Bliss (7 page)

He loved to look at her and, even after two years of being
together, marvel at their different-shaded skin. In the beginning she had been entranced, too. They were beautiful to gether-his gold-touched porcelain flesh and hers the shade
of freshly shaved nutmeg. If only all he wanted to do was lay
in the sun together and talk. Then he could be the best friend
that she never had. Instead he was someone she held back
from. Someone with whom she reluctantly shared her body.

"Yuen, sweetheart. Can you just hold me?" She had made
her voice soft, childlike. He looked up and his dark hair fell
over his eyes, making him look no more than a child, certainly not like a thirty-two-yearold lawyer with an overactive libido.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. "

They adjusted themselves until she lay in his arms with her
ear over his chest, listening to his pounding, unfulfilled heart.
She touched his belly.

"But let me do this for you first," her guilt said.

Work the next morning was her excuse for him not to
spend the night. Once he finally left her apartment, she
scoured her mouth with Listerine, showered, and changed
the sheets.

That was just one of many nights Sinclair had labored
under a man, searching without success for her pleasure. And
now, Regina could easily slide it out of her, with a single
word or one skillful application of a finger. Unexpectedly,
Sinclair's panties shifted over her agitated flesh.

She watched Regina walk up to the small stage as if the
maid had shown her into a wealthy aristocrat's parlor and
she was waiting to be received. The maid bowed to Regina
and stepped away. Sinclair could feel the crowd respond to
her lover's presence, drinking in her tight, beautiful body, her
confidence. This woman was coiled, patient energy and, obviously, she was used to being the one wielding the whip. The
entire restaurant perked up and any residual conversation
died.

A tall, dark skinned woman joined Regina on the dais. She
walked around Sinclair's lover as if sizing up a prized new toy. Her dark eyes lingered on Regina's ass and hips. The
woman wore what could only be described as a Gibson Girl
outfit-a long black skirt that brushed the floor and a simple,
bell sleeved white blouse with a cameo fastened at the throat.
The entire outfit was made of rubber and moved over the
woman's skin like freshly poured oil. Her straightened hair,
pinned up in an elegant topknot, haloed the severe face. Like
a schoolteacher from the old days, she carried a wooden paddle in one hand.

A chair already stood on the platform, a simple thing with
a metal frame and a round, red velvet seat. The schoolteacher
whispered something to Regina and the other woman immediately bent over the chair, gloved fingers curling into its dark
metal back.

"This woman," the schoolteacher said loudly, "needs to be
punished. She tricked her lover into coming here. Her lover is
very angry with her. How many strokes of the paddle should
she get?"

Various responses erupted from the suddenly whispering
audience.

"Fifty," came a soft southern voice.

"One hundred," came another. "She looks like she could
take it."

The teacher raised her hand for silence. "How about the
woman in the halter top with the beautiful Afro?" Her eyes
found Sinclair. "How many do you suggest?"

Sinclair looked at Regina. From so far back, she couldn't
see her freckles, only the impression of her loveliness and the
sweeping curve of her sensuous, smug mouth.

"Twenty." They had been together for twenty days.

"Twenty it is then." Her voice was like warm honey.
"Twenty," she said again and turned to Regina and stroked
the writer's spine with a long, graceful hand.

The audience could see the two women in profile were in
the perfect position to appreciate the graceful bow of Regina's back and the outline of her breasts, hips, and thighs in the
leather.

The first slap was loud. More sound than pain it seemed,
since Regina barely moved. Her face was a calm sea. The
second was louder still, as the paddle hit the fleshiest part of
her ass. The teacher was just warming up.

She heated the soft leather with each slap, testing the endurance of the skin underneath the butter-soft pants. On number five, she got serious. The entire restaurant heard Regina's
soft hiss of breath. She wriggled her hips and tightened her
grip on the chair. Was Sinclair the only one who noticed her
tightening legs? The schoolteacher's hand was a precise metronome, swinging in a slow, solid rhythm, making sure that the
thick wooden paddle touched every part of that delectable
ass.

Regina jerked forward with the force of each slap, like she
was being taken from behind. She bared her teeth in a feral
smile. Fifteen. Her face and shoulders flushed pink. Sixteen. She
turned to look at Sinclair and licked her mouth. Seventeen. The
chair slid abruptly across the floor. Eighteen. Sinclair held her
breath as the teacher began to put all of her weight behind
the remaining blows. Nineteen. Regina clenched her teeth and
closed her eyes. Twenty was the loudest. As the echoes of it
died away, Sinclair could hear the teacher's labored breathing. Her skin glowed under the light as if she'd drawn energy
from the flushed and twitching student.

Regina straightened. "Thank you."

The restaurant erupted in applause. Nearly every head
turned to watch her walk back to her table.

"What was that supposed to prove?" Sinclair asked.

"Not a thing." Regina stood near her chair and picked up
her glass to take a sip of wine. "It was supposed to be fun."

"And you had fun?"

"Oh yes." Her eyes blazed under the lights. "Would you
like to come to the ladies' room with me?"

Sinclair looked at her, amazed. "No."

"Then, if you'll excuse me, I'll be right back." She left
without another word.

By the time she came back, their meal had arrived. She was
quick.

"Did I miss anything?" Regina asked.

"No."

Regina's hands trembled as they manipulated the knife and
fork. Her cheeks and throat were flushed a postorgasmic
coral. Had she gotten off by herself or did someone who was
already in the bathroom help her? Sinclair swallowed a forkful of lobster and wondered if she even cared.

"Dancing next?" Regina slid two hundred-dollar bills in
the leather binder with their check.

"I have a bit of a headache, actually. I don't think I can
take any more excitement tonight."

"You'll like this kind of fun, I promise." Regina tugged her
into the night, then into a taxi heading downtown.

The yellow cab let them out in front of the Pleasure Kitten,
a place that Sinclair had never heard of, but everyone else apparently had. The line to get into the club stretched all the
way down the block and beyond. Women waited patiently,
some hugging their scantily clad bodies in protection from
the brisk spring breeze. Regina pulled Sinclair to the head of
the line and, after a brief word with the flat-topped butch
bouncer, dove into the club. The large building was full of
women, all vibrant and humming with the excitement of the
night, their skin shooting sparks of electricity and heat as
Sinclair squeezed past them.

"Excuse me," she said when her hand accidentally brushed
another woman's full hip.

The woman turned and smiled with her dark red mouth.
Her hair fell into sloe eyes as she scanned Sinclair's body.
"No problem, baby."

Regina gave the woman a dismissive look, then tugged
Sinclair after her to the bar.

"Want a drink?" Regina had to shout above the music.

"Sure. Gin and tonic."

While Regina leaned over the crowded bar to order,
Sinclair turned around to get a good look at the club. Women
were packed side by side, breast to back, hip to ass in the glittering room. Colored lights flashed from the complex equipment hanging from the ceiling periodically illuminating the
large speakers perched from black shelves in each corner of
the club. On the dance floor, women danced frenetically to
the hard-driving salsa music, whirling and spinning by themselves, in couples, even in trios that somehow managed not to
slam into each other. There wasn't a single man in sight. The
flashing lights changed to silver, capturing the women in
mid-movement again and again like a series of still photographs.

Regina slid a cold glass into her hand. "Here you go, baby."
She'd stopped calling Sinclair "darling" three hours ago.

"Thanks."

Torn between wanting to see what else women did together in a space like this and being angry at Regina for
being so damn domineering, Sinclair eventually ignored
her in favor of the invigorating crowd. Her feet tapped in
time to the music as her chest vibrated from the heavy bass
line.

Regina knocked back a glass of merlot. "Come dance with
me."

"No. You go ahead." She was enjoying telling her no far
too much. Sinclair smiled, then watched Regina walk off to
the dance floor without a second look at her. She leaned against
the bar, watching and sipping her drink. It was enough. Sinclair
turned to the bartender.

"Tell Regina I went home, will you?" She had a feeling
that they all knew Regina here.

The Billy Idol lookalike with breasts flung a white rag
over her shoulder and nodded. "Sure thing."

Sinclair left the club and took a taxi home.

In the cab she leaned back against the creaking leather upholstery and slid her fingers through her hair. The control
that Regina had exhibited in the beginning had been erotic,
sensual in its sureness. Now it seemed like she had the whims
of a spoiled child, pushing Sinclair into experiences that she
had little or no desire to dabble in. The outings seemed simply for experience's sake, not because she thought that Sinclair
would enjoy them.

The taxi pulled up at her apartment a few minutes before
one. Once inside, Sinclair turned off her phone, then showered and washed her hair, scrubbing to make sure she got out
all the club smoke. The lingering filth from Regina's attitude
she'd have to deal with later.

Sinclair had settled down under the covers to the quiet
purr of the bedside radio when the downstairs door buzzed.
She let it ring twice to make sure she wasn't hearing things. It
was 3:28 A.M.

She pressed the intercom button. "Who is it?"

"It's me. Who else would be coming to see you this time of
night?"

"What do you want?"

"To talk."

"We can talk tomorrow. I'm tired." An obvious lie. By
now Regina knew Sinclair didn't sleep more than a couple of
hours a night.

"Please. It won't take long."

Sinclair always put her hair up before going to bed, twisting it into six big plaits that made her look closer to fifteen
than her almost thirty-three years. She touched her hair in a
moment of discomfort. She didn't let anyone, not even Yuen,
see her like this. Then she twitched with annoyance. This was
only Regina, after all. Sinclair buzzed her in.

Regina was dressed in softer clothes than before, blue
jeans and a simple long-sleeved shirt. Her hair hung loose
around her face and she smelled clean, like she'd just arrived
fresh from the shower.

"I'm sorry, Sinclair." She presented a bouquet of bright
yellow daffodils as if she was performing a magician's trick.
"I was being a pushy bitch. Forgive me."

"Come in." Sinclair stepped aside.

"You look nice," Regina murmured, looking at Sinclair's
long T-shirt and bare legs. She smiled.

"I was in bed."

"You're not in a forgiving mood, are you?"

"Not especially." Sinclair took the flowers and walked to
the kitchen to put them in a tall glass. Regina followed. The
loud splash of water rushing from the spigot filled the silence.

"Even if I grovel?" Regina dropped gracefully to her knees
onto the tiled floor. "Even if I beg?" She smoothed her cheek
against Sinclair's leg, brushing her soft skin against the beginnings of stubble.

Sinclair looked down at her, exasperated. "If this is all you
came for you might as well go home. Like you said earlier,
I'm not in the mood."

But she was getting in the mood. Slowly. She knew that
Regina could see up her shirt from her position on the floor,
could see that she wasn't wearing anything underneath the
thin cotton.

Regina kissed the back of Sinclair's knee. "I know I fucked
up. Let me make it up to you." She slowly began to stand,
nuzzling Sinclair's thigh, then the soft hairs she found under
the shirt. Her breath swept over the other woman's belly,
breasts, and soft neck. She met Sinclair's eyes. "Please."

Regina tasted like wine and clove cigarettes. Her slick mouth
moved over Sinclair's while her hands roamed the taller
woman's back before settling on her hips, gently pressing
their bodies together. "Come."

Regina took some of the flowers, dripping, from the vase and pulled her quarry along behind her. Sinclair raised an eyebrow but didn't ask. The liquid fullness between her thighs
demanded more immediate attention. The bed took her languid weight and she watched as Regina plucked the yellow
daffodil petals from their moorings and released them all
over her body.

"All I want to do tonight is make you happy."

She didn't remind her penitent lover that it was already
morning. Regina kissed her through the petals, mixing the
sweat of their bodies with the heady scent of the flowers. The
sight of her lover stroking her breasts, licking them with her
avid tongue, filled her senses. Desire churned hot and full
under her skin, her legs widened and she arched her back,
pushing her nipples into the other woman's hands. Regina
slid down her body with naked intention.

She could tell that Regina was trying to take her time, trying to be gentle, but couldn't. Soon she was slurping at
Sinclair's pussy as if it had all the nourishment she needed,
licking and sucking her, making deep sounds of pleasure that
became guttural moans. Sinclair reared up, gasping, as Regina
slid two fingers inside, then three. She grabbed the headboard
and held on. Her hips kept time with the quick rhythm Regina
set and her pussy opened hungrily, fucking as it was being
fucked, taking it all and demanding more, more, more. The
scent of daffodils swam sweet and thick around them, feeding their desire. She gasped sounds of encouragement, urging
her lover on. In response, Regina pinned her to the bed with
the powerful thrust of her fingers and her lightning-quick
tongue on Sinclair's clit. Pinwheels of light spun behind her
eyes as she came, bucking hard against the relentless mouth
and hand.