It is Friday, and I am playing poker with Raphaël. In Sabine’s office, the air is musty and stifling as the warm weather continues. Lisette knows everything, and this gambit is as much her idea as mine.
Yesterday evening, she deployed the guile of a woman twice her age. In a war of attrition, fucking him with abandon ravaged her body, but Raphaël sits before me as a husk, drained of his vital juices. He is an obsequious nothing, exhausted by a woman with revenge on her mind. Chromed steel holds his personality hostage, and every beat of his heart adds a tick-and-tock to his inevitable anguish.
In a late-night call, relaying all the details, Lisette was not satisfied until she brought me to a guttural climax. She told Raphaël he would wear that cage once and until the weekend.
I know differently.
His head lolls as he gazes out of the window.
“Raphaël? Did you think you would get away with it?”
He rolls it slowly and comes to rest, looking at me. Truculent, his eyes are loaded with contempt.
“Freedom of expression,” he speaks monosyllabically, feigning boredom.
I lean over the table, revealing my deep cleavage. “So, you stand by every word? Yet, you disowned them so easily to Lisette.”
His eyes flicker, ogling my breasts for a split second.
I tut, “I have read it. You did not hold back from my role in your fantasy.”
“And?” He shrugs with perfect timing, “It was just some fun. Lisette and I argued because I sent it to you by mistake. We are back together now. So…,” he rolls the last vowel, “no harm done.”
Standing up, I cross no man's land and walk around the desk. From adult to man-child, I perch on the edge of the table before him, and he meets my severe stare.
He scoffs, “Oh, the heavy treatment. Your tenure expires soon. You need to make associate professor, or you are out.” Raphaël sniggers, shaking his head, “You will not rock the boat.”
I grin back. “Look at you, so confident and certain.”
Pulling it from my jacket pocket, I wave the envelope at him. “I already have that, so I have nothing to lose.”
My lascivious gaze is unmistakable. There is silence and a sudden nervousness in his eyes.
“Raphaël, look. This has gone on long enough.”
I slide forward a little, knowing it will hitch up my short skirt.
“We should not be enemies and fight. I will be an associate professor, and you have another two years of me being here. Must we do this when there are better alternatives?”
I shift my posture and open my legs, exposing some creamy inner thigh and the lace of my stocking tops. Raphaël’s gaze does not waver.
“It is a pity those words were only a game to you.” My sultry eyes sear into his. “I hoped behind your overt interest in me there was some substance to your desires.”
I open my thighs wider, baiting the trap. “Surely, you are a more potent man than your uncle?”
He lingers there, wide-eyed.
“Raphaël, he was such a disappointment.”
Leaning back, I revel in how heat prickles his cheeks. Staring at my smooth cunt, his nervous eyes return to mine.
“Your words aroused me so much.” It is my most coquettish leer, “Come on, show me what I have been missing. Fuck me on this desk with your big. hard. cock.”
He is fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable. I hop down, approach him and lean over; my skirt is a belt around my waist.
Taking his hand, I place it on my inner thigh. “Feel how wet I am. Finger my cunt.”
It is my turn to use words as sensual weapons. Raphaël’s hand is clammy, trembling on my leg as his breathing falters.
“Would you like me to suck your cock first? If I make you cum in my mouth, you will last longer inside me.”
My wandering fingers trace over his torso, “I am such a dirty slut, and I love a hard cock in my ass. I made it nice and slippery for you.”
It is obvious where my hand is going, down his abdomen and edging closer to his groin. “You can cum in there if you want.”
“I… I need to go!” Raphaël splutters.
Standing back, I pull down my skirt and find the perfect wounded expression. “Oh. How embarrassing. You should go.”
Listening to the hurried footsteps fade, I must suppress my laughter.
-=-
Looks cannot kill, much to my disappointment regarding Celine and Eva. However, Madame Bouchet, the lesbian, can set a surprise exam practice. The quiet monotony makes my mind wander.
Lisette runs her fingers through her hair. Fresh-faced and studious, she is sublime art when painted. With my limited range of cosmetics, it required all my concentration. A brush for her full lips, a steady hand for some eyeliner pencil and mascara; her coiffured hair was immaculate. Photogenic, she smouldered for me as a French maid.
Lisette was the perfect fusion of lust and the erotic: her long legs in fishnet holdups, the enticing appeal of her pert behind, through to her pinafore-covered midriff, and the mesh black that sculpted her breasts. In the black and white that clung to her curves, the crotchless panties bunched the bare pillows of her sex.
It defined her sexuality, spread-eagled on my bed. My caress crept over her, along the insides of her thighs, the crease of her forearm and slender bicep, along her sensitive neck. Those were the places I knew, and I found many more. She wriggled, panting and flushed in distress. Over the mesh fabric, my fingers found her nipples, circling them, goading her, and I made them harden. The sense of power was a cruel mistress; I wanted her badly. Plucking one, it lit the fuse. Skirting her sex, she tried to steer herself towards my fleeting touch. Giving up hope, a solitary little finger straggled behind the others, opened her petals and spilt her juices.
If she thought the lipstick vibrator was her salvation, it was her inquisitor. She confessed her lurid fantasies, spitting vowels in return for it buzzing on her swollen clit. She ebbed and flowed like the stormy sea. The leash held taut, her lips pressed tight shut, nostrils flaring, and the rising plea of her high-octave gasps appealed to my better nature.
Lisette’s eyes remained locked on mine, wide open with a raging lust. Fighting for freedom as a cruciform wretch, begging for release, the small of her back arched, tightening her bonds.
The images I captured were not picture-perfect; my mind’s eye is crystal clear. The crisis etched on her delicate features, the black void of her mouth, eyes squeezed tight shut mere seconds from release. The synthetic sound of the shutter clicking away, counting down the detonation. As she strained, broken vowels begged me to let her orgasm.
The sinews in her neck were exposed, her milky-white skin blotchy, and Lisette howled for a big one. She damned the world with its ferocity. Pushed to the extremities of her multi-orgasmic limits, she twitched as if mortally wounded, silent except for the weak rasps for air.
I caught another image of her blood-filled sex in all its primal glory, eager to be filled, begging for attention. Straddling her, I lowered myself onto her face. Lisette curled her neck to meet me, and I pressed her mouth to my drenched sex. The faintest caress on my clit made her pointed tongue lash. The image captured her helpless eyes, and the hillock of my mons cupped by her painted lips. Tied to the bed, she devoured me for an intense orgasm.
Only then did I free her.
She wore that collar with dignity, and I captured her total obedience. What followed was the incendiary that set the world ablaze, her spine curled and bottom raised, those delicate pussy lips dragged back and forth on the lubricated penis. Controlled by my body, the chromed leash taut in my clenched hand, the synthetic shutter clicked away.
“Is this mine now,” I purred, driving it into her.
“Yes,” Lisette murmured, “Oh God…”
“You come to me for your sexual release.”
I teased her ass with my new lipstick vibrator, and she flailed in sharp yelps.
“Oh fuck, fuck! Yes! I am yours.”
Pushing its slender tip inside, I breached it for the first time, and Lisette pulled at the bedsheets. Her knuckles were white as her animated body met my thrusts. She damned my patience as I kept her on the precipice of climax. Harsh confessions spat forth; Raphaël never fucked her like this, begging for more, pleading for her orgasm. Her yelps were so loud they echoed off the walls. Drunk by its power, my disinterested tone amplified her need.
Lisette inspires that torrid heat within me so easily. Holding her pen, she pauses and glances briefly to meet my gaze. We must be cautious; forty pairs of eyes can spy on us. With the faintest curl on her lips, I pray for tomorrow to come. She is calm now, her flawless skin pure. When she came hard, her body streaked by tight muscles and sinews, she crumpled onto my bed, covered in a dew of perspiration. Her pristine cunt quivered, and her virgin ass puckered and released.
Next time, she will experience much more, anal orgasms are incredibly powerful.
It is instinctive, and I turn to face him.
Quickly, Raphaël diverts his eyes. Yes, be afraid. Tortured by his mind’s eye, and I hope the memory of seeing my cunt multiplies the agony. I know Lisette showed him my favourite image of all; her limbs scattered, hair wild, the white bed linen grey between her legs, strung out and fucked to new heights.
I am Lisette’s anonymous lover. I took her to a place he never managed and never will.
-=-
The weekend arrives, and the campus vacates like a colossal bowel movement of little shits. I have another missed call from Pascal. It is a delicate situation that requires tact, and its limited supply is exhausted after a week here. My phone buzzes, and my insides flutter with excitement.
Did you do it?
It is Lisette.
Everything, as we agreed.
Oooh, what happened?
He had a good look and would not touch me. He ran out of the office.
It is a string of laughing emojis and a heart. Perfect. Now he is locked up, he told me he gets very horny. Aw, poor Raphaël, he cannot get an erection!
LOL. Your idea of the fake letter was magnificent. Our plan lives! xxx
So Saturday night? Dress up or informal?
I never considered such a question.
Dress up. Take my breath away. xxx
Perfect! I will bring the wine and let you seduce me all over again xxx
Mmm, I might do that xxx
Trotting across the cobbled street, I want formality. Lisette, as a submissive French maid, played to her fantasy and entrapped Raphaël.
We are equals. Tomorrow, we will shine as women.
-=-
Saturday night is a long time in the making. I wear my only black dress with its sheer Jacquard décolletage, modest yet tempting. It hugs my figure, my hair is up, and I wear some lipstick, nothing more.
Busying myself with nervous energy, I try to create the right ambience with closed blinds, candlelight, and classical music. It must be a world away from the bars and nightclubs Lisette is used to. I cannot stretch to Haute Cuisine; it is Provençal, and its scent fills my apartment.
I have not done this for a long time, and I hope it is not too much. Something feels different in my apartment this evening. The meandering piano sings, the cotton napkins feel like silk and this sip of water tastes like wine. This was my palace of desolation; now, it feels like a home.
I must remind myself - this is not a rendezvous. I am confident this feeling is mutual. Ours is a quest for the unknown, seeing something unseen, feeling the unfathomable, and relieving the torment of a secret desire. It is not romantic; it is lust.
The doorbell buzzes, and I jolt with the surprise.
When it opens, Lisette beams.
“Coucou!” her arms are held out, and one holds a bottle wrapped in tissue.
“Lisette… wow!”
“You too, Anaïs!”
Her dress is the antithesis of a maid. Intensely feminine, meadow flowers printed on sheer pink muslin obscure a tight white mini-dress. Her hair flows loose, demure, yet beguiling. Two air kisses follow, and my heart melts in our tender embrace. If this is not a rendezvous, this is the worst possible start.
Walking in, she looks around my transformed apartment and approves.
We sit at the dining table, eating chicken chasseur, haricot vert, and a few sautéed potatoes. Lisette brought wine, her appetite, and her intellect. The long shadows cast her beauty in a different light, and I am mesmerised by her gestures and smile. I cannot stop looking at her lips. We sip our drinks accompanied by Bizet, engrossed in a playful argument debating literature. Her intelligence is as alluring as her looks and personality. We do not speak of revenge or that third wheel. Floating and relaxed, from the lingering glances and coquettish grins, it is there between us and undeniable. My heartstrings are brittle, but I do not change course.
“Anaïs,” she looks up, holding her glass, “this is a very subtle seduction.”
The rim hovers near her lips, and I am like a moth to a flame, lingering on them again.
I chuckle, “Is this a seduction?”
Sipping her wine, Lisette places her glass down, measured and controlled.
She flashes her eyes at me. “Yes. The question is, who is doing the seducing?”
Watching how her smile bears those pearly white teeth, I admire her deviousness. Lisette reaches across and takes my hand. Peering at our union, she runs her thumb over the back of it. It is a small act of tenderness with a significant implication. I should withdraw mine, but that would be a horrific injustice. She is not using words, but as I gaze at Lisette, she pleads for the impossible.
“Saturday,” she whispers.
I am exposed, and she steals my breath. It is innuendo filled with ambiguity, and she skewers me with it.
Withdrawing her hand, Lisette stands, and her heels clip the wooden floor. Walking a symbolic tightrope amplifies her gait, and she turns, reclining on the settee. Placing a foot on the seat, she lifts on her dress, revealing her shapely legs and lacy panties. As a witness to her provocation and confidence, my arousal blooms with a sudden heat.
I am flushed, and she fixes me with her most sultry gaze. “Do you want to know what happens on Saturday?”
I shake my head slowly, grinning widely.
Lisette taps at her sex. “Then come here, and I will tell you.”
-=-
Nobody loves us, and we are free, swooping as a murmuration, eager as star-crossed lovers. Her cheeks are rosy, and I am outside my own body. Her tender lips meet mine, and it lingers, relaying emotions that make my mind swim. She needs no strength to guide me as a hand descends from my shoulder, tenderly squeezes my breast, and eases to my hip. Lost in her gaze, Lisette grins as it roams up my inner thigh and cups my drenched sex. She blurs for a moment, and I writhe on all fours above her. The tilt of her head and those persistent eyes survey my condition, appraising me.
This is her surprise gift, my seduction. After fucking Raphaël, her body can only take so much. Mine, she knows, is neglected. That soulful thoughtfulness when she held my hand rubs my clit.
“Lisette,” I have to gasp for her.
“Show me,” she whispers.
Two elegant digits ease inside, and I meet her lips. It reveals my hopes, and she responds in kind. Swelling within, expanding, devouring the black void, I am afraid but hold my nerve. All night, she lit the places I wanted to keep dark. I cannot deny these convictions, and as she rests back on the pillow, I know she can see it in my eyes.
“Let go, Anaïs.”
I must pepper her with tenderness. We move as one, my soft flesh gliding against her thigh, and I adore this. Kneading my breast, Lisette urges me to erase this anguish from my body. My denial is pointless; everything is spiced with emotion.
This means something, something precious and fragile.
“Cum for me.”
Lisette watches intently as I ascent each step to the soft cries and spasms of a soulful climax. It is sudden and so simple, as vital as cool water. She is there to catch me when I fall. She soothes me, running her hand over my hair and kissing my neck.
“You are so beautiful when you do that,” she purrs.
Parading before me naked, I am prone as she adjusts the straps. I understand her wilfulness now. It is the last echo of teenage angst, repurposed as she approaches her third decade.
Lisette leans over and places her tactile lips on mine, “No, Anaïs. You will never lie like that for me.”
The years are rolling forward, and this is a glimpse into the future.
With a knee on the bed, Lisette beckons me. “We will do this side-by-side.”
Looping a lock of hair around my ear, she does not avert her gaze. Exposed, it is there in how I look at her, and the tenderest thrust into my body makes me pout. It grazes that place within me, and she knows by my lingering moans.
“They do not do this to you?”
I have to swallow to speak, “No.”
“I will.”
Her startling empathy overwhelms me. “Lisette, make love to me.”
It is too late, and I am anxious again. It is out there, and I cannot take it back. Her lips graze mine, encapsulating everything I fear, and I cannot stop myself - a tear wells in my eye.
“It is okay,” she whispers, “You are allowed to enjoy this.”
I am undone, and I whisper for more. My weightless mind drifts in a silky haze, and Lisette must feel my gratitude on her pouting lips. Instinct brings her halfway. How they suck, how they press, and linger; this is the personification of all my secret hopes.
“Oh God, Lisette.”
She gyrates with a dancer’s hips. Patient and persistent like a metronome, she sweeps back and forth, hitting that place again and again. Locked onto every nuance of my expression, responsive to each gasp, she takes me on a voyage through the sublime. These emotions tinged with poison are pure again. An endless caress casts its magic on my writhing flesh, magnifying the intensity. All at once, as gossamer feathers, it demonstrates her familiarity and stake her claim on my body and mind.
More tears well in my eyes, and I am not ashamed.
Lisette kisses them and places them on my lips. “I know, I know.”
I was lonely, and I was lost. All the pretence and deceit fall away; my façade is fading smoke. The tragedy, the pain, and my defences slip from my grasp. I cannot deny this. Lisette sees the truth of my feelings for her.
She leans back, reassuring me when she runs her fingers through my hair. As a sorceress, I move willingly under her spell. Her hand descends and cups my breast. Combined with her movement, Lisette caresses its erect nipple and finds that place inside me. I gasp with upturned eyes, and her lips curl.
It is a comforting smile, “For me, Anaïs.”
Through the windows to our souls, we can see the connection. She knows everything, and this is her commitment to our deepest understanding. Growing by degrees, it reaches an effortless and potent peak. It is not the most powerful, but it overwhelms me. As I shudder, her lips are on mine, and I must show her what she has given me.
Lisette withdraws it from me, but I am not empty. From the rip of velcro and jostling to free herself, she gathers me into her arms.
“Saturday,” she whispers, kissing my hair.
“Yes. Please hold me.”
“Of course.” She kisses my hair again. “I do not want to be anywhere else.”
