The Second Night – An Erotic Story in 4 Parts
When I wake up, I realize immediately that I’m alone. Not that I expected anything different.
I stretch out a hand until it touches the other side of the bed, the same hand that he held on his chest as I drifted off. I wonder how long I will continue to unnecessarily make room for him in my life, letting his presence taking up vital spaces, but I immediately abandon this line of thought.
I know from experience that it has no other effect than to ruin my mood.
I raise myself up on my elbows, and a slight soreness brings me back immediately and vividly to the evening I had spent with him. I get up quickly from the bed and head towards the vertical mirror that decorates a wall, twisting my back to to look get a look at my behind. The signs of frustration are there, some already turning into bruises.
I touch the tender skin encircling my wrist while the memories of the evening resurface and I also feel a trace of annoyance. Then I step into the bathroom where I turn on the violent light and start to look more inquisitively across my body, seeing if I could find evidence of that feeling passing. But, apart from the signs of the whip and the slight soreness of the handcuffs, I find nothing.
While I’m still in the bathroom scrutinizing every inch of my bare skin, someone knocks at the door. For a moment I guess it could be him, but this hope is useless and momentary. It is indeed just room service with the breakfast tray. Typical him. If at first his dependability when it came to thinking of such things filled me with wonder, they now leave me indifferent. They’re not enough for me anymore.
After letting her in and watching her wheel her cart toward the table, I realise that the suitcase is right there, open and with all the content on display. All the objects have been carefully stored, closed and secured with their special elastic bands. Again, typical.
She doesn’t seem to notice, anyway, and leaves promptly. Picking up a slightly warm croissant, I munch absentmindedly while touching the objects in the suitcase one by one. The consistency of the whip seems light and extremely flexible, but the signs on my body are testament to how its power. I intertwine my fingers between the tassels of the flogger, this also seems soft and caressing but I wonder how it will sound in his hands.
I touch the contours of a mysterious object, of which I can not imagine the use, however I know that I can count on him and his perverse imagination.
I wander to the window and pull back the curtain, taking in the old buildings and small luxury boutiques that line the somewhat secluded street. I could go out for a walk, but the air is gloomy. I decide that I will go back to sleep – maybe I’ll sleep all day, so tonight I will be awake and he won’t be able to leave me when I am most vulnerable.
I wake up several times and end up just lying in bed, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. What will still be missing when he arrives? Fine, I might as well start preparing.. The breakfast tray is still on the table, with intact food and cold coffee. I choke it down in gulps, then step back into the bathroom to take a long shower. Then I go back to the bedroom and open the wardrobe for the first time.
It contains a light silk blouse and a cigarette skirt that reaches me mid-calf, his choice, and one I’m so used to it verges on laughable – he’s somehow taken two extremely ordinary items, ones I wore when we first met, and turned them into a costume. Anyway, I get dressed and leave the room for the first time since I arrived. If nothing else, it’ll give housekeeping time to redo the bed.
It’s almost six o’clock and I’ve been sitting at the little hotel bar for almost an hour. I’m sipping my second glass of wine when I feel a warm hand resting on my shoulder; it’s him, of course. He kisses me with the same eagerness as last night and I can not not return it with the same enthusiasm. The hours without him had seemed endless, but now that he is here with me, my waiting seems worth it.
‘How are you?’ He asks me with his warm, low voice.
‘A little red.’ I answer. I see desire make his pupils widen immediately and I could almost say that I saw him get hard.. But of course it is not true, if only because my gaze is fixed on his eyes, which have suddenly become dark.
‘Are you hungry?’ He asks me. I don’t know why, but I’m sure his question has a double meaning.
‘Ravenous,’ I answer trying to play the flirt.
‘Very well. Let’s go up to the room.’
He takes me by the hand and leads me out of the bar. We wait for the elevator in an overly lit corridor and I think that my bare breasts are perfectly visible through the silk of the shirt. As if to confirm my thought, he raises a hand to caress my nipple through the fabric. But when we enter the elevator, though we are alone, he drops my hand as we place ourselves on opposite corners, the tension between us palpable as a third person.
The room is in perfect order when we enter. The breakfast tray has disappeared from the table, but the case is still there, exactly in its place, open and with its sinful content exposed to any onlooker.
Our steps automatically guide us to the table and there we remain in silent contemplation of the universe of possibilities that opens up for our night.
‘Do you have a plan?’ I ask him after a while, and I don’t know why I have to keep my voice low, as if someone could hear us.
‘For days.’ He answers me.
He took only one item from the suitcase and guided me to the bed. I raised my head and he clasps a pair of leather goggles, or I suppose a blindfold, around my head. There’s a slight hint of leather to tease my nostrils and a metal chain to tickle them .
‘I’m going down to order dinner. Do not move.’ He whispers in my ear and then I hear the soft pad of his feet on the carpet toward the phone. I can’t hear what he’s ordering; the heat of his breath on my neck was like an intoxication, I felt myself collapsing onto the pillow behind me. There’s a roaring in my ears – or is that just the bathroom sink?
He’s gone for a while, probably no more than a few minutes, but finding myself blindfolded makes it seem like the longest and most solitary time. My mind slips again, dangerously, towards thoughts of abandonment and I’m almost ready to follow them along their path when I hear the sound of a knock at the door, and then his steps.
‘Hi, yes, thank you, put it there on the table.’ The sound of a champagne cork exploding. ‘Thank you, this is for you. You have yourself a good night as well.’ I realize he is not alone, the waiter must have followed him into the room and I blush violently at the thought of him seeing me blindfolded, sitting on the bed.
But the heat I felt in my cheeks had no plan of staying there, and instead travels down my chest, behind my bellybutton, and ever-downward in excitement.
I hear a few quiet sounds from him, some small thud here and there, the liquid that fills the glasses, the clink of the cutlery. I hear him approach, and a noise that I can identify as a plate being set down on the bedside table. Without warning I feel his hand on the back of my head.
‘Drink,’ he tells me and then crystal touches my lips. Like last night, I feel the cold and sparkling liquid flowing into my mouth much longer than a normal sip. But tonight I’m ready and I let the champagne slip into my throat to the last drop. I feel him smiling as a sudden sense of vertigo takes hold of me.
New strange noises, then a strong smell hits my nostrils, I automatically think of an image of ports and boat masts. I try to place the smell, but it is only when he tilts my head slightly backwards that I realize that it is an oyster. I open my lips and my mouth is invaded by the taste of the sea.
‘More?’ I ask and he chuckles as he helps me tilt my head again.
‘More?’ He asks me in turn.
I nod. I feel his head tilt, I open my lips to receive the gelatinous substance, but I feel instead enveloped by his kiss, I feel his tongue enter my mouth, his hands tighten around my neck.
His kiss, as usual, leaves me breathless. His hand goes down my legs and purposefully lifts my skirt, while he continues to kiss me.
Then his hand moves away from me for a moment and I hear a little noise fill the air. It is a subdued buzz that immediately calls my attention. A soft touch, which is not his hand, reaches my body. Soft and vibrant. It runs through my neck, down to the breast and lingers on the nipple causing small earthquakes of pleasure. It proceeds towards my exposed sex and at this point I already know what will happen. I feel it slip slowly inside me and I abandon myself in his arms to fully enjoy my pleasure.
‘More?’ He asks, and at this point I do not know what he’s referring any more, but whatever it is, yes, I still want it, it’s never enough for me. The unmistakable odor precedes the descent of another delicious oyster along my throat.
‘More?’ This question is breathed against my mouth just before his lips envelop me again.
‘Yes,’ I whisper inside his mouth. This time I feel a rush of pleasure as I feel the vibrations increase.
This time I can not hold back a moan and I let myself fall completely into his arms. He places me on the cushions and eases himself off the bed. I sit up, arms outstretched toward th soft sound of his steps. I try to call out and tell him that I don’t want him to leave me. But the vibrations, now in a rising and falling pattern, provoke such pleasure that I have to lie back and press my knees together.
He’s suddenly at my side again, taking my hand and, somewhat clumsily push my fingers against the soft tassels of the flogger I had inspected this afternoon. Turning my palm open and resting the tassels against it, he suddenly withdraws and there is a THWACK across my palm. My shock of excitement was so sudden I don’t know whether it was the sound or the sensation that caused my body to throb suddenly in the pleasurable revolt of unexpected orgasm.
I extend a hand to remove the vibrator, the pleasure now unbearable, but he stops me, grabbing my two wrists and raising them above my head. Then the clink and weight of the handcuffs, not tight enough to hurt but tight enough to remind me of his abandonment last night. He tugs the two sides of my shirt apart – I swear I could hear the buttons ping before hitting the floor.
The orgasmic spasms have not yet subsided when I feel the tassels gently tracing their way down my neck and across my bare chest, the smell of suede flooding my nostrils.
I feel his excited breath beside me, as he asks in a hoarse voice.
‘More,’ I can’t help but answering.
Katy Thorn is a post-grad writer with a passion for writing about sex, sexuality, and all things rated R. She received her degree in Women’s Studies with a focus in Intersectionality at the University of California, Berkeley (Go Bears!). She has a cat named Yoko, drinks too much black coffee, and hates writing bios.