Rendezvous With A Stranger

Chapter One-3

Shelley’s a masochist and sadist all in one guise. But the roles and titles don’t seem to matter. She submits. I think of the stranger doing this to me. I’d probably relent, unlike the day I bolted from the pain.

With each clothespin jerked free, Shelley whimpers sadly. And with the last few quickly plucked like feathers from a holiday hen, her tears run free. A gasp, a sigh, another look into her mistress’s eyes, she centers on her angry pubis and rubs in earnest, throwing herself against her hand. She’s tense. I’m tense. The two of us prevail against the horror, looking for some pleasure.

But then she sighs, like opening up the sky to let the sun shine down.

Falling into the mirror she reclines against the glass. I see the cloud of her breath fog the mirror and watch her eyes droop low. The hand at her crotch toys reluctantly. The last waves of her climax are gentle ones. Her lips kiss her reflection, just touching the surface as if they’re seeking skin when there is none.

I’m breathless, wishing I could climb inside her lust-filled face, or lay my hands along a smooth thigh and then taste the perspiration with my tongue. All just wishes, pipe dreams to play on other days. The tape turns grainy and she disappears, threads of her coming and going until the picture turns to snow.

In the middle of Shelley’s orgasm, I came. My hand’s wet, and my body shakes, and I’m so hot, I have to strip out of my clothes. I would have before all this started, but there was just no time.