Shady Places

“And I’ll dance with you in Vienna,
you’ll be wearing a river’s disguise
the hyacinth wild on your shoulders,
and my mouth on the dew of your thighs.”

– Leonard Cohen

Canberra – July 1997

Christian now understood Sally’s remark that there was a sweet spot in a relationship when a girl would do anything for her guy. He thought that was true, but it went the same for him. There was nothing he would not do for Alison if she asked. He had already quit two hobby groups and scaled back his sport so nothing stood between him and her weekends, or the weekday visits she stole when she could.

Making her happy made him feel good. Nowhere more than with his mouth on her. She tasted sweet, and she came honestly, which was flattering and addictive. The only friction, literal, was the occasional hair. He had wanted to deal with it for weeks. She had not said no to anything yet. He was fairly sure she would say yes to this, and that the yes itself would wreck him.

The chance came on her next visit to Canberra. Winter was giving way to spring, and the days over the national capital were clear and hard with sun. They had reunited the night before. As he often did, he had feasted on her until she was boneless, and she had fallen asleep before she could return the favour.

The next morning, after breakfast, he led her back into the bedroom. A chair had been set in the patch of sun that fell through the open curtains, facing the window and the secluded yard beyond. She looked at him, curious. He asked her to trust him. She did.

The room was warm enough without the heater. He undressed her slowly: shirt, then pants, then the last of her, and walked her naked to the chair. She was still curious. She sat anyway.

Christian knelt between her knees, slid his hands up her thighs, and parted them. She let him. For a moment she thought this was the usual: a handsome man about to put his mouth on her while the bright day looked in. Then he reached under the towel he had left on the floor and produced an electric razor.

Alison stared at it. She had always kept herself neat. It took her a second to understand that neat was not the point. He was the one who spent hours down there, never complaining, never coming up for air. This was for his mouth, not her mirror.

“I won’t take much,” he said.

She looked at the razor. She looked at him. Then she arched, thrust her hips toward him, and spread wider, one foot braced on the rung of the chair.

“Go for it.”

The buzz started, and she flinched, then settled. He worked carefully, one hand spreading her, the other steady. Cool metal, then warm air on skin that had not felt air quite like that before. A soft fall of hair onto the towel. Alison watched his face more than his hands. She was so happy with him that he could sit her naked in an open window, in full sun, and ask her to hold still while he bared her. Far from feeling used, she was soaking. He was telling her, with a razor, that he meant to be here often. She would have let him do worse.

He could have come just from the sight of her like that, thighs open, trusting, glistening where he had not even touched her yet. He did not. He finished what he had promised, set the razor down, and brushed the last of it away with his thumb. Then he kissed the newly bare skin at the top of her thigh.

Alison sighed and arched. Her breasts lifted into the sunlight. He took them in both hands, squeezed, firm, and pushed his tongue into her as deep as it would go. She was sweeter without the interference, slick and open, and he groaned against her. He licked her until her thighs started to shake, then stopped. Waited. Went back in when her breathing levelled, and did it again. A third time he closed his mouth over her clit and sucked, steady, until she was cursing him, then pulled off and kissed the inside of her knee as if he had all morning.

She lasted longer than he expected. Not forever. She pushed his head away and stood over him, naked, flushed, chest heaving.

“You are evil.”

She dragged his shirt off and shoved him onto the carpet. Turned, yanked his pants down, and straddled his face in one rough motion, taking his cock in her fist and then into her mouth. Christian’s view filled with her: swollen, shining, the skin he had just bared pink in the sun, her lips parted and wet enough to drip onto his chin. He pulled her down onto his tongue.

Alison gasped around him and sucked harder. Her hand worked what her mouth could not, fast and slick. Every flick of his tongue jerked her hips. Her grunts were muffled by the thickness of him; his were lost in her. She tasted herself on the air and him on her tongue and stopped trying to pace it. She came first, thighs clamping, a broken sound forced out around his cock, her whole body buckling. He was a breath behind. Before she could pull off he pulsed, hot and thick, into her mouth. The taste of him made her suck harder, greedy, swallowing, chasing the last of it while his hips jerked and his toes curled against the carpet.

She collapsed along him and did not stop licking, lazy now, cleaning him, shivering when he answered with a slow stroke of his tongue. At last she rolled off onto the warm carpet. They lay head to toe, one hand finding the other, not speaking.

Eventually, she curled up beside him, eyes bright.

“Again, please.”

He smiled. “What’s the magic word?”

The smile left her face. She climbed on top of him, took him in hand, and sank down before he had finished hardening.

“Now.”