In Love With a Master Page 6

  I turned the tap on, washed my hands in hot water, then turned the tap off and came back into the hallway, quietly satisfied. Leticia was just ending her call. She threw the phone down with a frustrated huff and took a long, deep breath to calm herself.

  “Problem?” I asked as we met in the middle of the living room floor.

  Leticia sighed and then shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “That was the newspaper editor. He wanted me to give him an idea of the word count for the interviews.”

  “He is a bit premature, isn’t he? We haven’t even begun the interviews.”

  Leticia nodded her head. “That’s what I was trying to explain to him. He wants me down at the newspaper’s office before the end of the week with a draft of the articles.”

  I nodded. “Well, we knew he would want his pound of flesh for you to take three months leave,” I said flatly. “The sooner we get these interviews done, the sooner we can be left alone to our own wicked devices.”

  Leticia started to smile. “They are your wicked devices, mister.”

  She threw her arms around my neck, rose up on tiptoes, and we kissed. There were still traces of passion on Leticia’s lips, lingering like tendrils of smoke long after the fire had burned out. She leaned back within my arms and her eyes searched my face with an expression of awe or maybe wonder.

  “Jonah… last night…” Leticia shook her head slowly, searching for the words, “What you made me feel on the phone… that… that was – ”

  “ – Just the beginning,” I cut her off smoothly.

  My arms were wrapped loosely around Leticia’s waist. She was wearing tight, blue denim jeans and a loose-fitting grey blouse that had some kind of crazy pattern printed onto the front. The sleeves of the top had been cut off and gaped around the top of her arms. I slid my hands down over her hips and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of her pants.

  Leticia felt the glide of my hands and arched her back, like a cat responding to a caress.

  “When a man hooks his thumbs into the front of his jeans it is actually a very powerful body language message,” I explained casually. “Subconsciously what he is doing with his other fingers is pointing at his crotch. What the man is actually saying through his body is that he is on the prowl.”

  Leticia made a soft humming noise in the back of her throat. She hooded her eyes seductively. “Well,” she said, her voice soft and dreamlike. “You learn something every day…”

  I smiled into her eyes. “More than one thing,” I promised. “Remember what I told you last night in the training room. The next time we were alone the pleasure would be mine,” I reminded her. I slid my hands around to the front of her jeans and then very gently cupped her sex. Leticia rocked her hips, the movement an instinctive reflex of arousal. “Before we finish here today, you will have learnt much more about sex than just some simple body language knowledge.”

  Leticia’s phone rang again, breaking the spell of intimacy. I felt her go stiff within my embrace. She sighed. “I need to get that.”

  She slid out of my arms and turned to snatch up the phone. I shrugged off my jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, then loosened my tie an inch and unfastened the top button of my shirt. I had a feeling this was going to be a long day.

  I caught snatches of Leticia’s conversation – brief exchanges. Leticia dropped onto the sofa with the phone pressed to her ear and her hair fell forward across her face. I guessed by the tone of her voice that it was her editor again. Leticia’s tone was polite and restrained. She chopped at the air, using gestures to put emphasis and animation into her words. She ended the call and buried the phone deep beneath a sofa cushion.

  “That was the office again,” Leticia swept the hair from her face with the back of her hand. “They want the interview about anticipation first,” she explained. “The boss wants to make that the feature piece, and run the other two articles around it.”

  I nodded. “Then let’s get started,” I said. “The sooner we get this down on paper, then the sooner I can get you down on your knees.”

  Leticia gave me a coy smile of invitation and then became business-like. There was a notepad and pen on the coffee table. She snatched them up and then settled herself comfortably, curling her long legs beneath her. She stared up at me, pen poised, with a look of expectation.

  I thrust my hands deep into my pockets and stood silently for long seconds, my shoulders hunched, my eyes closed, forcing myself to concentrate.

  I began.

  “The secret to love making is anticipation,” I explained carefully. “Anticipation… is everything. It transforms a simple setting, it transcends all insecurities and uncertainties – anticipation allows a man to create exquisite moments of sexual tension by drawing out the expected until it becomes something remarkable and surprising. Does that make sense?”

  “No.”

  I sighed, and then smiled. I pulled my hands from my trousers and rubbed at my chin for a thoughtful moment. Leticia was a small town girl with little experience in life. I had to remember that.

  “When I am making love to a woman, I want to keep her on edge. I want her whole body to come alive to my touch. I want to feel the fire just below her skin so that each and every caress is something special – something exquisite,” I began to explain. “Most men are clumsy and heavy handed. They grip, they don’t touch. They squeeze, rather than arouse. They push, rather than stroke. To tantalize a woman in a truly erotic way, a man’s hands can never be quite still, nor can he ever touch a woman in the same way twice.” I paused for a moment. I stared at Leticia but without really seeing her. My mind was focused and sharp. I narrowed my eyes.

  “Imagine a woman’s body as a beautiful musical instrument – a violin – because that’s exactly how I see you,” I said. “In the hands of someone who does not appreciate or understand music, the instrument is just a lump of wood, but in the hands of a skilled musician who knows how to coax the sweetest notes, that violin becomes something capable of the most beautiful music, the most moving sounds, the most uplifting melody.”

  My eyes became focused on Leticia again. She was writing furiously, her hand racing across the page. I waited until she looked up at me, pen poised.

  “Did you get all that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does that help explain?”

  Leticia shook her head. “Not really…”

  I sighed and thought for a moment until I had a wicked flash of inspiration. “Let me demonstrate the concept of anticipation in a way you can’t possibly mistake,” I said. “Stand up and unbutton your blouse.”

  Leticia’s eyes fluttered, then narrowed, and then became big again.

  “Trust me,” I said softly.

  She nodded and obediently began to unfasten the buttons of her blouse. The fabric fell open like a silk curtain – I could see the pink, soft lace of her bra and the dark shadow of her nipples captured and held within the lingerie.

  “Take it off.”

  Leticia paused uncertainly and then held her breath and slid the blouse off her shoulders. She straightened her back and the movement of her body gave the mounds of her breasts a small uplifted swell.

  “Now close your eyes.”

  I circled around behind her, standing very close so that she could sense the heat and presence of me. Then I came back to stand before her.

  “Anticipation takes the expected and elevates it to the remarkable – the sensual,” I repeated. “Now, focus on the touch of my fingers.”

  Leticia took a tremulous breath and I felt her whole body give a nervous little shudder. She exhaled in a long, slow gasp.

  I put my finger on the point of her shoulder and slid it lazily down her forearm and back up to her shoulder. She shivered, and a rash of goosebumps sprung up across her flesh. I kept my finger connected to her skin, now drawing it down and across her chest, circling in slow motions, but moving inexorably closer to the rising swell of her breasts. Leticia’s breathing became more he
ctic and I could feel the running beat of her heart as my finger finally grazed the lace of her bra.

  “What happens next?” I asked in a whisper.

  Leticia sighed. “You touch my breast,” she said, sounding slightly breathless but also expectant.

  “It’s obvious, yes?”

  She nodded, while I kept my finger circling the top of her bra, grazing my fingernail gently over the soft, creamy flesh to make her skin tingle.

  “And so no great surprise,” I added.

  She sighed softly then opened her mouth to say something more. I leaned forward at the same instant and without touching her, I kissed her sensually along the line of her neck, letting my lips linger as I drew them down across her throat.

  Leticia gasped – a sudden shock of breath, and the beat of her heart began to thump like a hammer. I leaned back and her eyes flew wide open.

  “Wow,” she said. “I didn’t…”

  I smiled. “Anticipation is its most effective, most seductive, when the next moment remains a mystery.”

  I stepped away from Leticia and began to pace the room once more. She watched for a moment, following me with her eyes, and then she slipped her blouse back on. I had the feeling she was still trembling.

  “Women have sex lives of expectation,” I said. “For this I blame popular culture – to a certain extent – and most men’s absolute lack of imagination.”

  Leticia fumbled to refasten a couple of the buttons on her blouse but she stayed quiet, her silence encouraging me to continue.

  “By culture, I mean baseball,” I said. Leticia shot me cynical glance, and her expression suggested that maybe I was crazy.

  I wasn’t.

  I stopped pacing.

  “Men and women are taught certain things,” I said. “For instance, as they grow up into young adults they are taught that ‘first base’ is kissing a girl, ‘second base’ is fondling her breasts, ‘third base’ is sliding his hand down inside a young lady’s panties… and ‘a home run’ is intercourse. Men are taught this – the method follows clear steps, and no base can safely be reached without first passing the other, because it depends on the young lady’s willingness and permission. Similarly, women are taught to expect that once a man runs his hands across her breasts, pretty soon his only next move will be to reach down within her panties – because that is the expectation, the system – the order.”

  Leticia tilted her head quizzically, and then slowly began to nod.

  “What you were expecting was for me to touch your breast – ‘second base’. What you got instead was something quite different – quite unexpected. You see, Leticia, a skilled lover doesn’t follow the conventions and expectations. I make love to a woman like an explorer – every part of a woman’s body, every new curve and contour, is something to be discovered and marveled over. The only rule is arousal.”

  Leticia finished dressing and a soft flush of warm color that had painted her cheeks began to fade. She combed her fingers through her hair and took several deep, settling breaths.

  “In some ways, perhaps, aspects of the BDSM lifestyle break these stereotypes,” I added as a new thought suddenly occurred to me. “Perhaps that is why so many mature women are fascinated and drawn to the lifestyle – because the normal conventions of sex do not apply. The unexpected happens much more often.”

  “Is that so?” Leticia asked. She cocked one eyebrow at me in a gesture that invited me to explain. “In what ways?”

  I shrugged. “In most ways, actually,” I said as the thought took form and shape. “So you see the normal base approach used by most men depends heavily on the woman’s consent. The guy kisses her and when she moans he feels it is safe to move on to touching her breasts. If she doesn’t trap his hand to stop him, he fondles her breasts until she begins to pant or gasp, or perhaps moves her body in such a way as to make it clear that the man has her silent approval to continue on to third base. But in BDSM the consent – the permission – is given by the submissive well before such sexual contact usually takes place. Therefore, in a BDSM scene, a Master needs no permission, and therefore needs no reason to follow the ‘base by base’ normal process of seduction. He is free to arouse, and be aroused by his submissive in any way – and in any order – he wishes. Perhaps it is the lure of the unexpected that appeals to women…”

  For a long time Leticia said nothing. I glanced down at the pad in her lap and realized she had written several pages of notes. She was staring at me as though transfixed – as though entranced.

  “Leticia, do you want to write down anything I just said?”

  Leticia seemed to come to life slowly as though waking from a dream. She looked up at me, then down at her notes, then back at me. “Um… yes…” she said slowly.

  I nodded. I started to pace again, drifting back and forth across the floor as words and thoughts tumbled around in my head. I glanced sideways at Leticia and watched her scramble to write. As I did so, memories of a particular woman from my past came to mind and I paused, and then decided there was value in sharing those memories with Leticia.

  “Some years ago I met a woman by the name of Ann,” I began. “At the time we were both in our mid-twenties. Ann was a unique kind of woman. She had a nice figure, with long dark flowing hair. She lived alone in a small downtown apartment, and played Nirvana unplugged and Cat Stevens records through the night. I guess she was a modern-day kind of hippie. Her apartment was filled with crystals and the aromas of incense. The woman didn’t own a sofa or a chair – we sat around on beanbags… you know the kind of girl I’m talking about?”

  Leticia nodded, and scratched a couple of notes into her pad.

  “Ann was a very sexual woman,” I explained. “She had come out of an unhappy marriage. She had married young to her first boyfriend, and some years later realized the mistake she had made. When I met her she was lonely, inexperienced with men, and we shared several weekends together.”

  I paused by the window and stared for a moment down into the city streets as my memories became more focused on that time from my past.

  “Ann had very sensitive breasts. She had one nipple pierced, and it was an intense erotic trigger for her. She hadn’t discovered this fact until after she had separated from her husband. He had been as young as her when they had married and he knew even less about sex than she did. Based on what Ann told me, the guy knew absolutely nothing about women. For Ann, sex and lovemaking were very separate things. She had learned from her husband that sex was a way for her to receive what she craved the most – companionship, so when we first became lovers she was frantic in the bedroom, not because of any wild sexual desires, but because she was in a rush to get to those tender, quiet moments afterwards. Does that make sense, Leticia?”

  I looked to where Leticia was sitting and saw her nod. “I think that would make sense to a lot of women,” Leticia said softly. “This lady, Ann, is not the only woman in the world, Jonah, who would feel the same way. But I imagine there are some women who would envy your Ann – the fact that she had intimacy to look forward to afterwards. Most women I know have boyfriends and husbands who would rather sleep than snuggle...”

  I nodded. Leticia had a point.

  “The first time I was with Ann I tried to explain that sex and lovemaking could be intertwined. I tried to get her to understand that rushing through those moments of passion to get the tenderness she was expecting was a sad love life. I wanted her to understand that affection and anticipation could merge sex and lovemaking together so that it was much more than just a physical act to be rushed through.”

  “Did you make her understand?”

  I nodded and started pacing again. “When I knocked on Ann’s door the afternoon following our first night together, she answered the door massaging her wrist. I said nothing, but when I got to her kitchen I noticed her clock had stopped. It was a big, ornate, decorative piece that dominated one wall. The clock had stopped over an hour earlier and it was hanging at an angle. I ask
ed Ann what had happened, and she told me she had taken the batteries from the clock because the ones in her vibrator had run out.”

  “No!”

  “True story,” I nodded. “It is funny now, but at the time I was shocked. Ann had spent the previous hour before my arrival pleasuring herself in the hope that the sex would be quick and explosive, and that we could then spend time doing what she expected – being intimate.”

  I saw the smile in Leticia’s eyes; she scribbled another note, and then looked back at me as if urging me to continue the story. “What did you do?”

  “I knew the only way Ann would ever understand was if I took control and showed her what was possible. I turned her around and locked my arms around her. I wrapped one hand around her throat and slid the other hand down over her breasts towards her hips. Ann gasped in surprise and froze for an instant. I kissed her neck and my other hand swept over her breasts and freed them from her bra. I could feel the heat between our bodies, and the sudden thrust of Ann’s bottom against me as she swished her hips from side to side. My free hand slid from her breast and pressed flat against her abdomen. She was wearing black leggings and I edged my fingers inside the elastic waistband. Ann’s breathing became irregular and as my hand slid lower she began to tremble. I kissed her neck fiercely, and then whispered in her ear that she should spread her legs for me. She responded instantly, and groaned. I could feel the heat of her sex just out of reach.

  “‘I want to lick your pussy, Ann,’ I told her. ‘I want to take you into the bedroom and undress you slowly. I want to run my fingers over your hard nipples and trail a long line of soft wet kisses down to your sex.’ I kept my voice low and husky so the words vibrated and hummed against her throat. Ann went soft within my arms and I felt one of her knees begin to tremble uncontrollably. ‘I want to spread you out on the bed and kiss those soft sensitive spots along the inside of your thigh until I reach the wet lips of your pussy and can taste the essence of you.’”