Sex stories

Sex stories




Swallowtail Ch. 13

Swallowtail is a novel that traces the narrator's gradual acceptance of submission.

Previously: The narrator has accepted Dex as his dom. In this final chapter, the narrator learns more of his dom and is shared with her former lover.

(For those who have read "Outsourced" 1 and 2, this chapter features the character, Naima.)


***

"I've invited a friend over for dinner for Friday. Is that okay?"

We're lying in bed on a Sunday afternoon and the late summer breezes are wafting into the bedroom, cooling the sweat that films our bodies. The curtains are open and riffle gently. Dex prefers it that way, despite or perhaps because of the danger of being spied in flagrante by the hikers who might be passing by on their way to the edge of the escarpment to watch the turkey vultures that circle endlessly on the thermals. I don't mind either. I like watching her and doing so in natural light is a joy. If that means having the windows wide open, so be it.

It has been almost a year since we met one October night in the art gallery. It has been a strange and exciting journey. At my age, you don't expect much in the way of change. You tend to think of yourself as being more or less set in your ways and that any change would be glacial. But the year has seen me somehow go from cynical cad to faithful sub. It has seen the introduction of bondage and impact play and the exploration of dominance and submission.

Dex said a month ago that she loved me. I'd been flummoxed. I hadn't anticipated that love could blossom out of the shifting soil of our relationship. I couldn't imagine how genuine love could flourish in a heart intent on domination. It took me a while to reciprocate the sentiment, though I knew it to be true. I explained to her, or tried to, that I couldn't easily grasp how I could love someone I was submissive to. She replied that women had been doing it for millennia.

She's wise, this one. But then, I've known that for a while.

I told her then that I loved her too.

And now, lying here with the dom I love, she's asking for my permission. A month or two ago I would have been surprised by Dex's question. A month ago, Dex seldom mentioned her friends to me and I would have assumed that any circle thereof had to be vanishingly small. Now I know that she does indeed have friends, individuals who are accomplished and personable and balanced, characteristics that I, in my less charitable moments, would have found difficult to apply to Dex or anyone of the lifestyle that we share. And now she has another friend coming out of the woodwork. My dear mistress appears to have a veritable abundance of friends.

I roll over onto my side and place my hand just beneath a breast. Her eyes are closed and the corners of her mouth quirk up in a smile. Dex wears less makeup these days, seemingly less intent on that barrier of dark goth that she hid behind when we first met. I prefer the more natural look. It suits her better, highlighting rather than masking her beauty, making her look more confident and less other. The piercings are still there through. She said, months ago, that they were a sign of ownership. That she owned her body. With piercings on her face and tongue, nipples and labia, there is no doubt that she is the mistress of her domain.

"Sure," I say.

"Good."

I trace the swallowtail tattoo on her lower abdomen. She squirms and says that it tickles. I don't stop. The tattoo is so realistic that it always surprises me that I don't feel the delicate structure of the wings beneath my fingers.

"Who is this friend? Someone from the party?"

"No. Her name is Naima."

"That's an unusual name."

"She's from India originally. She's a student here now."

I wait for Dex to say more. She doesn't. I don't know whether her silence is just Dex being Dex or something more secretive.

I bend over her and press my lips to her breast, enjoying the way that it gives beneath the pressure.

I try again. "Tell me more about your friend."

Dex hums her pleasure instead.

I come up for air a little while later. "How long have you known her? Is she really close?"

"Our circles intersected for a while."

I think I know what she means. Before meeting me, Dex had been submissive to a master who had gone too far and had betrayed the trust that Dex had placed in him. "Naima is into the lifestyle?" I ask.

"Not quite."

I tease the story out of her. She wants to tell me but also wants to be teased. It takes a while but neither of us minds. After Dex had broken with her dom, she ran across Naima, whom she'd once seen at some party or another. For whatever reason, the two of them hit it off. Naima was going through her own difficulties and found in Dex a kindred spirit. One thing led to another and...

I stop Dex at this point. "Don't tell me."

"What?"

"That you became lovers."

"Okay. I won't tell you."

Naima convinced Dex to take control again and that if she couldn't trust anyone as a dom, the best course of action was to become one herself. A better one. The kind of dom that she wanted to have for herself. Naima, said Dex, reintroduced her to the pleasure that was possible. "She helped me at one time," says Dex. "She woke me up when I had shut myself down."

"And she was your lover."

Dex pauses a beat. "Yes. She was."

She emphasizes the last word for my benefit. She understands me well and I appreciate it.

"Does it matter?" she asks.

I think about it and am again confronted by one of those logical inconsistencies that Dex has invited into my life like unseen insects that sneak in through a door left ajar and inflict unexpected bites. I'm less put out at the prospect of meeting Dex's female lover than I would have been had Naima been male. "No," I say. "It doesn't matter."

***

I'm wearing the chastity device for the first time in weeks. For reasons I can guess at, Dex has felt the need to reassert herself and claim her dominance over me. I don't mind. In fact, I'm quite satisfied, for Dex has also learned that it's difficult to manhandle my unit into the confines of a cage without first taming it.

It's too early in the fall for a fire so Dex has instructed me to light some of the candles she has brought into my house. For ambiance, she says. I'm in the process of burning my fingertips when the doorbell rings. Dex hurries off to answer it.

It has been said that the women of India are among the most beautiful in the world and Naima does nothing to suggest otherwise. Dex introduces us and Naima gives me a hug as though we're long-lost friends. She's wearing a well-worn pair of jeans and a loose white blouse that is generously unbuttoned. A pendant held by a length of fine gold chain rests between her breasts. It's as though the fates are conspiring to test me and the ability of my eyes to resist the laws of curiosity.

I see immediately that there is a quiet elegance about her, a long limbed grace and confident self-possession. I'd be lying if I were to say that she didn't at first befuddle me. Despite my age and experience, unconscious beauty still takes my breath away and it takes me a while to get used to it. In a way, I hope that I never do.

I serve some wine and settle gingerly in my armchair. The weight of the device between my legs is impossible to ignore. If Dex wanted the device to suppress my libido, she might have chosen something else to do to me. The device draws my attention to my groin whenever I move. Of course, that might have been her plan too.

I'm glad that I'm relegated to the background while Dex and Naima catch up. It gives me the opportunity to observe them, these two erstwhile lovers. Their mutual attraction is obvious and I see that Dex is not immune to Naima's pull. The layers of distance that she reserves for others fall away and I see the Dex as I've only recently come to know her. For her part, Naima seems refreshingly ignorant of the effect she has on people. Expressions dance across her face like actors on a stage. She bestows touches on Dex like unconscious benedictions.

I refill the wine glasses. The two women speak in a kind of code that excludes me. People that they have in common. Events they've experienced together. There are suggestions of drama and careful euphemisms that hint that Naima might be more than a mere student. I don't mind the exclusion. I'm new to this dynamic and am content to piece together the fragments as they appear.

Dex excuses herself and moves to the kitchen to attend to dinner.

Naima observes to me that Dex has changed. For the better, she adds with a significant look at me, as though I'm somehow the architect of this improvement. Naima comments that she has never known her friend to cook. It's true. Dex is a recent convert to the kitchen and has gradually become more daring in her culinary adventures. The first time I saw her in an apron I thought for a moment that I'd landed unwittingly in Stepford. She muted my laughter with a thoroughly unstepfordian application of the flogger that night. I've since learned to appreciate Dex's tentative forays into domesticity with careful encouragement and no expressions of amusement.

Naima quizzes me gently, more out of genuine curiosity than intrusiveness. I ask my own questions. It seems that both of us are interested in the strange physics that have pulled us into Dex's particular orbit.

Naima takes a sip of her wine. "You two appear to work well together. I can tell that you're strong. Dex needs strength, and certainly you need strength to be with Dex."

I'm not sure what to say. "I think we work well together."

"That's what Dex says."

"She's talked about me?"

"Of course. Girl talk."

I laugh out loud. The thought of Dex, so private and inscrutable, engaging in anything that could be termed girl talk is frankly bizarre. It shows how little I know her still.

"What's so funny?" asks Dex, who has reappeared wearing her apron, as if to dare me to comment.

"I guess I never imagined..."

"That I might talk about you? That I might have someone to talk to?"

"Well..."

"You're surprised that he might think that?" asks Naima, coming to my rescue. "You're not the most communicative person in the world."

Dex mumbles something that I can't quite hear. I'm growing to like Naima more by the minute.

"I guess you've known each other for a while then," I venture.

"A few years," says Naima. Then, without prompting, she continues. "I remember that it was at a party. My companion insisted that we go there and that's where I first saw Dex. I suspect that both of us were there only because of our respective obligations. At any rate, we got to talking, found we had absolutely nothing in common, and became friends."

"Nothing in common?"

Naima laughs. "Surely you of all people can understand the mechanics of that? Opposites being attracted? We were as opposite as two people could be. Eventually we did find some common ground."

"Which was?"

"Certainly not her fashion choices. We were, in different ways, subordinate by choice."

"Ah."

I sense that Dex would like nothing more than for Naima to shut up but she remains quiet.

"In different ways," continues Naima, "the paths that we had chosen for ourselves were difficult, so when we needed friendship, we were friends." Naima shrugs. "And when we needed love, we were lovers."

I have no idea whether she knows that Dex has disclosed the nature of their relationship to me. The words are spoken like it's the most natural thing in the world, two women coming together as lovers. "She mentioned something like that."

"You're not surprised, are you?" asks Naima.

"No. I'm not surprised by much anymore."

Naima appears to be enjoying herself. She glances at Dex and grins. "I understand that you too have learned to find pleasure in unexpected places?"

"Jesus, Naima." Dex is shaking her head, clearly nonplussed by the flood of disclosure.

"We're all friends," says Naima. "Let us then speak openly and honestly."

I think of the journey that I've taken with Dex. Finding pleasure in unexpected places is a delicate way of putting it. "I seem to have developed an appetite for it."

Naima laughs. "I thought so. Dex, you chose well."

More than a little wine is consumed over dinner and the restraint with which Dex and Naima began the evening begins to weaken. The conversation flows more easily, the filters fall from expressions, and there is more touching.

I wonder absently how Dex has described our relationship to her friend. Naima clearly knows about Dex's tastes and has at least inferred my collaboration. Does she know the extent of my submission and Dex's control over me?

We move from the dining room to the living room. The only light in the living room comes from the candles that I lit earlier. I pour some Taylor Fladgate into three glasses. The stereo fills the room with a soft, comfortable blanket of music. The two occupy the love seat and I return to my armchair. I note that their thighs are touching. As they talk, hands alight of their own accord on the other's shoulder or leg. There's clearly no issue of personal space.

Curiously, I don't feel excluded or threatened by their closeness.

Naima leans her head on Dex's shoulder and gazes at the play of candlelight through the liquid in her glass. I notice also the Naima's hand has found Dex's leg again.

Naima has gone to the bathroom and Dex and I are alone for a moment. Dex looks after her friend and then back to me.

"I can tell that you want her," I say.

Dex averts her eyes but nods almost imperceptibly.

"Not that it matters, but I'm okay with it."

"It does matter."

I give a yeah-right shrug.

"You're an idiot for thinking it doesn't."

"Sorry." I'm glad that my implied consent does not extend to this and I'm grateful that Dex is recognizing this line.

"If it did come to it, are you sure you're okay with it?"

"Of course, now that you've asked."

"I didn't have to."

"You did."

"Life is too short to deny ourselves what pleasures are possible." The drink has relaxed all of us and Naima speaks now with a more pronounced accent and her words float on a foreign cadence. I enjoy the sound of her voice.

"You're a hedonist," I say.

Naima laughs. "If you wish to label me, that one serves as well as any other. I have a suspicion of labels.

"Let me tell you a story," continues Naima. "I was maybe eleven or twelve and living in a village in India with my parents and siblings. There was a boy with whom I'd grown up. He was in my class at school and we spent much of our time together. I probably thought in the way of young girls that we would be married one day. I had no notion that I wouldn't be a good match for him, as my family lacked wealth and position. At any rate, we grew up together and there came a day when we became curious about the differences between us. It was a game, both new and exciting. We dared each other to reveal ourselves. It was in our secret place by the river. I don't remember any fear at the time, but I do remember curiosity and wonder. Soon looks became touches and then shame brought an end to our little experiment, though I knew even then that excitement would triumph over shame and we would challenge each other again.

"I found myself looking forward to a more of these forbidden times with my friend but I would never get the chance. In spite of our solemn vows of secrecy, word of my immodesty soon wound its way through our village and into the ears of my parents. I learned then that it is in the nature of boys to brag about their conquests. At any rate, immodest is one of the gentler words that were used to describe me. I had brought shame upon myself and my family. I remember feeling how disproportionate the consequences were to our little moment. I had done nothing wrong. What was the crime? Where was the victim? But as they told it, I had, by my shamelessness, moved further from God. That was my crime. I was a Jezebel at the age of twelve.

"And so I was labeled and the words applied to me could not be washed away. They followed me for years in the whispers and callous taunts of my peers. I was shunned by those who were my friends and lured by those who would lead me astray.

"By the time I was in my teens I had satisfied my curiosity sufficiently to know that there was a certain fulfillment in being Jezebel. It occurred to me that if there was a God, then I could be closer to Him by using His gifts to give and receive pleasure."

Naima pauses to sip at her port. She's beautiful and both Dex and I are spellbound.

"Eventually I became indifferent to labels. If you want to call me a hedonist, rest assured that I regard it as the highest of compliments. I'm also a realist and have been around enough to know that too few experiences in this life are pleasurable. Those that are and those with whom one finds pleasure are to be cherished and nurtured. Life will sooner or later rob us of our health and abilities and desire, so let's enjoy these things while we can. When I am old, I want to remember the pleasures that I have had, not the pleasures that I have denied myself."

"Naima has no issues with guilt," observes Dex.

Naima smiles. "If, in the moment, there is no guilt, why should there be when the moment has passed? You know this, Dex. Guilt is something imposed on us from outside by people who hold denial and suffering as the highest expression of the human condition. I'm not going to martyr myself on someone else's notion of virtue. I believe in creativity and pleasure. Guilt plays no part in it. If it gives pleasure and no one suffers in the attaining of it, then pleasure will be my guide."

"I'll drink to that," I say.

We all raise our glasses.

***

I'm not quite sure how it happens or what sets it off. Perhaps the talk of pleasure has suppressed whatever inhibitions might have existed. At one point, there's a look between the two women that I can't decipher. Then one or the other or both makes a subtle move and their lips are pressed together. It may have started with a touch or it may have been the inertia of the evening. It doesn't matter; I see that everything has been leading to this.

I watch and wonder why I'm not surprised or threatened or embarrassed. I can't help feeling that this simple action, seen from the dissociative heights of my own wine-induced buzz, has been held in abeyance with difficulty ever since Naima arrived. Now that it has occurred, there is the strange type of expectant calm. I can see that Dex is both excited and bewildered.

In wine is truth. I've used the phrase before. There is truth here. About pleasure and desire. About the possible rationale for denying pleasure and desire and the myriad reasons for embracing them.

Dex is wrestling with the truth. I can see it in the way she averts her eyes from mine. She wants the pleasure of Naima. I won't deny it. If she were to ask, and inasmuch it's within my rights to deny her anything, I wouldn't stand in the way. Naima was right. When we're old and time has robbed us of our ability, pleasure denied is the stuff of regret.

They separate. Dex looks at me and then down to a hand that is wrapped in Naima's. She has reservations. Naima has none. Dex closes her eyes for a moment. At length she rises and pulls Naima out of the loveseat.

I wonder whether Dex somehow expected this from the very beginning.

Naima, her back to me, has wrapped her arms around Dex. There's a brushing of cheeks, a closing of eyes, and then a full-on kiss, less inhibited and more deliberate than the first. I can tell by Naima's posture that she's pressing into Dex. I can tell by Dex's hands on the small of Naima's back that she is pulling.

If they are uncomfortable with my presence, they don't show it.

I wonder whether the drink has robbed me of my senses or my self-respect. I wonder what Naima thinks of me or what Dex has told her of me that she should so openly lavish such attentions upon my mistress with so little regard to my presence or feelings. Is it disrespect or something else? Is this a show put on for me? Is my presence irrelevant? I have no idea.
Dex looks at me over Naima's shoulder while the darker woman's lips move smoothly down the side of her throat. Dex still has misgivings. I see that. She doesn't want to antagonize me but she also wants this. I nod slowly. I'm grateful for the look and the question I see embedded in it. With that look, I'm at ease, comfortable with whatever may occur.

Dex disentangles herself from Naima, takes my hand with one of hers and Naima's with the other. She leads us to the bedroom. She squeezes my hand and deposits me on a chair. She leans over me, her lips on my ear. "If you're going to object, now would be the time."

"No," I say. I can't imagine objecting now to the pleasure Dex clearly desires.

With one last look at me, Dex turns to Naima, who has been waiting patiently by the bed.

Naima eases Dex's shirt over her head. The skirt then falls to the floor. Dex's hands, those I have thought dedicated to me, similarly navigate the folds and buckles of Naima's outfit. They undress in time with the music that is wafting in from the living room. Soon the two are entwined in a naked embrace and I feel self-conscious and out of place. I see Naima's hands running smoothly up Dex's sides, contrasting against the pale skin, brushing the outer swell of her breasts. Dex's hands flow down the contours of her friend's waist.

I wonder if I should leave and pour myself a scotch and wait for them to finish. I'm at a loss. If my presence hadn't been implied by Dex leading me here, I'd be gone.

There are noises of wet kisses, the susurration of breathing, the sound of skin against skin and now the muted exclamations of arousal shared.

And then there's me, crossing my legs painfully.

Naima presses Dex onto the bed. They navigate each other with the unconscious movements of long-time lovers. I watch, rapt, at the union of flawless skin, of need wordlessly implied and immediately satisfied.

Naima has maneuvered herself down Dex's body and has positioned herself between Dex's legs. She kisses the swallowtail tattoo. Dex's legs are spread, revealing that perfect pussy, lips parted and glistening. Naima lowers her head and I see the flash of tongue and hear the gasp evoked by the contact.

And I watch.

I watch as Naima's tongue dances over Dex's sex. I watch as Naima's own fingers appear, probing the valley between her own exotic legs, and burying themselves within the folds that are darker than Dex's. The fingers of the other hand have lifted and spread the labia of my mistress.

Dex is breathing more heavily now. Her abdomen falls and rises in time with her mounting arousal. Her back arches. Her hands have found her breasts and are alternately kneading them and fingering the pierced nipples.

I shift on the chair. My own arousal is mercilessly constrained by the steel that confines it. I feel its edges biting into me.

The dance of Naima's tongue over Dex's clitoris combines with the fingers that are now buried within my mistress to bring her to the top of the wave that I have built for her so often before. There's the intake of breath that I know so well, the quiet whimpering release through a constricted throat, the final gasp of abandonment.

Naima reaches for the chain around Dex's neck and the key that hangs from it. Dex raises her head and the chain is lifted over it.

Naima approaches me, the chain draped over her slender fingers. "You must be uncomfortable," she says.

"Yes."

Naima smiles. I stand and she approaches. I feel the warmth that emanates from her, and the subtle aroma of intimacy that plays beneath her perfume. She stands close and I feel her hands at my waist. My slacks to fall the floor. Naima unlocks the device and gently removes the steel from me. "You have a cruel mistress but you've been very patient," she says. The words come out with an almost musical cadence.

I didn't have much choice, I think, but I only nod.

She kneels and grasps me as though trying to smooth out the embossing that the device has imprinted on me. Her slender fingers run the length of my cock. "It's a cruel thing to be held captive." She's playing with me in more ways than one. There's a gleam in her eye and a smile that is barely suppressed.

"But twice the blessing to be free," I say.

The smile blossoms. She turns to Dex. "I like this one."

"He's a keeper," says Dex.

"Let us double your blessing then," Naima says. She leads me to the bed where Dex is waiting. I detect a look in her eyes that I haven't seen before. Pride. Love, perhaps. Gratitude for having been allowed this moment.

Naima bids me to lie down next to Dex. I comply. I've never been involved in a threesome and the etiquette, if there is one, is unknown to me. Dex places a hand on my cheek and kisses me deeply. I'm hyper aware of her skin against mine. Her hand. The breast that presses against my chest. The tongue that twines with mine. I lose track of Naima, so engrossed am I in the moment. Then I find her, working her way up my leg with her fingers and lips and tongue. It's difficult to concentrate on Dex, what with the imminent encroachment of this beguiling stranger. Naima's fingers encircle my scrotum and I freeze.

Naima's tongue navigates a slow path from the base of my cock to its head. I feel the heat of contact and the cooling trail of saliva behind. Dex catches my lower lip between her teeth and runs her tongue over it as Naima captures my cock within her mouth. I'm overwhelmed and am tempted to ask Dex to take the crop to me for the distraction. Dex lifts herself slightly and positions a breast at my mouth. I take its tip between my lips and concentrate on the nipple and the bar of metal that pierces it. I focus on my lips and teeth and the movement of my tongue to the exclusion of all else, all in an attempt to distract myself from the warmth and undulating tongue that plays on the underside of my erection. I could easily surrender now.

One of my hands finds Naima's head. My fingers bury themselves in her luxuriant hair. My other hand rests on the small of Dex's back. As the two women lavish their attentions on me, I think of how my old self would have taken this as his due. It would have been a first, but also the kind of unexpected carnal surprise that happened to me from time to time, like Dex taking me in the bathroom stall last year. There would have been a certain blasé enjoyment. Now there's gratitude. Pleasure given freely is a gift.

There's one last nip at the collar of my cock and flick of a tongue at its tip. Naima leaves me and I feel, a moment later, the bed giving slightly under her weight. I glance down my body and see that Naima now straddles me, facing away. Her hands squeeze my thighs. I marvel at her shape, the perfect exotic hourglass, subtle and feminine. Naima lifts herself and positions me before allowing herself to drop ever so slightly. I breach her silken wetness and close my eyes, fearing that the addition of sight to the sensory palette might overwhelm me.

"That's good," she says.

I glance at Dex and see that she is watching too, seemingly as taken by the image as I am. Naima descends on me and the twin curves of her ass press against my abdomen.

"Just be sure that you finish with me," whispers Dex into my ear.

Dex then moves to the foot of the bed. I feel her between my legs. I open my eyes slightly and see her and Naima locked in a kiss. Dex's fingers are buried in Naima's raven black hair. Naima raises and lowers herself and I hear a muted moan and I'm unsure of its provenance.

At length Naima lies back on me. Her hair brushes my face. I feel her breath on my cheek and I turn to kiss her. She smiles dreamily in the wake of the kiss.

Dex has lowered herself. Her tongue lights on the underside of my cock, the part that's not still buried within her friend, and traces a path up until it leaves me and finds instead another target. Naima quivers against me when it does.

My hands stroke Naima's sides before snaking up her torso to find her breasts. Her nipples are hard and I hold my hands just above them, allowing her breathing to brush them against the palms.

Dex's hands rest gently on my upper thighs and she nips playfully at the base of my cock before resuming her oral ministrations on Naima.

Naima's breathing is coming faster now. Her hands find mine and press them against her breasts. She rocks upon me as I feel the trill of Dex's tongue where Naima and I meet.

She's grinding against me, tracing quivering circles with her hips. I feel that Dex is now lashing her friend mercilessly with her tongue. I wrap my arms tightly around Naima's abdomen and add my own thrusting to the mix.

I'm at that point where I can easily relinquish control. I can allow myself to slip beneath the roiling waves of arousal. I'm tempted. Naima is there. I can feel her. I can join her. I want to join her. Add my gasps to hers. Both of us joined but alone, lost in the roar of climax.

I promised though. Promised to wait for Dex. Save myself for her. I try to dissociate myself from the intimate tightness that has surrendered to me, the feeling of a quivering body weighing on mine, the tongue that flits between us....

Naima lies limp upon me, following the rises of my body and filling the hollows. There's a thin film of sweat between us, hers and mine. She clenches me within her as the spasms subside.

I'm not sure whether I've surrendered. I don't think so, but the last moments have been a blur.

With a final kiss, Naima disengages from me and lies next to me. Her head is perched on her hand and she simply watches now as Dex claims me. I feel the presence of my mistress as an abstraction and she may as well not exist. I cup Dex's breasts and we fall into a rhythm that is both familiar and reassuring. In spite of everything, this is where I belong.

The swallowtail tattoo appears to rise and fall, undulating on unseen currents. Dex takes her time and brings me back slowly. She knows me now. Knows herself. Knows, as I do, that we work together. Her eyes are closed but her face is intent, balancing her pleasure with mine.

Gold glints from the various parts of her body that she has claimed ownership of. I hear Naima breathing next to me. I'm content to let her watch, just as Dex is content to share me and herself.

I'm glad that I have waited for Dex. I feel that familiar tingle, that building of pressure. She's drawing it out of me with a body and mind that are familiar yet blessedly unknowable. It is the unknowable that will keep me with her. It is my hunger for the unknowable for which I will strive to keep my place.

Uncharacteristically, a moan escapes Dex's parted lips. She has angled her hips, pressing my turgid length against that spot that she often toys with when she's on the cusp.

There's another moan, louder this time. It's joined by my gasp as she digs her fingernails into my flesh. She's there, body dancing to a tune only she can hear. She's away from me now, riding waves on which I'm an incidental companion. Her body writhes and clenches, simultaneously pushing and pulling, perched on the cusp.

Before I know it I join her, no longer incidental but not with her either. I ride my own wave alone, yet propelled by her.

Epilogue

It will be a coming out party of sorts. It was my idea and the lines and limits of it are mine alone. That said, Dex was both surprised and pleased that I suggested it to mark our first year together. She's as giddy and anxious as a betrothed, wanting everything to come off perfectly.

There are many friends with whom I could not share this moment, this coming out, this public statement of my submission to Dex. As important as it is to me, it would be unfathomable to them. And so, I have limited the guest list to Dex's friends, those who share in this particular and peculiar dynamic.

Naima has also agreed to come. We never repeated that night, though Naima frequently visits and subjects herself to Dex's culinary experiments. I can't imagine that we would repeat it, though the very fact that it happened has erased some of the lines that I've had and redrawn them somewhere else.

At some point, Dex and I might approach these lines. We might respect them or cross them. I know now that all lines are flexible and that it's foolish to give them more power than they deserve. As Naima said that night, if it gives pleasure and no one suffers in the attaining of it, then pleasure will be my guide.

Pleasure... and Dex.

***

Thanks for reading. For those who have followed Swallowtail from the first chapter, I have appreciated your comments, suggestions, and words encouragement. Thank you! --KT

swallowtail  

May 15, 2018 in bdsm

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