Bliss (6 page)

It was a finger, fragrant with the scent of a woman's body.
She took the whole finger into her mouth, licking until it was
completely clean.

"She's a natural at this," someone, not Regina, said.

Soft laughter teased her. She bit into the finger in her
mouth.

"And she's got teeth, too." The finger withdrew.

Gentle hands brushed her neck and jaw. "So pretty." Lips
grazed her throat. Waves of sensation rolled from the contact
point and pooled between her legs. Something brushed against
her lips. Sinclair licked it and was rewarded with a soft hum
of delight. A nipple. She started to lift her hands, to keep the
breast close, but other hands held down her own. Sinclair
nuzzled the breast, teasing it with her mouth and adding her
own sounds of pleasure to the ones raining down on her.

A weight pushed her legs apart. The chair slowly reclined.
Warm breath brushed her toes, her knees, her thighs. The
sounds in the warehouse burned through her, the gasping
breaths, soft frantic sucking, the grunting of someone wield ing a dildo, a loud cry for Jesus. Hands tugged her panties
off. The chair reclined all the way back, and a body straddled
hers. The breasts returned to her face. This time she didn't
even try to touch them, her mouth arched up and devoured
soft flesh, tasting and testing the firmness of the underside of
one heavy breast. The nipples were like blackberries. She bit
them gently.

When a mouth touched her pussy, she gasped, then arched
into it. The skin under her mouth became even more interesting. She wanted to take more of it inside. Two hot mouths
enfolded each of her nipples at the same time and sent her
body into sensual overload. A deep moan vibrated against
the soft flesh under her lips. She widened her legs for the
mouth eating her and arched against the twin mouths that
were driving her out of her mind.

"What are you feeling, Sinclair?"

It took a moment for her to hear Regina's voice. Then another moment for her to respond. The full mound of flesh
eased back to allow her voice room.

Sinclair nodded then gasped as the mouth between her legs
reached her clit, its tongue doing a miraculous dance against
the bundle of nerves. "Good," she murmured. "It feels
good."

"I asked how you feel. Be specific." Regina's voice was so
damn cool. It sent sparks shooting across Sinclair's skin as if
she'd touched her.

"Li-like ... like a piece of volcanic rock." She gasped as
the mouths worked her breasts, making soft liquid sounds
that distracted her from Regina's voice almost as much as the
tongue between her legs. "Like I'm in a mountain ... churning in hot lava ... waiting for the explosion."

"Ladies," Regina's voice lowered. "Why are you keeping
her waiting?"

A soft mouth brushed hers. A hard tongue slid deep inside
her. Teeth and mouths tightened around her breasts, milked
them until the connection between her cunt, tits, and mouth was liquid but unbreakable. Her mountain exploded in a
haze of fire. And that was just the first time.

"I think we wore her out, poor thing."

"She looks so cute."

"Can we take her home next time?"

Soft laughter followed them back into the lowering sun.
Sinclair snuggled into the scented leather of Regina's car,
curled into the backseat, her mind and body completely exhausted.

"Home, Jeeves." Sinclair weakly tapped on the back of the
driver's seat.

Regina's soft laughter gently nudged her into sleep.

Sinclair woke up in Regina's bed. Sunset had come and
gone and now night was beginning its slow descent upon the
city. The curve of soft gray light pouring through the window
reminded her of a woman's back, shadowed, hollow, curved.
She turned away from the light and closed her eyes. The
hours that had led to her exhaustion and her eventual nap
came pouring into her brain like acid. She rolled away from
its awareness, but the images came at her in clear Technicolor.
She couldn't even blame the alcohol for it. If anything she had
been drunk on Regina, on the power the writer had wielded
over her. Still, that was no excuse. Toward the end she'd wanted
it, wanted the spectacle almost as much as Regina, wanted to
see what heights these women could take their bodies, and
hers, to.

And now she was here. From far off in the apartment she
could hear Regina puttering about. Top forty R & B floated
into the bedroom and just below it was the sound of Regina's
voice. The woman was adventurous, uninhibited. Sinclair
had known that when she read her books, had even looked
forward to fulfilling some fantasies with her. But was this too
much? And what about this other mysterious person that Regina was seeing? Were they getting as much of a workout
as Sinclair?

Outside the window, city lights flashed, winking on in a
domino of brightness that quickly spread out farther than
Sinclair's eyes could see. She heard Regina approaching the
bedroom with sure footsteps and still carrying the melody of
a song on her lips. Sinclair slid back under the covers and
pretended to sleep.

soft knock sounded on Sinclair's office door. She paused
.in the act of putting away paperwork in the filing cabinet and glanced at her watch. Five thirty-five. Sinclair felt a
moment's regret for allowing Shelly to leave at the dot of five.
This better not be business.

"Come in."

"Hey, there," Regina purred as she walked into the office.
She could have done nothing else in the outfit she was wearing-black skintight leather pants, boots, and a corset laced
so tight that she almost had cleavage. Catwoman come to
life. "Come play with me," she said.

Sinclair stared at her lover, at the sleek skin that shone
with body glitter, the ornate makeup and cornrowed hair.
Her belly tightened with sudden desire to do anything and
everything that Regina wanted. But Sinclair shook her head.
"Can't. I have some things I need to do at home tonight."

"But it's a Friday."

"Sorry." Sinclair slid the file drawer closed and walked
back to her desk. She'd been out with Regina almost every
day this week. Tonight was her time to regroup, cuddle into
her easy chair with a good book and a cup of rosemary tea.

Regina hummed deeply in her throat as she stalked Sinclair
across the room then sat on the edge of the desk. "Come on, sugar." She brushed a thumb across Sinclair's nipple through
the thin black blouse. "I'll make it worth your while."

Dinner and dancing. That's all she said it was going to be.
But when they ended up at the Burning Rose, Sinclair knew
that she'd been had.

"Welcome, ladies." The slim woman dressed in a rubber
French maid's outfit took their coats and guided them to a
table. A corner one, at Regina's request. The table was intimate, set far enough away from the main dining room that it
was private, yet still had a good view of the round, stagelike
area that was now empty except for a single chair. People
stared as the two women walked past, sliding their eyes along
Regina's leather-covered flesh with undisguised delight. Sinclair
was glad that Regina had taken her back to the uptown penthouse for a change of clothes-simple leather pants, high heels,
and a halter top that covered her breasts and almost nothing else.

"A gift," Regina had said with a seductive smile.

At least she fit in with the leather-and rubber-wearing crowd.
The lights in the restaurant, provided by glittering crystal chandeliers, were golden and dim, giving the Burning Rose an air
of romance and mystery. A pale-skinned waitress brought two
menus and tall glasses of water.

"Would you like something else to drink, ladies?" Her
Western European accent sounded fake.

"A bottle of your house red, please," Regina said with a
dismissive wave. The girl nodded and left them alone.

"Are you going to tell me what kind of place this is?"
Sinclair's curiosity was piqued. But not in a good way.

"Why spoil the fun, when I can just show you?" An impish
smile teased her burgundy lips. "What would you like to eat?"

"I'm suddenly not hungry."

"No? At least look at the menu. You might find something
that intrigues you." Regina opened the velvet-bound menu in
front of Sinclair, smiling expectantly.

Sinclair sighed, but skimmed through the elegantly scripted
menu anyway. Duck a l'orange, escargots, lobster bisque, truffles, spanking, public humiliation, foot worship ... Sinclair
stopped reading.

"Are you kidding me?"

"You can order anything on the menu, either for yourself
or your dinner companion." Regina arched an eyebrow. "Do
you want to punish me for bringing you here?"

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"Look, someone ordered something special." Regina pointed
to the stage where a woman, a gorgeous Anjelica Huston lookalike, wearing impossibly high-heeled boots and a very short
leather skirt with slits up both sides, stood with her whip at
the ready. Her breasts looked ready to spill from its black
leather corset. A man was being led up to the stage by the
rubber-wearing French maid.

"On your knees, bitch!" Anjelica ordered as she snapped
her whip in the air. The man flinched and immediately
dropped to his knees.

"Now clean my boot with your tongue. I want every inch
of it wet." The boots laced all the way up to her thighs.

Sinclair looked away from the stage with mild disgust.

"I never figured you for a prude, darling," Regina murmured,
looking at her companion with slightly narrowed eyes.

Sinclair closed the menu with a quick snap. "I'm not a
prude. I just don't find this scenario the least bit arousing or
interesting."

Regina lifted a hand to summon the waitress. "I'll have the
filet mignon with shallots and cognac. Darling?" She looked
at Sinclair.

"Lobster thermidor, please."

"And," Regina pointed to something on her menu. "I'll
have one of these, as well. Heavy."

The girl nodded. "Would you like to keep the menu in case
something else appeals to you later on?"

Regina smiled up at the girl. "You know, I think I will."

The waitress left with the soft sound of rubber against
flesh and the smell of talc in her wake.

"Are you angry at me, darling?"

"Don't call me that. It's meaningless." On stage, the man
had finished his task to hearty applause.

Leather creaked as Regina bent close to Sinclair. "What do
you mean it's empty? You are a darling." Her voice was light,
teasing. But Sinclair wasn't buying it.

"Are you ever serious?" She'd been seeing this woman for
almost a month and she could honestly say that she knew
next to nothing about her. Except that she liked sex.

"For you, darling? Never. That would be boring."

Next on stage was a leatherman. His body was completely
hidden except for his maggot-white penis that flopped through
a silver-toothed opening in the black leather. A woman wearing a schoolgirl's uniform approached the stage, led again by
the French maid.

Sinclair looked away before she could see any more. "Do
you enjoy this?"

Regina's eyes flickered to the stage, then back to Sinclair
with obvious reluctance. "It's entertaining."

"I'd hate to see what disgusts you."

"Me, too." Regina twisted her red mouth.

Sinclair shook her head again. What had she gotten herself
into? Yuen's explorations into sex-whether it had been light
bondage or talking dirty-had amused rather than surprised
her. Now with Regina she found herself being shocked at the
things the woman was teaching her about herself, about just
how far she could be pushed and manipulated sexually.

"What are you thinking about?" Regina asked.

"You."

"I'm flattered."

"It's the truth. Don't bother pretending to be surprised.
What else can I think about when you're around?" Sinclair
knew she sounded resentful. But she was getting tired of this
one-dimensional affair. "Do I mean anything to you?"

"Of course. You're an incredible fuck. Yet you're so naive.
You're like my lost childhood. My virginity."

Now that said it all, didn't it? Sinclair thought with a wry
smile.

The maid interrupted whatever else Regina might have
said. She brought the wine and poured them each a glass before looking finally at Regina. "Madame?"

The writer stood. "Ready."

Sinclair watched her go, admiring the motion of her ass
under the leather and the gold-dusted bare arms that looked
both sensual and strong under the restaurant's soft lights. She
may be fucked up, but she was still gorgeous. Sinclair sipped
her water to moisten her dry throat.

For purely masochistic reasons, her mind dipped back into
the past, to one of the many nights she had been trying to
find satisfaction but could not. It was not that long ago when
Yuen had invited himself over with a gourmet dinner, aromatic teas, and sex. Their dinner was long gone and the tea
cooling on the kitchen counter when he got her into bed, undressed her, and slid down between her thighs. Despite his
enthusiasm, Sinclair hadn't quite been able to get into it.
Yuen toyed fruitlessly with her sore clitoris, working to get a
sigh, a sound, something, out of her. She had sighed eventually, but it was a sound of impatience. The sound was lost in
the pulse pounding rhythm of the M'shell CD playing in her
bedroom and in the loud, eager noises that her boyfriend
made whenever his mouth encountered her skin. Her body
tingled, generating heat between her thighs, but as usual, fulfillment eluded her. She felt disconnected from herself, as if
the things Yuen was doing were being performed on someone
else. A possibility of pleasure existed somewhere out there,
but she knew that it wouldn't be realized that night. Still,
Yuen liked to touch her, so she let him.