. "So tell me. What happens next?" 

"They sing their famous duet, 'Je te veux a la folie; il me blesse mon corps entire'." 

"Duet?" Will was genuinely surprised. Surely Bijou wanted - and my god, needed, to be here for whatever was about to happen. He wasn't at all sure he wanted to deal with this monumental moment all alone. 

"Yes," said Bijou firmly. "Duet. I want to offer you to her, as a gift." She prepared herself to tell a tiny, useful lie. Or perhaps just a slanted truth. "At this moment, I am not quite what she needs. I'm good, I'm skilled, but I am a girl. And well," she narrowed her eyes, smiling just slightly, "right now, you're more her style." 

Will saw something, though, that made him stop. Bijou was actually blushing. He didn't think he'd ever seen that before, in all the time they'd been together. And unfortunately for bijou, he remembered at that moment what she'd said when the subject came up at one point. "Only when I lie," she had confessed. "That's why I don't lie; I can't. If I feel like I'm lying, I turn beet red. Nothing embarrasses me, but lying gets me every time." 

What was the lie? That he was what Sara wanted at that moment? No, that wasn't it. Bijou wouldn't be sending him in there otherwise. It had to be something else. 

That she wasn't enough for Sara. That had to be the lie. Sara wanted Bijou just as much, and they had to be compatible, as alike as they were in so many other ways. Perhaps it was that she, or Sara, or they (they. thinking of them as a pair sent him into a frenzy. He didn't dare go there right now) perhaps they both, actually wanted him there. Perhaps they had been waiting for him. Impossible, but maybe...

But Bijou was implying that she would not accompany him. He was about to ask, when she said, "And I actually have to go, for a little while. There's a... well, it's not important. But I'll be back, in a bit." Again, the deep red. It was strikingly obvious on Bijou's pale skin. 

That was the lie. She was making an excuse to leave. So he could, they could... god. As if his cock hadn't been embarrassingly hard for at least the last fifteen minutes, it got even harder. This actually hurt. 

So he and Sara could be alone. That moment, with all its potential pitfalls. Sara couldn't possibly want him. But as impossible as it seemed, all the signs were there, even the obvious ones that he had ignored for years. Why had he not wanted to know, when it was staring him right in the face all that time? 

Because he was afraid he was not that person. That in reality, she would be disappointed. It was easier to tell himself she was being polite, even that she was lying, than to tell himself that he wasn't everything she thought. 

Bijou interrupted his endless circles. She spoke very deliberately. "Will," she said, holding his gaze till he focused on her. She had very demanding eyes when she wanted to. "Will, she is as terrified as you are. And, I suspect, for the same reasons." 

His mind was balanced between hysterical arousal and complete terror. Failure, some sort of failure, was possible here. He was not, couldn't be, what something as amazing as Sara really wanted. Not the real him. Words on a screen, yes. He'd studied words all his life. He was good with them. 

But over the intellectualizing was a voice that had begun, very quietly, to believe. What it all boiled down to, really, was whether he truly trusted Bijou to tell him the truth. That Sara wanted him, that she was, god help him, waiting right now at the end of the hall, expecting him to walk in. For his part, he understood her for what she was; he wasn't making her into anything idealized or deified. He knew that she was human, imperfect as everyone is, and knew that he would adore every imperfection he might find. Why, after all, couldn't he trust Sara to be wise enough, loving enough, to do the same? Why couldn't he trust that what Bijou said was true? 

And ironically, Bijou had, in fact, just told him a lie. But he thought he understood why. 

"Are you going because you need to go, or because you want the two of us to be alone?"

"Duh, Will," she smiled. "Would I miss this if it weren't terribly important?" Only later would Will realize that she hadn't actually answered his question. Or perhaps she had, and truthfully. He was too distracted at the moment to notice. 

"I, uh," Will's throat was dry, and his voice cracked. "I have no right to ask, but."

"Anything. What."

"Is there a third act?" Jesus, I'm greedy, I must be a bastard, but I need to know. 

Bijou's smile was genuine. "I certainly hope so. I suspect there is. I'm just watching this opera, same as you are."

"Sometimes I think you're writing the libretto," he said as she began to unbutton and untuck his shirt.

She grinned, silently opening his shirt and carefully rolling up his sleeves. She was arranging him, getting him in costume perhaps. He already had his shoes off; very few people wore shoes around Bijou's place. She pulled his socks off, and then ran her hands up his torso, curving her fingers through his short-cropped beard, looking him in the eye. Her face was affectionate but somehow masked. What was she thinking? He didn't have the power to ask, or try to deduce. He felt a bit like he might actually pass out. She left his slacks on, but deliberately unbuckled his belt, slid it off and folded it aside. His skin seemed to be feverish; even the feel of air on his bare chest was turning him on. 




Devoutly to be Wished Ch. 04



The red kimono had fallen further open, and her arms were all that blocked the view of her breasts, now mostly exposed. But what took his attention, besides those incredible, doe-like eyes, was the fact that her mons was now exposed, framed by the red silk. The dark blond patch of her fur was wispy and entrancing, and he finally tore his eyes away again and looked at her face, which had not changed. She looked like a startled deer, lithe, delicate and frozen in panic. 

His body took over, thank god. He walked the two steps to her, and without hesitation wrapped her into his arms and bent down, and he pressed his mouth down onto hers as he had wanted to do, for years, for his whole life. 

***

Bijou, driving, wondered for a moment where she should go. Part of her ached for release; she was so hungry, so over the top horny now, not just because of her moments with Sara, but because of the preoccupying idea that It was happening right now, or at least she hoped so. She did have a choice or two, someone she could call and go to, playmates who would welcome a visit. But hungry as she was, she didn't want to change her focus, and didn't think she could. Will and Sara were the only thing in her mind now, and she didn't want to be distracted from them. 

She sighed and resigned herself to surfing this immense lust. It was all she could do not to turn back around, not even to join them but simply to hide and watch, to be secret witness to this encounter she had done her best to build. But she turned west instead, heading for her favorite coffee shop, where she could pretend to write, perhaps distract herself with conversation. How long should she stay away? Two hours? Three? Four? She decided not to decide. She'd stay away for as long as she possibly could, and her mind would be nowhere but there, every moment.

***

He kissed her and she melted, whimpered, a delicate sound, and at this one tiny noise something snapped in him and he stopped thinking entirely. His hands gripped her everywhere, and he pressed the kiss deep, tasting wine and musk, and the faint scent of ... god, he recognized it. Traces of Bijou's scent on her face, on her mouth. That meant... 

He groaned, completely overwhelmed, and he gave up any sense of control over himself. He abruptly turned her around – something stopped him before he actually just picked her up, although that was his first instinct – and walked her toward the bed, and as she stood there, barely breathing, he tore off his shirt and sank to his knees in front of her, leaning forward to bury his face in the smooth scent of her pussy. She was already juicy, and the momentary, distant realization that Bijou had just been here, doing just this, sent him over yet another edge. His face pressing in, he inhaled and tasted, and Sara whimpered with hunger, staggered and nearly fell. 

What the hell am I doing? I haven't even said anything to her yet. Jesus, this is crazy. 

He leaned back and looked up at her, his hands holding her hips securely. He opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of a single word to say. Every time those intense, bright eyes looked at his he felt a shock, a sensation he couldn't name, a volcanic mixture of tender affection and raw desire that drove every word from his mind. She. Sara. She. This.

Finally, his mind momentarily took over and he managed to speak. 

"Jesus, uh, I suppose I should have asked you before I did that," he said. He was suddenly horribly self-conscious. But there was something in Sara's manner, something strangely quiet that seemed to invite one to simply take her. It was not a lack of will, or even a submissiveness. It was a sense that she wanted to be released, to be opened up by someone else's hands. Force pleased her, inspired her, drew her out of her controlled mind and let her surrender. Will sensed all of this, and yet he was unsure of how far that went, or what exactly he should do about it. And he wasn't thinking well at all. Not at all. 

Thankfully, thank whatever god there was, she smiled. And she sat down at the edge of the bed, so that her face was close to his. 

"Shut up," she said, in a tone so affectionate and tender it clearly meant 'I love you.'

"And kiss me," she added. 

He did. He moved up onto his knees and wrapped his arms around her, and her spine yielded to his hands. Something in him responded powerfully to the willowy way she surrendered under his embrace, and he gripped her hips and drew her closer to the edge of the bed, so that her legs spread around him. He pressed in against her body, feeling the strange extra shape of her bound arms between them. A fiery heat radiated onto his crotch from where her mound pressed against him. Even through his slacks he could feel moisture and incredible heat, and his trapped cock pressed hard against her. She whimpered, and turned her face up to him. 

I have waited for this exact moment my whole life, he thought. And then her eyes captured him again, those extraordinary, electric eyes, and his hand moved up to take a handful of her hair. He braided his fingers into it, gently, and felt her head press back, almost imperceptibly, onto his hand. Harder. His hand tightened on her hair, and at the grip she cooed, and her lips opened. He let his other hand strengthen, let it communicate his hunger, gripping her hard around the waist, and she moaned hungrily in response. 

Yes, then. I can just tell her. I can just show her. I don't have to hold back any more. 

He looked once more at her ripe, perfect lips, almost reluctant to obscure the sight of them with his own, and then he pulled her face toward his and sank into her receptive mouth like a baptism. 

She tasted like honey and deep musk, like warmth itself. She tasted familiar, somehow, as if he had known this particular mouth his whole life. He pressed her whole body against his and she seemed to open from the inside and encompass him, not just the tip of his tongue, which she drew into her mouth and sucked delicately, but his whole body, embraced in her. Her legs moved to wrap around him, as if to make up for her bound arms. He moaned at the feeling of her pussy against him, pressed tightly and moving, rocking as their mouths engulfed one another. He could feel the vibration of her voice as she whined each time he moved his hands, and her warm breath mingled with his. 

His hand moved to her throat, fascinated by the line of her neck. He felt the flutter of her pulse, the way her voice hummed under the delicate skin. His fingers moved up to her jaw, tracing the soft flesh up to her mouth and learning the curve of her lower lip, exploring the way their mouths met, now almost motionless. She traced his lip with the tip of her tongue, and he groaned. He felt as if he were on fire. His cock had been so hard for so long it actually ached. 

This, just this, forever, this mouth, this body, just like this, here around me, he thought. But already he wanted more. So much more of her. He wanted everything, to dive into every space she had, to wrap her around him. His hand moved to grip her leg and pull it up more tightly around him and she groaned, her hips pressing hard against him, writhing in hunger. She wanted him, it was obvious. He thought fleetingly about what bijou had said, that she was offering him as a gift to Sara, that he was what she wanted. And he thought about what must have been happening in this very room earlier, and realized that she must be as hungry as he, as desperate for release. 

He released her, reluctant to leave her mouth, but needing to look at her face again, to try to know what to do. She looked up at him, her face open, trusting, but still sharpened by that slightly sassy gleam that was always in her eye. Say something, for god's sake, his mind shouted, but now, suddenly, he was preoccupied with the bond that held her forearms. He saw the contrast, the rich black against her pale skin, framed on either side by the red kimono. Silk, silk, and silk. The clean, singular black line of her forearms contrasted with the extraordinary curves of her breasts, and the binding brought her arms tightly forward, pressing them down, bringing her breasts together in the middle like a corset. A parabola of shadow ran along the velvet depth of her cleavage framed by her upper arms, so deeply perfect, inviting. 

***

Bijou, arriving at the coffee shop and opening her notebook, stopped for a moment and smiled. I've always wondered how esthetically driven he is. If he's as affected by pure sensory data as I am, deep down, then just about now he will have ceased to be able to think straight at all. Even that giant controlled Mind can't hold out forever against what she looks like right now. 

***

His hands ran up and down, understanding the way the fabric was wrapped, and he noticed that there was no knot. He recognized Bijou's style; though they hadn't played much with bondage, he knew that she tended to bind more with voice and idea than rope, always leaving someone with a clear escape. It was more of a mind fuck, she'd said, to make it clear that someone chose to be where they were. 

Sara was clearly choosing this. The ends of the cloth were secure between her two hands, which now met so that her fingertips pressed to her lips, as if she were under a vow of silence. She had only to part her hands, open them like a lotus, and she could easily free herself. But she hadn't. 

Sara, for her part, felt very much like the gift Bijou had promised she would be. She had never seen Will like this, so completely out of control of himself, so raw, so speechless. If she had had any doubts about whether he truly wanted her, they had shredded and disappeared the moment she saw the look on his face. She felt beautiful. She was beautiful. She was, indeed, perfect. Perfectly herself. She could be nothing else. And apparently, that specific creature sent Will completely off the deep end. 

But there was an edge to the flattery. This was all so unlike Will, who was never without a clever remark, who never showed anything but shy respect for her and women in general, whose restraint and diplomacy in every interaction was unrivaled. He seemed nearly mad, at the moment, as he stared at her, kneeling there at the foot of the bed, running his hands lightly over this place and that, as if he were examining a sculpture. His face changed radically depending on where he looked. When he met her eye, his face would open and surrender, full of adoration and amazement. And when he looked down at the rest of her, it would shift, become pure hunger, direct and open-mouthed, primitive. 

And the hunger was winning. His hands gripped her harder now as they traveled, learning the curve of her waist and hip, tracing down to her bare thighs and in, and up, to flicker along her mons, making her squirm and sigh. Every noise she made seemed to drive him even higher. It was her habit to be relatively quiet, since over the years there had been family, neighbors, open windows to consider. But here she was safe, and she felt like a musical instrument being played, each touch eliciting a different breath, a sound, a hum, a whimper. And every time she moaned, or gasped, he seemed to shudder, and his breath would quicken. 

***

Bijou wrote, 'Kiss, for me, these gifts I have left you. With my own lips, taste them...' and then stopped and laid down her pen. Her stare was a thousand miles away. The young man about to approach her hesitated, and sat back down. She looked so intense; he didn't dare invade whatever reverie she indulged in. But he watched her, as she then dug around in her bag and pulled out a tarot deck. 

Is it working? Are they on their way? The Moon: lunacy. Well, of course. The Emperor: a powerful man. Perhaps Will was, after all, finding his strength, figuring out that she needed him a little dominant. The Ace of Cups: sexuality, femininity, nourishment. Sara sara sara. Sara coming, pouring out of herself like the fountain on the card. Ace of Wands: libido. The World. Yes. Yes. Yes. 

She smiled. Thank you. Yes. As she laid the deck aside, the young man saw his opportunity. He walked to the table. "Excuse me. I don't want to disturb you, but are those tarot cards?" He pronounced it to rhyme with "carrot." 

She smiled up at him. "They are. You're welcome to look at the deck, if you want. It's a pretty rare one."

"I've never seen a deck before. Heard about them. Does that stuff really work? I've always sorta wanted to try it." 

"Depends on who you ask. It might be all bullshit, of course. But I haven't had any complaints over the last 30 years or so." She'd been reading since she was eleven, when she had secretly drawn her own fortune-telling deck, just making up the pictures and drawing them on index cards with colored pencils. The young man stopped, startled. Thirty years? How old was she? It was hard to guess. He wanted to ask, but didn't. 

"Do you... would you read those for me?" 

Bijou smiled. "My deal in places like this is a reading for a beer. Usually it's sixty bucks an hour. But I'm sorta in the mood tonight. I'd go there, if you like."

"What are you drinking?" So far, all she had was coffee on the table.

"Guinness," she said. "And you can tell them it's for me. They'll pour it better." 

"Uh, I'm Adam," he said, and stuck out his hand. "Guinness, huh? Okay. I'll be right back." She took his hand and smiled. "I'm Bijou," she said. At the inevitable look of confusion on his face, she added, "But you can just call me Skunk. Everybody does, here." 

"Skunk," he said, looking a little dazed. "Okay. I'll be back." He turned toward the bar, and she moved her notebook out of the way and began shuffling her cards. Thank the gods, a distraction. She hadn't gotten a damn thing done anyway. Then, as a quick afterthought, she opened her notebook once more and scribbled the line, 'Your hands are my hands also, and they know what mine already know." Then she closed it again, and waited.

***

Sara could not wrap her mind around this very different Will, uncontrolled and fierce, barely able to keep from ... doing what? She had no idea what he might do. That too, the beautiful suspense of it, the idea that as a gift she had surrendered to him, that he could do whatever he liked to her, was part of what made her so crazy at this moment. Whatever his mind was doing, his hands spoke increasing ownership, and it seemed that he also perceived her as a gift, as his, for the moment, to take. 

Will felt it too, that rising mad root of desire that overwhelmed his mind completely, made him forget everything. In one last, desperate attempt to come to some kind of control, he sat back a bit, took his hands away from her (at which she moaned, almost petulant, and he nearly lost it again at the sound) and breathed deeply. 

"Sara," he said and then looked up, meeting her gaze. His hands gripped the bedspread on either side of her. Hearing him say her name made her gasp. She wanted to hear him say it again and again. "May I..." His voice cracked, and he paused. Think, goddammit. Make some words. "Do you..." His expression was almost pleading. Help me. I can't remember how to speak. I can't bring myself to actually ask. 

She knew. Of course. And she knew there was a single answer to every one of his questions. 

"Will," she said, and hearing her say his name made him nearly crazy, "Say this: I love you."

"I do. My god, I always have. I do. I love you."

"Now," her eyes flickered between terror and hunger. It was so hard, to ask for what she wanted, but she forced the words out, needing to be sure, needing for him to know. "Say this: And I am going to do everything I've always wanted to do..." she gulped, "to you now." 

His mind blew completely to bits. Something hot and powerful began to engulf him. He couldn't possibly have spoken, not if his life depended on it, but her words seemed to echo as if a bell had been struck. This time, when he kissed her, it was with all of his strength, all of his endless, incredible hunger for her flesh, his hands gripping hard on her shoulders and her thigh. She moaned, high and desperate, and her thighs clamped around him. She was his pet goddess, powerful and bright, but willing, even begging, to belong to him, entirely surrendered. A toy angel, his own little spitfire that he adored beyond words. 

Presented with a sumptuous feast, what is more natural than to eat? He moved back a bit, but his hands still gripped her, still and strong. Her breath was ragged as she waited and she looked into his eyes, wordlessly begging him to understand.

And he did understand. At that moment, all his words came back to him. "Everything," he said, his voice low and affectionate. "Everything I've ever thought about, wanted from you, for you, I intend to do. Slowly, a little at a time, because I want to pay close attention when it happens." At the sound of his decisive tone, her eyes closed and her body writhed. A beatific smile, the look of a hungry angel, spread over her features. 

"I want it to last a very long time, and at the moment I can think of dozens of things I want to do to you, over and over," he murmured, loving the way she seemed to get higher and hotter with every word he spoke. Her responses inspired him, and he felt his confidence flowing back in, as all the things he thought and spoke drew such beautiful, instant reaction. "You are about to be very occupied, for a long time. There are so many places I'd like to go, you astounding goddess, you beautiful woman, and with your permission..." here he took hold of her folded hands, letting her see that he understood that she controlled her own binding. 

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Will. Yes. All of it. Yes." And by the time she had finished speaking the words, he had knelt forward, parted her thighs, and driven his tongue into her, so that she ended with a yes that was a bright cry, as she arched back and opened to his hungry mouth.



Devoutly to be Wished Ch. 05



"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Will. Yes. All of it. Yes." And by the time she had finished speaking the words, he had knelt forward, parted her thighs, and driven his tongue into her, so that she ended with a yes that was a bright cry, as she arched back and opened to his hungry mouth. 



******

Bijou was in the middle of a sentence. "...so basically, what's being said here is that going back to school at this point would be a big financial step, but..." when she paused. A small star had exploded very softly in the back of her head. 

Really? she thought. Yes? Oh good, o god, o good. It hurt, all of a sudden, hurt deep in her belly to think that it was happening right now, and she wasn't there to witness it, to drink it. But it was correct. It was the sort of pain that was right, and understandable. And soon enough, or not soon enough, but soon, she would be there too. 

Oh yes. Very soon.

"Sorry, I got distracted," she said. "What I'm saying is, the bravest possibility here is for you to commit to this long-term plan, but..."

Her mind wandered as she did her best to convince young Adam that his desire to go back to school was a good one. Will would want to go down on Sara, first thing if he could. He loved that, almost more than anything else. Perhaps he was there right now, his tongue flickering, his fingers...

***

In fact, he was. At that moment, his fingers had slid down, slowly, drawing a line from her little pearl, where they had been lingering. He had been gently spreading her lips open, drawing her completely apart, to reveal everything, both for his own education and to make her vulnerable. He watched her squirm under his gaze, amazed at how much it drove her higher that he was being so straightforward.

But that hadn't been the case a little while ago, when she had first said the word Yes to him. Even as he'd said what she had asked him to say, told her he'd do whatever he liked with her, he knew he was in a bind, and his mind was racing. 

He knew what she had asked him: that he be the one in charge, to 'get a little toppy,' as Bijou would say, but it just was not in him to move to a place in which he wasn't motivated by what a lover liked, what she wanted. That service both pleased him and defined him; it was, truly, what he actually wanted. There was an idiotic thought loop in his head now: but what does she want? She wants me to do what I want. But what I want to do is whatever she likes. But what she likes is doing what someone else wants. 

But there were at least one or two things he knew he wanted already, that is, if she wanted them. He wanted to taste her, to press his mouth against that spectacular little pussy for hours, days, the rest of his life. 

And he wanted to make her come. Over and over, hard and good. He wanted to see that, to hear it, to memorize her at every level, from the tiny shocks and cries he was already hearing to the most sweeping and abandoned climax. He wanted that, all of it. 

He couldn't just be peremptory, because it didn't fit with the intense affection, the adoration and connection he felt for this... this angel. But he could talk. Oh yes, and he could simply tell the truth, and repeat what she clearly wanted to hear him say. And she seemed to want him. More than that; she responded to everything he did with a clear, plaintive hunger, as if he had her at his fingertips already. 

Meanwhile, though, his body had completely ignored the fact that he was still trying to decide what to do. He noticed that he was back to kissing her, his mouth urgent and deep and hers matching him, and that his hands were roaming outrageously around her body, to which she responded with the hottest series of little whimpers and giggles he had ever heard. 

He pulled his mouth away, reluctantly, and looked at her. Her head was thrown back, her eyes gleaming as she gazed, almost drugged, at his face. She breathed quickly, her lips parted. She looked like many things, suddenly. A woman on the edge of orgasm. A woman about to commit murder. A woman so in love she wants to actually, physically drive the force of her overflowing heart into the heart of her lover, to penetrate him as he penetrates her. She had the most boundless, the most fiery eyes he'd ever seen. 

"Lover, I just don't know where to start. I know I want to keep doing this. God. Forever." He ran his hands up to her breasts, beginning to be a bit frustrated by the way her arms met and blocked his view and his touch. He moved his mouth to the side of her neck, kissing her down to where the kimono draped across her shoulder. It was beautiful, but he wanted to shove it aside. 

Almost as an aside, he added, "As much as I like. As long as I want." And because he couldn't help it, he added, "As long as you want." 

"Yes," she said, again. "Yes. Yes." Every time she said it, it was an entirely different word. A tentative consent. A plea. A whine. A low, sweet moan. And so she had conditioned him, as he then began to touch her everywhere, to learn the inches of her skin, and hear at every turn her agreement, the urging of her voice as she balanced her desires against his. 

"And this," he said, drawing back again and running his hands along her silk-bound arms, "is so beautiful, so amazingly hot, that part of me just wants to see it forever." He traced the shapes she made, the slices of her skin that showed between the kimono and her arms, the edge of red on white, the pressed flesh of her breasts against the black silk. "But then, I find I also really want to take it off. It's rather... limiting. Lovely, though. If frustrating in the extreme." 

"Yes," she said again, this time with that sassy gleam in her eye. And she opened her hands, allowing the two ends to fall. He didn't have to unwrap it for her; it was wound loosely enough that as soon as the end fell free she could shift her forearms back and forth and it widened and fell, uncoiling all the way up to her wrists. 

She couldn't help it; she was a little stiff from having her arms brought slightly forward in that position for even this long, and without thinking about what a stunning picture it would be, she kept the silk between her hands and raised her arms over her head, stretching her back. The kimono fell further open and she arched, letting her head roll back, stretching her whole spine. 

Will nearly fainted. She had the most spectacular breasts he'd ever seen, and the calendar-girl pose she was accidentally in made them even more perfect. When she finished stretching, she looked at him, and her eyes twinkled. 

"Yeah, they're usually a big hit," she said, and Will turned bright red, realizing that he had been unabashedly staring at those gorgeous breasts, most likely with his mouth hanging open. He closed his mouth. Jesus, I'm a complete pig, he thought, but over that, much louder, was another set of thoughts, like a litany. I have to fuck her. I have to. I adore her, there is no question, and I want her to have everything she's ever dreamed of, but I have to fuck her soon, I have to taste her, I have to be let loose to travel all over that incredible body, I have to touch her, all over. I'll go insane if I don't. 

"God, I'm sorry," he said, not just for staring at her tits but for the fierce and completely feral thoughts he was having, which he was somehow convinced she could hear. Or at least read on his face. 

"I'm not sure for what," said Sara, looking vastly amused. "So, exactly how many times are you going to make me say yes before you believe me?" 

He laughed, and suddenly he found his stride. "You know how insecure I am. I need to hear you say it over and over. Reassure me." He reached forward and drew her kimono open, undoing the sash and pushing it off her shoulders. 

"Yes," she said with immense mock patience, and he chuckled again. Her whole body entranced him, and she now sat naked in front of him, her face shifting between self-consciousness and pleasure. His mind, actually helpful for a change, said 'talk to her, quick' and he said, "God, you're beautiful. You are extraordinary." 

Sara thought wryly of her various little imperfections, the ones only she really saw, and then looked at his eyes and realized he was telling the absolute truth. She was exactly, precisely, what he wanted at this moment. "Yes," she grinned, knowing it was true. 

He chuckled again. And got up, a little stiffly. He realized that he'd been on his knees for a while, and furthermore, he was still half-clothed. She watched him stand, her eyes narrow and amused, and as he stepped back, suddenly self-conscious about simply taking his pants off, she looked directly at him, at his crotch, and then his face, and said, earnestly, "Yes." It had agenda, that yes. His eyes flickered down to his own body, where the outline of his rather painfully hard cock was terribly obvious against his slacks. Then his eyes moved back to hers. She had a look that he would later learn to recognize, one so complex it took a while to read. There was smart-assed challenge in it, and deep affection, and intense intelligence. The look was, "I'm trying very hard to tell you what I want, so you can take me there. Figure it out, Captain Oblivion." 

Will had practiced for years the various expressions on Cary Grant's face in North by Northwest. He couldn't help it; he had watched the movie dozens of times; he had it virtually memorized. And what he hoped he looked like at this moment was Cary Grant, during the dinner scene on the train, as Eva Marie Saint begins to make it clear that she intends to seduce him. 

What was the line? "Now let me think... yes, I know exactly what you mean." 

Her face was at the level of his cock. She slid her eyes down, forthrightly, and back up, still with that mocking gaze. And at that moment, he truly did feel a bit like Cary Grant; he'd figured her out. He kept her gaze, but tilted his head a bit and grinned. 

"No," he said. "Oh no. You'd have me over the edge in a minute and a half, and I have ideas that would be sabotaged if that were to happen. Your mouth," and here, for just a moment, he thought of Bijou's mouth as well. And his mind naturally moved, for just a moment, to the possibility of two mouths... o jesus. Not there. Do not go there. 

He looked at Sara's mouth to focus himself. That didn't help at all. It was curled into a sardonic little grin, and absolutely irresistible. And her eyes were mesmerizing. He cleared his throat, gruffly. 

"...your mouth is undoubtedly one of the sweetest places on earth, but no, oh no. Not yet." Her look was both feral and angelic. "In fact, I think I'll just leave these on for this next part." 

"Yes?" It was a question this time, surprise and amusement, and perhaps a bit of genuine frustration at being thwarted. 

"Yes," he said firmly, and moved toward the bed. He sat down next to her and put his arms around her, and he moved her further up on the bed, as he laid down and drew her with him. They lay side by side, and he sat up onto one elbow and looked down at her. He couldn't resist running his hands down her body, tracing curves like juicy mountain roads, round and tight. She writhed and gasped under his hand, and he sent a fingertip down into her cleft, tracing hesitantly in to learn her buttons. She writhed and cried out as he pressed in, a little harder, laying his finger along the division, beginning to find his way in. Had she come? God, the way she arched and pressed toward his hand, she seemed so close, so instantly. 

"This," he said. "What I want is this. I want to taste you and learn you and figure you out and I want to make you come." 

The yes she said then was with her hands, pressing his head down to her opening thighs, drawing his hand to cup and stroke her breast. And when the tip of his tongue touched down, she arched and opened and said yes in that very particular way. 

And now, as he explored and teased, spreading her legs decisively apart and dipping his tongue in experimental little forays, learning every nuance of her response, she said yes, among the cries of gulls and the growls of cats. He had her on the edge, and kept her there, because he wanted to know everything. Even though he knew it was driving her insane, and actually part of him was amused by that, he couldn't let her come until he learned a bit more about her. And so, at that moment when Bijou raised her head in the coffee shop, hearing a distant bell, he was sliding two fingers deeply into Sara, watching her whole body shake with maddened hunger, and knowing that he had to let her come soon. 

***

Bijou looked at the clock in the coffeeshop and thought to herself, Sara has been on the edge of orgasm since, well, about two hours ago now. I hope he lets her come. 

She didn't think about the fact that somehow she could tell that he hadn't, yet. 

She went back to Adam's reading, and crossed her fingers.

***

"Oh no, not yet," he said, taking his mouth off her but continuing to move his fingers in and out of her startlingly hot pussy, slowly, agonizingly. That really seemed to make her insane. The heat on his hand was almost uncomfortable. "I really don't want you to come quite yet. I want to keep doing this for as long as I like, and you'd make me stop, I think." 

He had a good voice, though he didn't think so. It was gentle, tenor, and very smooth. He had always wished it to be somewhat deeper, or more conventionally sexy. Whatever he personally thought of it, it certainly seemed to have the perfect effect on her. And the more he spoke, the more he was able to simply tell his body's simplest truths as he allowed himself to indulge, bit by bit, his immense hunger for her. 

He'd kept salting the phrase in, as he took his time learning every tiny inch of her fascinating pussy, and every response he could evoke. As long as I like, as much as I like. And in saying this, this mantra, he'd begun to think of the ways he'd always wanted to indulge himself, with Sara, with women. I want to eat a woman's pussy for as long as I like. I want to taste it for me, just for me, offered to me for as long as I like. I want to know I can make her come, whenever I want, and not let her until I'm truly satisfied. I want to hear her moan, make her crazy, taste and taste and taste for as long as I like, as long as it takes to learn exactly how to make her come, whenever, however I like. I admit, that's something I've always wanted. 

And when, occasionally, he had paused and said these things aloud, she'd moaned and said the only word she had said the entire time.

Yes. Yes yes yes. Talking to her, just that even, seemed to send her completely over the edge. He was at war – if only he could speak and still bury his face in her, use his tongue for both. But when it seemed each time that she was getting close, he'd lift his head and talk to her, and she'd respond by yowling and ramming herself onto his hand. Yes. 

But there came a point when her tone changed. His tongue, making steady circles on her clit while his fingers moved mercilessly inside her, was taking her brutally close to the edge over and over. And suddenly he knew that she had shifted into desperation, even before the new, plaintive word came from her straining throat. 

"Please. Pleeeeease," she keened. 

He'd have liked to be clever, to keep her going just a bit more, but those syllables, and the tone behind them, sent him over the edge. He couldn't wait any longer, any more than she could at this moment. 

It was his turn to say the word. He raised his head, for just a moment, and as she writhed in frustration he slid his hand up her body to the valley between her breasts, pressing her heart. 

"Yes," he said to her, and bent down once more to drink her as she came. His mouth dove in and his tongue found her little berry and began to strike, and his fingers slid now deep, quick and steady. His whole body said yes along with him, and he heard her say yes as well, over and over. 

Yes, as he stroked her steadily now, became a rising pitch, a hum of brighter sound and the pleading whine of oh yeah oh yeah oh oh yeah. It became a high moan, and then she inhaled deeply and her body froze, silent and still, arched up like a bow, and as she went over the edge she held his head steady between her insistent hands and her thighs clamped down on him. She came with a lilting cry that encompassed her, seemed to come from everywhere, like the light wild howl of a wolf. And when he knew she had truly reached the other side of it, he couldn't wait any longer, and he sat back long enough to strip himself of his pants and lift her up to his cock. 

As the tip of his whole body met the heart of hers, he stopped. This, this moment, should not be hurried. This should stop time, be the end of the world, at this first inch or two of electric meeting, and Sara, though her body still shook with climax, felt it too, and breathed, and opened her eyes. Not her body, at that moment, not the extraordinary sensation of that bare tip of him moving in, being drawn by her hungry little cunt, not the perfect breasts, the waist that he stroked with his hands. None of that. Her eyes, that was what hypnotized him, what seduced him most at that moment, when everything in them was suddenly joined, hands, sex and skin. Her wild, divine eyes, filled with storms and oceans, deep and beautiful and absolutely real. 

Everything was completely still. Breathless, the world paused and centered itself on that single small area, the joined flesh and thunderous gaze of the lovers. 

***

Bijou, raising her head from her notebook, realized that a tear was trickling slowly down her cheek. 

She smiled, sighed, and bent back to her writing. 

***

Moving, not moving. The war and peace of that first few moments rolled through Sara in bright waves. Caught, impaled, sweetened by that smooth flesh that penetrated her, and hung on the love and madness in Will's expression, her body shook and rocked against him. She broke, finally, and threw her head back, losing herself in the singular sensation of his cock inside her, how it heated her like lava. Her mind focused deep into that space, and she felt as if all her senses were there, wrapped around him. She could taste him, see him there, hear him. And it was so, so fucking sweet. 

She reached toward him almost blindly, her hands tracing and grasping at his bare chest. They found and grasped his own hands, which held her hips up to meet his, and she pressed his grip down tighter onto her. He felt the request and responded, holding her harder and driving deep, so that her legs rocked up to his waist, and she cried out, yes, oh yeah. He spread his knees apart and settled forward into her, and she arched her spine to bring him further in. 

Nothing but this, nothing but that slick joy of cock in cunt, moving. He moved, now, because she made him move, because she writhed against him, bathing in her unbound pleasure for that simple sensation. Yes, move. You are filling my whole body, my whole mind, and I can taste you. Like a hard butterscotch, I can feel you all sweet and strong, all the way into my throat. I can taste you, hold your candy in my mouth. This is all there is, you, moving, you love, you. God, you. 

She may have said some of this aloud. She didn't know. But he heard just the same, and believed. In that first moment, if he had moved at all he'd have gone straight over the edge. But her extraordinary face had caught him, and within moments he became so locked on her expressions, on her responses, that his cock and his own excitement were a faint echo. He felt her writhe against him, felt her grind and rock, begging him to move, shoving hungrily against his hips. 

Perhaps it was the immense height he'd had to leap, in that massive instant shift from being close to instant orgasm to being completely focused on her face, but Will found that he was back down to a level of arousal he could ride. He began to truly move, sculpting his rhythm around her desperate little coos and cries. Her eyes were closed now, and as he rocked slowly into her, she stretched her arms above her head, abandoned, as if she were in freefall. She hummed and keened, her face beatific, her pleasure completely obvious.