Samantha
returned from the bar with two Manhattans, mine in a shot glass and another in
a martini glass garnished with a black cherry, for her.
As I stood
and tilted my drink to quaff it, Darcy talked about how she and Samantha met at
a party and connected. My mind followed the upbeat sound of her voice even
while my body stiffened at the familiar pressure of Samantha’s touch, which had
subtly found its way over the table, back to me. As Darcy recounted funny
anecdotes, two fingertips rested against the small of my back. Somewhat
unnerving, not only because it reminded me of a gesture people did at parties
with their partner – but at normal size, with their entire hand – but also
because it was startlingly seductive. The whiskey was warming my insides while,
at the same time, her insistent touch warmed my back. I pretended not to notice
as the gentle pressure carried on with small rubbing motions.
Soon she
was no longer rubbing my shoulders but actively probing around the musculature
of my back and arms. Last time she’d seen me I’d been lean and somewhat wasted,
and now I was even beefier than ever. Then the thumb tip was nudging around my
ribcage with the insistence of a nuzzling animal.
With a
straight face, Darcy insisted:
"NOW
THAT SAM'S FOUND BUDDHISM IT'S CHANGED HER LIFE."
Samantha
laughed, looking away as if embarrassed.
"IT
WAS A SINGLE RETREAT, DARCY. ONE DOES NOT CONVERT SO EASILY."
“I TOLD HER
TO QUIT MODELLING,” Darcy explained to me, “THAT WAS MY HUSTLE, TOO. YOU BECOME
DISTANCED FROM YOUR BODY, OBSESSED WITH SIZE AND CONTROL, AND ALL THESE METRICS.
IT SPIRALS INTO SOMETHING UNHEALTHY.”
Once the
drinks were finished the women started talking of parting. Darcy called a cab
for herself and then grinned down at me:
"IS IT
WRONG TO SAY I WANT TO STUFF YOU IN MY POCKET AND SNEAK YOU HOME?” The volume
of her tone now rose and fell exuberantly; unable to hide her tipsiness.
“You don’t
have a pocket,” I pointed out.
“SHOOT!
YOU’RE RIGHT!” she giggled, and began patting around the folds of her dress.
“BUT I BET I COULD FIT YOU IN HERE SOMEWHERE…”
She shot
Samantha an impish look.
“SORRY,
SAM, BUT YOU KNOW I’M GOING TO KIDNAP HIM AND THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT
IT!”
For a
moment, no one said anything. The vinyl banquette squeaked awkwardly and there
was a rustling sound against the floor, like shoes grinding against the resin
floor.
Darcy’s
impish smile dropped.
“WHAT?”
Samantha’s fingers
were tensing around my waist like a vice.
“I PROMISED,”
she said gently. “THEREFORE HE IS WITH ME.”
Before I
could react, I went shooting up into the air as she shifted out from the table.
My waist was tightly kept between her middle finger and thumb, her forefinger
pressed against my chest, incredibly assured that I was in place. However, I
was not as assured, and wrapped my arms around her fingers in desperation.
She took my
phone off the table, gave it the briefest amused glance, and without any fanfare,
dropped it into her handbag. But I could only feel a stab of relief at not
following it inside.
The giant
hand adjusted its grip around my torso as it drew me up against her body,
fanning the other hand around me protectively.
Outside the
club, people were smoking and talking in the shady street, orange in the street lights. The air was
settled and cool. Down the street, people had spilled out of a lit bar and onto
the sidewalk, drunken laughter echoing. It was very late now, and the streets
were largely empty.
The cab
pulled up, and Darcy gave her goodbyes, before the champagne-colored ruched
wall covering her body closed in at me on its way to hug Samantha. As the two
women embraced and kissed, I was on the verge of being sandwiched between the
enclosing walls of their upper bodies this time, but at the last second found
myself saved in the crevice of a few inches with an abdomen on either side, but
so close the streetlight was filtered out and the combined radiation of warmth
and perfume clouded my head for an instant.
Stepping
back again, Darcy patted my head before jumping into her cab, and then it had
pulled off the curb and insinuated itself into the intersecting car lights in
the distance.
I was left
bumping against Samantha’s torso again as her heels clapped over the pavement. I
took sucking breaths of the mild night air, trying to think of something to say
even though there was no urgency for conversation, my thoughts were racing and
my brain needed focus. It was like I’d suddenly found myself in this position
and had little memory of how I’d gotten into it, and even less plan of how to
extricate myself from it.
On either
side, the street inched by, paving lit by the cool streetlights as if washed by
the moon, though the moon was invisible behind the cloudy dark sky. The smear
of urban noise made the air buzz; car engines growled some blocks away,
streetlamps hummed, a distant dog made an enquiring yap, which turned into a
growl.
“HEY,
GIRL,” a man’s voice rebounded across the empty street. There was no drop in
the bumping pace, which continued with the steady clap of heels. “WHERE ARE YOU
GOING?”
The stride
did not slow, but the arm holding me lowered all the way until I was parallel
with her mound, while a big fold of the pleated skirt was bundled up with a
discreet sweep of the other hand and dumped over my head like a curling wave,
trapping me in its soft ruffled layers.
I
spluttered, waved my arms, trying to free myself and clear my view, but to no
avail. I was held tight in the pocket of fabric in her hand, bumping against
her mound with her rolling saunter, like I was balled up underwear rocking
around in the washing machine.
From
behind, shoes scuffing rapidly over the road, and heavy, male breathing.
"TOO
GOOD FOR ME, HUH? LISTEN WHEN I TALK TO YOU, MAMI."
Many things
then happened all at once.
The world
came to a jarring halt and whirled around. The man must have grabbed her and
yanked her. The break of momentum caused me to briefly get crushed against her
crotch as her hand tightened over me.
“GET OFF OF
ME,” came Samantha’s voice, “DON’T YOU DAR—” a halting grunt that told me she
was being restrained.
Her hand
squeezed around me erratically, painfully, the dress folds rubbing all over my
body. It felt like being trapped inside a sleeping bag that people were
crawling over, and their arms and knees were digging into my body – except the
arms and knees were her shifting fingers, struggling to keep me wrapped up.
Samantha
screamed and there was a jolting shockwave sensation, though I was insulated by
her palm and the pouch of dress fabric. The air thickened with the sound of
grunts and heavy breathing. Her hand slackened for an instant, a gap of dim
light appeared through the folds. I squirmed madly out between the vice of her
fingers, moving like I’d been electrocuted.
Without
warning I was falling free; my hands clawed and snatched up silky fabric and I
was dangling from her skirt, clinging like a little monkey.
“JERRY—!” Samantha’s voice came for an
instant before she was forcibly muffled.
“SHUT UP,”
said the male voice. “NO ONE IS COMING.”
Adrenaline
seemed to make time slow down and my brain put the scene together with
lightning speed. He had corralled her into an alley and had her thrust up
against the wall, his body pressed against hers, and hand covering her mouth. I
leapt from the silky dress folds onto a sweatpant covered tree trunk and
scrabbled up to the baggy juncture.
“Hey!” I
yelled out. “Back off!”
“THE FUCK
IS—?” the man’s voice thundered from above. The sweatpants rattled me as he
jumped back and the shadow of a huge hand came swatting down while I leapt
around the thigh to the outer hip—
A start ran
through the man’s body as something, far above me, collided with a smack with
his head. The swatting hand jerked away, lifting to shield the face. I looked
up to see a leathery wrecking ball – a handbag – swinging away and then come
flying back into man’s head, and connect with a crack. A million and one
cosmetics rattled inside the floppy leather, as efficient as a sock filled with
ball bearings. The thigh unbalanced and shook me as it stomped around to get
out of the way.
“Get your
hands off her!” I sought to get his attention back to me. “Hey, down here!”
For an instant
his eyes burned into me with rage, and his hand was shooting down again,
reaching around towards his outer hip where I clung, every intention of
snuffing my life out—
There was a
thump and his whole body tensed up while a whoosh of air rushed out of his
lungs, followed by a groan. Samantha had expediently kneed him in the groin. He
wheeled back and staggered, as the thigh I was clinging to started to collapse,
the concrete was rising up to meet me, but before I could leap off, a hand
wrapped around me and yanked me free.
Then I was
flying through the air, the streets whipping past. The rapid steps didn’t clap
sharply, the high heels now gripped from the other hand.
A block
down, the building silhouettes cleared and expanded out onto the charcoal field
of the outdoor carpark next to a glowing gas station, a couple of SUVs lined
up, and people working the pumps, filling up. The pace slowed, I was smushed up
securely against the soft wall just beneath her bust as the bumping motion
steadied.
There was
pressure around my temples as my head was given a quick rub.
“GRAZIE,”
she intoned softly.
“I didn’t
do anything,” I muttered, feeling like a liability, while fear and anger burned
through my bloodstream.
“YOU GAVE
ME A FRIGHT,” she countered, as if that was enough.
I went
silent, thinking about the desperate way she’d called my name earlier. I had
only heard that startling, jagged emotion in her usually composed tone once
before.
It had been
back when the investigators had stormed her house to take her into custody and
bust me out of her lingerie drawer. It had sounded like she’d gotten enraged at
them for finding her out and detaining her. But maybe that hadn’t been the true
source of her anger. Maybe it hadn’t been outrage at getting caught.
Maybe it
had been outrage at being separated from me.
Motion
ceased in front of a black Lexus coupé with tinted black windows. She swung the
car door open and slid into the driver seat, shutting the door and engaging the
lock. Only now my racing heartbeat began to stabilize again.
She didn’t
put me between her legs, as Jen would have done, but kept me in her hand, held
up just under her face, which searched the black interior before glancing down
at me, nonplussed. Her respiration was still elevated, breath hitting me with a
repeated warm push.
“WHERE IS
IT YOU WOULD NORMALLY PERCH?”
The last
time she had driven me anywhere had been from the inside of her handbag.
I
explained:
“A special
seat in my driver’s car.”
Of course,
her car did not have the booster seat. She inquired:
“AND WHEN
YOU’RE NOT COMMUTING…?”
I looked
down, beginning to blush.
“Between my
fiancée’s legs.”
She
hesitated, her eye contact held on me, dark and intensely scrutinizing. I
struggled to return it. It made my stomach flutter helplessly.
“THAT
DOESN’T SIT WITH ME,” she murmured, “AND I MUST THINK YOU ARE FED UP WITH MY
LOWER PELVIS.”
Then she was
silent for a moment, thinking.
“I HAVE AN
IDEA, IF YOU WOULDN’T MIND…”
“Yes…?” I
said, thinking she was going to suggest the handbag express. But instead she
answered:
“INSIDE MY
BRA CUP. IT WOULD KEEP YOU RESTRAINED AGAINST MY CHEST. I UNDERSTAND IF IT
WOULD MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, BUT WE’RE NOT FLUSH WITH OPTIONS.”
“I’ll take
it,” I shrugged, too tired to argue.
She paused
to glance around the windows to make sure that no one was passing. Satisfied,
she pulled the top of the dress bodice away from her bust and pulled out a
silicone cup, one half of a stick-on bra, or basically a pair of inserts.
Holding the
cup concave up in her palm, her other hand began to slide me into the cup,
arranged so my back was against the concave insert. The bust was opened again,
the cup carefully slid back in, with my feet first. As she eased the cup down
into position, the soft curve of her breast slid up my front, and as it rolled
up towards my head, seeming weightier and weightier.
Just before
the warm weight of her breast covered my face, she stopped to grasp my head
between her thumb and fingers, and gently tug me upwards, and holding me like
that as she shifted the dress back into position.
With the
fabric released, the top of the dress drew in tight against the back of my
neck, keeping me pinned in position on the protruding gentle slope of her chest
wall, with my body hugging the smooth, creamy flesh of her right breast.
The dress
bust was designed to be incredibly close fitting, and each time she took in a
breath, the mammary expanded against me, squashing me against the silicone cup.
At the very height of inhalation, the pressure was near intolerable, but this
was only for a fraction of a second, before the mammary shrunk down again with
every exhalation, giving me a burst of relief before the next hit of building pressure.
Her heartbeat
pattered against my ribs, which became calming, while her perfume clouded my
brain and started to make my thinking sluggish.
“IS YOUR SEATBELT
ON?” she said wryly.
Assured
with my positioning, my apartment address was input into the GPS and then the
car was rolling down the streets. With the engine running and the car wheels spinning
over the road, minute vibrations ran up through the seat, and through her bust
as a medium, sending vibrations through my body like my flesh was shivering.
Without thinking, I squirmed against her breast, trying to stretch my arms and
legs, and release a little of the pressure digging into the back of my neck. As
soon as I moved, there was an interruption in the rhythm of her breathing as her
chest wall seemed to stiffen.
I froze.
A hand
drifted away from the steering wheel to give my head a forgiving squeeze. I
turned my head to the side, resting it on the plush surface of her chest,
feeling her heart beating into my ear. To the side, glowing car lights flashed
past the window.
The outside
lights started to burn against my eyes, and they began to close in protest. Her
chest continued to expand into my diaphragm as she breathed, which became less
uncomfortable as I learned to time my breathing so that we were not inhaling at
the same time, otherwise her substantially larger chest would squeeze my lungs empty
like tiny sponges.
“THANK YOU
FOR NOT MAKING A FUSS TONIGHT,” she said in a quiet voice.
I blinked,
managing to catch myself before I stretched or shifted around. Outside, long
strips of lit apartment windows flashed past, punctuated by glowing traffic
lights, and street signs too dark and blurred to read.
“I’m onto
other things in my life now.”
“SÌ – I’M VERY
AWARE OF THAT.”
“And I wasn’t
in court, so…whatever the outcome was…I just—”
“IT’S
COMPLICATED AND TEDIOUS,” she carried on smoothly, even with an air of
disinterest, “BUT MY LAWYER EXPLAINED THERE WAS A LEGAL TECHNICALITY. YOUR SIZE
CREATED SOME SUGGESTION THAT MY CONDUCT WAS INTENDED TO PROTECT YOU. SO THE SENTENCE WAS RELAXED.”
“I don’t
understand…”
“IT WAS UNUSUAL,” she admitted. “MY ADVOCATE
WAS GIVEN THE MOST PREPOSTEROUS REASON FOR YOUR ABSENCE.”
It struck
me as unfair for her to decide to canvass this solemn subject when I was helplessly
draped over her left breast, and with the skin-tight bustline biting into the
back of my neck, unable to free myself.
“BUT MAYBE
FOR THE BETTTER,” she mused. “COURT IS NOT THE MOST PLEASANT PASTIME…”
“It’s
forgotten," I insisted, if only because the subject made me so uncomfortable. But she seemed keen to go on:
“OUR TIME
TOGETHER WAS NOT WELL SPENT, AND I…I WAS…I NEVER…IT WASN’T APPROPRIATE.”
Her voice
was cracking now. She took a deep breath – in doing so, her bust applied a
sharp pinch of pressure to my body. Her rapid heartbeat throbbed into my spine.
Painfully
embarrassed, I said:
“You were
going through some stuff. I was too.”
There was a
long moment of quiet. I assumed the conversation had ended. But then, in a
calmer, more agreeable voice, she said:
"THE
TRIAL GAVE ME A NEW PERSPECTIVE…I AM DESPERATELY EAGER NOT TO REPEAT IT.”
She went on
meditatively, but at some point during the ride I entered the ‘Kolade crash’; the
rapid downward rush of energy after the stimulant spike. My eyes drifted shut
to the smell of car leather and her rolling accent, which seemed to carry on unconcerned
that I was no longer replying.
“SHE IS QUITE
TAKEN WITH YOU,” she was saying, referring to Darcy, “AND IN MY OPINION, YOU
LOOK ENTIRELY AT HOME IN THE PALM OF HER HAND. IF WE HAD NOT LEFT WHEN WE DID,
SHE WOULD HAVE BEEN KEEN TO MAKE THAT FUZZY LITTLE TUMMY OF YOURS THE
BENEFICIARY OF A SOFT RUB.”
I got the
sense she was teasing me, but as she said this in a straight tone, it was hard
to tell. If she ever made a joke she made it in her regular speaking voice, and
didn’t intend anyone to laugh.
When my
eyes opened again, the engine was off and the car still, and her dark eyes were
fixed on me.
“WHAT ARE
YOU DREAMING ABOUT, LITTLE ONE?” she said, with a half-smile. “HOW VERY WARM
AND SNUG THERE YOU LOOK. I’M SORRY TO HAVE TO BRING AN END TO YOUR NAP…”
Still
cradled in her bra, she took me into the building, and to my door, where I gave
her the door code and we went inside. The walls of my apartment passed by dimly
and then I was placed on my bed.
She was
silent for a moment as she watched over me, as if to satisfy herself that I was
going to be alright on my own. I expected her to leave then, but instead, she slipped
out of her shoes and then slid down gracefully until she was kneeling at the
bedside, bringing her face down to my level.
Fixing me a
tender look as a lover would, she brought her hand against my face and began brushing
her thumb against my cheek, and then my lips and brow. Inwardly burning with
discomfort, I wrapped my hand around her thumb and stroked it awkwardly,
waiting for the moment to pass.
“I
ACTUALLY DO CARE FOR YOU.”
When I
didn’t reply she lowered her hand to the mattress, and began idly prodding at
my feet with her ring finger, went on:
“BUT I
UNDERSTAND THAT YOU’RE KEEN TO MOVE ON AFTER WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN US. SO AM
I.”
“I’m not
going to go sell my story to the magazines, if that’s what you mean.”
As if for
some distraction, she was now trying to scoop up my toes onto the white
overhanging edge of her thumbnail, not playfully but absent-mindedly, as if my
foot wasn’t attached me.
“It’s over,”
I said, trying to slide my foot away from her grasp. “If you say it’s over,
it’s over.”
She paused
and lifted her eyes back to my face.
“BUT IT’S
NOT WHAT I SAY. IT’S WHAT YOU SAY.”
She pushed
against my bicep with a finger, the white tip of her nail causing the muscle to
dimple inward.
“IS THIS
OBSESSION COME ABOUT BECAUSE OF ME?”
“It’s not
an obsession!” I said, pulling my arm away. “It’s just a hobby.” Then I quickly
corrected myself, “Actually, it’s not a hobby. It’s a side-effect of working
out. That’s all.”
She was
quiet for a long time, but her eyes didn’t leave me, like she was weighing the
plausibility of my words.
“THAT IS
ALL,” she repeated to herself. Then: “I HAVE YOUR TRUST AGAIN?”
It was
unclear whether this was a question or not. I answered anyway.
“I…guess so.”
She
responded forthrightly:
“THEN IT
WOULD BE ALRIGHT WITH YOU IF WE WERE TO END THE NIGHT ON A KISS?”
I stared up
at her, frowning, thinking I must have misunderstood, but her face was
impassive.
“A
GOODNIGHT KISS,” she clarified.
She hadn’t
said it with any inkling of flirtation, so I shrugged and mumbled:
“I guess it
is.”
Deep down, I
was grateful for her looking out for me and driving me home, and not sure how
to say ‘no’ without ruining the nice vibes.
Before I could muse on this, she pinched my chin delicately
between fore finger and thumb to keep my head still as she considered my face for
a moment. Then, her thick black
lashes lowered demurely over her dark brown eyes, while the shiny Alizarin
reddened lips pouted with anticipation.
My stomach flipped around as the bright red puckered lips
expanded rapidly before my eyes, coming straight for my defenceless face. There
was no feasible way the sheer mass of her enormous lips could aim anywhere on
my face with precision, without capturing a whole lot else besides.
At the last moment the fingertips steered my head to the
side before a puff of breath warmed my cheek, an instant before the thick plush
lips made contact, painting the side of my face in liquid velvet lipstick.
My cheek seemed to be stuck in place against her mouth for a
moment longer, suctioned gently as she puckered, while her breath beating into
the top of my head from her nostrils, before she drew back again.
Her thumb
slid under my chin, lifting my head and keeping it balanced on her nail as she
appraised me.
“MMM, WHAT
A DIVINELY SOFT, KISSABLE FACE.”
“I use
moisturizers,” I said, blushing. And then added, “Well, my fiancée springs them
on me.”
“SHE MUST
LOVE YOU DEEPLY. I KNOW YOU’LL MAKE A GALLANT LITTLE GROOM. HAVE YOU
CONTEMPLATED A WEDDING DATE?”
“No. it’s
probably premature, but…” I had to pause, trying to get my throat to work
against the subtle pressure of her thumbnail, pushing against it, as she still
hadn’t let go of my head, “…I’d be okay with you coming. And Darcy, if you want
to bring her as a guest.”
Her
thumbnail began to rub back and forth against my neck with gentle affection.
“I WOULD BE
HONORED IF YOU WERE TO INVITE US TO ATTEND YOUR WEDDING, JERRY.”
“Well...okay.
No date yet, but I’ll keep you both in mind.”
Her
thumbnail finally slid away. But now she had noticed by the way the crotch of
my pants was beginning to point up, which in turn, made me intensely aware of
it, and my blush deepened.
“THIS IS
ABOUT THE TIME I MUST BE LEAVING YOU,” she said, adding with a coy smile, “AND
LET YOU ACHIEVE SOME QUALITY OF SLEEP.”
She paused,
looking away for a moment, becoming distracted by her white-tipped nails. She
might have been smirking but it was hard to tell.
“BUT…I
WONDER IF YOU’D BE GENEROUS ENOUGH TO LET ME GET AWAY WITH ONE LAST KISS.”
I shifted
in place as I contemplated this. My balls were starting to really ache.
But she
didn’t wait for an answer. She bent low over me, and bracing the back of my
head with two fingertips, this time not bothering to aim for my cheek, just
going straight in for my lips. My face was entirely engulfed in the soft, waxy
masses of her lips, my eyes squashed shut by the powerful flexion of her
puckering kiss, my nose flattened, my lips crushed, while her breath beat
against the top of my head from out of her nostrils, blowing my hair around
hotly.
The soft
flesh of my face was gripped slightly by the suction of her lips, and gently
pulled at my cheeks and mouth. A couple of fingertips came up from behind and
supported the back of my head, but also working to push my head deeper against
her.
Her lips
parted briefly as the tip of her tongue probed my face, sponging it over in warm
film of saliva. With her lips parted the suction became so great that for one
terrifying second I was convinced my whole head was about to be slurped up.
But then
the giant lips sprung free with a small wet smack, gratefully relinquishing
their domination over my head, leaving me shaky and panting, and my face
painted bright red and lined with lip crease marks.
Without
saying anything, she withdrew a make-up wet wipe from her handbag and used it
to gently dab at my face to clear away the lipstick. I closed my eyes. The soft
massaging pressure of her thumb against the wipe, running around my face
startled me and started making the fork of my pants even tighter.
Examining
my arousal coolly, she gave my bulge a gentle nudge with the tip of a finger.
Then shifted, preparing to stand.
“FAR TOO
LATE FOR ME,” she muttered.
I cleared
my throat.
“You don’t
have to drive tonight,” I offered. “I don’t use this bed. It’s practically
yours…” I wrung my hands as she surveyed me, pondering my suggestion impassively.
“…if you want.”
“YOU TEMPT
ME AND I SHOULDN’T,” she murmured, turning away. Then, regaining her full
height, she left the bedside and went as if to leave the room, switching of the
light.
Returning
to sit on the bedside, she removed her heels, peeled the sheets back and slid
her long smooth legs in. As she rested her head on the pillow, her hand swept
around me, gently lifting me from the mattress and sliding me up onto the
pillow towards her face, allowing dusky eyes to effortlessly drink in my miniature
features.
“THE FLOOR
IS COLD…IF WE HAD THE TIME, I WOULD SOAK YOU IN HOT WATER AND SCULPT YOU INTO
MY TOES,” she said softly but without a trace of self-consciousness, while her
thumb traced its way around the perimeter of my head.
I was then
flipped over and her thumbpad came to a rest pressed between my shoulder
blades, and other finger pads are secured against my front, including my groin,
ignoring the fact my semi-hard member is buried beneath one of them.
“SLEEP NOW,
LITTLE ONE,” her throaty intonation throbbed in my ears. Warm air ruffled
through my hair as she kissed the back of my head, and then kept me held there
against her lips, with her breath buffeting down from her nostrils onto the top
of my head and over my face. Warmed by the palm of her hand curled around my
body, I went to sleep.
When I woke
up, it was daytime and she was gone and the sheets were pulled up like she’d
never been there.