Everybody’s Watching (Part 4 – On the Kitchen Counter)
He’d told Caty he wasn’t just in lust with her. He was – something more.
She looked up at James, as they stood there in his loft, and she was vibrating with anticipation, beyond ready for him to touch her again. But it was more than that. She loved what he’d said, and she wanted more of that.
“I feel the same way,” she said, suddenly feeling shy, in spite of, or maybe because of, all the things they’d been doing to each other, all the delicious intensely voyeuristic things. “It is something more between us.”
He smiled slowly.
“Then – let’s keep having fun,” he said.
She watched while he went to check the tape, making her wait, making them wait again. He turned the camera toward the kitchen, did something with the lights. She couldn’t believe he was capable of doing all that, but he was, all with that great big hard-on.
He took her by the hand and led her to the kitchen table. He bent her over that, leaning on the surface for greater purchase. She came again, crying out loudly.
When he pulled himself out of her this time, he was panting, “Getting harder to hold back,” he said.
She straightened, walked over to the refrigerator, opened the freezer, and cracked open a tray of ice cubes.
She took a handful of them, and rubbed them across her breasts. The cold was shocking, and pulled at her skin a little.
In the heat from the lights, the ice almost immediately began to melt. She rubbed the dripping ice against her pussy; the cold made her gasp. She strolled back to him, reached for him, and rubbed the last of the melting cubes across his groin, around his balls. She put the final little bits of ice in her mouth. With her lips and tongue icy cold, she took his cock in her mouth. The cold and hot contrast was wonderful.
“God,” he said, “I’m trying to prolong this!”
“Hah,” she said, coming up for air, “you’re trying, but why? There’ll be a next time. I’m not going anywhere for sure now. You cut up my clothes.”
This reminder seemed to fuel him and he pushed her down on the table flat on her back, her legs dangling over the side. He flicked at her with his fingers, he opened her wide enough that he could fit one, two, three, four fingers inside. She felt herself contract around him.
The orgasm was so intense that she saw little colored lights dance before her eyes. She’d never experienced anything like that. She did not cry out that time, all she could do was make the faintest sound. And then, speaking of sounds – the sucking sound his hand made pulling free of her again made her cum one more time. Now, apparently, all he had to do was make certain sounds to render her ecstatic.
He stood over her, his huge cock brushing her legs.
She slipped off the table and went to the sink, found a glass, poured herself water, and drank. He moved next to her, sipped from her glass. His cock was brushing her hip.
“Want something to eat?” he asked her calmly, as if she could wait, as if he could wait, forever.
“Sure,” she managed, playing along.
He opened his fridge, talking, partly to her, partly to the camera, for the unseen audience they were performing to, or maybe just as narration for themselves.
“I think it’s a very interesting idea that this whole phenomena of performing sexual acts for others to watch is partly at least about control. I’m trying to control myself now. Make us a meal, like civilized people, even if we are stark naked and my cock is as long as a wand. I’m forcing myself to wait. Wait even longer than you wanted me to wait. I’m forcing us to behave in a certain fashion, contrary I suppose, to our impulses.”
“Ah,” she said, “our impulses.”
They both laughed.
He’d taken a carton of eggs, some cheese and milk and butter from his fridge. She moved up behind him, rubbing herself against his firm buttocks.
He reached a hand behind him and rubbed at her clit, then, with a small groan he stopped himself, and cracked the eggs into a bowl, added the cheese and milk, stirred.
He was dropping butter into a pan, clicking on his stove’s electric burner.
She was still pressed against him from behind, she reached in front of him now, brushing his dick with her fingers.
He poured the egg mixture into the pan, the butter sizzled.
The eggs smelled wonderful.
He broke off another square of butter and turned to her now, rubbed it, cool and slippery across her breasts. The butter melted almost immediately, and she couldn’t tell if the sizzling was from the pan now, or from her skin.
“What a lovely mess you are,” he said.
He kissed her lips, lightly, then turned back to his cooking.
When the eggs were done, he plated them, set the plates and forks on the table.
They both dove in to the food, like it was the first food they’d eaten in years, although it had only been what, she looked at the clock, it was nearly six now, it had only been five hours since coffee and sandwiches at the cafe.
They ate ravenously, laughing at their urgency, but what the real urgency she felt was for him to take her again.
When he finished his food, he came up to her and began kissing her, licking her neck and her breasts and then her fingers, one by one. It felt both strange and wonderful.
She turned and cupped his balls in her hand, she stroked them, feeling their fullness, watching his cock pulse. She bent forward and kissed them, licked them.
He pulled her head away, gently. “Tea?” he asked.
She laughed. “Sure.”
He made a pot of strong Earl Grey, he set the table with nice cups and matching saucers, heavy cream, and there was honey instead of sugar and it was her turn with a condiment.
She took a spoon full of the honey and rubbed it her palms. She massaged his shoulders with it, down his back, around his buttocks, and over to his dick.
“I’m slick and you’re sticky,” she said.
He laughed now, but he just sipped at his tea. She sipped at hers. They finished their cups. They set them back on the table.
Then he took the little pitcher of honey and he poured it over her shoulders, her breasts, let it drip down to the floor. She took the thick creme and dribbled it, slowly on down his legs, over his cock.
And then both at once, like crazy people, like wild people, like whoever it was they were, raw inside behind the veneer of civilization or whatever it was he’d been teasing her with while they had their eggs and the tea, the rawness took over completely, and he rushed against her, both of them all sticky and slippery and hot and he pressed her up against the wall and fucked her, lifted her legs so that she was wrapped around him. Then still fucking her, still, he carried her toward the bed, stopping oh, Lord, stopping to twist the camera’s view finder.
“I’ll get the close ups in post,” he said.
They dropped down on the bed, and he tossed the sheet aside, rocking into her with her legs spread wide. Then he flipped her, so that she was on top, and she rocked him and humped him and collapsed against him in a heap, and still he had not come.
“I waited so long -” he explained, flipping her again, taking her from behind.
She came again and again, one orgasm rippling through her after another like a continuous serious of waves breaking against a shore.
Now she was on her back again, and he was pressed flat against her, sliding in and out of her. And then at last he came, making a roar like a lion. As he burst, so did she again, like fireworks or something, she clutched at him, she wrapped her legs around his hips, she held him there against her.
“We put that footage up, no one would believe it was real,” he said, gasping.
“Are you still more than in lust with me?”
“Yes, more,” he said, kissing her forehead.
“Maybe we’ve started something,” she said.
“Oh, we definitely have.”
“I don’t know that I want to show this part of things to the world,” she said.
He rolled over on his side, pulling the sheet with him. The hot lights were making the honey residue more or less drip off his skin. “What we’ve started is extremely sticky. Why don’t you run us a nice hot bath, while I shut off the camera and the lights.”
He watched her move across the room, and that was seemingly all he needed to feel the blood rushing to his cock again. He waited until he heard the water start up to lift himself off the mattress.
He turned off the lights, stacked their dishes in the kitchen sink, stripped the sheets from the bed and thrust them into his laundry hamper. He was doing routine things, regular things, things that had to be done. But he was preoccupied. Even though he was more than completely satisfied, he wanted more than that.
He wanted to win some sort of sexual marathon, not just in terms of how long they did it, but in how many ways they could do it. He knew that exhibitionist scene he’d been filming had fueled him, had set the spark burning inside him, but it was Caty who made that spark blaze up into some kind of raging inferno.
And it was one way of distracting himself from the thing that was really, truly on his mind when he looked at her. Not just how much he wanted to make love to her, wild, crazy love – but the strange sensation that they were not just a team on this project. That we were supposed to be a team. That he had real feelings for her.
When he stepped into the bathroom he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he all he could manage – looking at her afloat like a pale lily in his bath – was a simple. “Hi there.”
She smiled. “Look,” she said, “I suppose I should explain myself – I don’t want you I’m going to get all possessive on your or something.
“I don’t think that,” he said. “And there’s nothing to explain. Because it’s probably inexplicable. And I probably feel the same way.”
“And then there’s the fact that I simply – desire you.”
“As I said then. We feel the same way.”
He stepped into the big claw foot tub, already half-full with steaming water. He’d always disliked the retrograde plumbing – pull handle toilet, tiny sink, footed tub with an inconvenient hand shower – but not today. Today he loved the tub, big enough to fit two, but barely. Leaning over to adjust the water he was nicely able to brush her breasts.
She took his hand and placed it squarely across one of them.
He got the idea, he rubbed her nipple, bent over her and licked it.
“I think we should tape a whole new narration for the documentary,” she said, scooping up his penis in her own hand, “Focusing on our reaction to this scene.”
“Sure,” he said, “And I think we should keep reacting.”
“Move on from the video maybe. Experiment a bit in public.” She paused, gauging his reaction. She didn’t have to gauge it long: his hardening dick told the story.
“Experiment,” she said. “Just a bit.”
“I’m sure your boss would love it,” James said as she worked him over.
“I’m sure she would,” Caty agreed. “That’s what she’s after. Something entirely – involving. Something – well, involvingly explicit.”
“We’ll have a completely different film.”
“ That all important personal take. That inside story we’ve been missing.”
“So for you this is,” he managed, as her fingers massaged his balls, “still mostly about work?”
“No, but it’s a damn good excuse,” she said. “Isn’t it?”
He laughed and slipped his fingers in her pussy, flicked at her until she gasped.
“Perfect. You’re the playmate of my dreams,” he said as she contracted against his hand.
“And you’re mine. And I’ll be flying home again in four days, so why not indulge?”
Four days, he thought. That was all too short a time.
“Why not gorge ourselves,” he agreed, putting her breast to his lips.
If she felt the same way he did – would she really want to go home?
“To the fullest,” she said, slipping herself off his fingers, and onto his cock.
The tub was full. He shut off the faucet. They just sat like that, the water warm sloshing around them. Then he began to soap her upper body, and she soaped his. He shampooed her hair, she shampooed his. She climbed from him long enough to freshen the water, rinse her hair, rinse his. Then she slipped on top of him again, and he took her, gently, holding onto the sides of the tub for purchase.
“Now we’ve had clean sex,” she said, when panting, simultaneous, they came.
He helped her out of the tub and wrapped her in a towel.
James could imagine even after years of marriage, even after children, how he would come home to her – when the children were at school – and with no ceremony whatsoever just fuck her in every room in their house. If they had a house. Not that he was interested in anything long term. Not that she was. They and feelings that was all. There was nothing wrong with feelings, and there was nothing wrong with what they were doing. Four days, she said, why not indulge.
It was after midnight, moonlight on the frosty paths as they walked past the Peter Pan Statue in Hyde Park. She was dressed like a ridiculous boy in James’ clothes beneath her jacket and shawl. She was wearing one of his tee shirts and one of his sweatshirts, both too big, over a pair of ski pants that he’d shrunk. Rolled up at the waist they drooped just over the tops of his sneakers, which still slipped up and down on her feet even with three pairs of his sweat socks on.
Still, for once, she was warm. Or maybe it was all that sex, keeping her so heated up she didn’t feel the thirty degree drizzle they were strolling through, a little drunk.
He’d taken her to his favorite pub for beer and beef stew. He’d shown her how to play darts. She wasn’t half bad. He’d taken a small stab at showing her how to play pool but she thought there was far too great a chance she’d rip a hole in the felt, so that didn’t last long.
Instead she watched him play, while the juke box blared The Proclaimers and The Kinks. She liked the way the cue slipped between his fingers, the way he made the balls snap perfectly into the pockets. She liked just watching him move, all the time imagining the way he moved without any clothes on. It was really delicious to have touched, licked, rubbed and fucked him, to know so intimately the way he was beneath his sweater, beneath his jeans. Watching him was knowing him.
She scrawled what was to be her new narration on cocktail napkins – the act of performing sex for an audience separating emotions from the act itself, control issues, the sense of participating in some sort of a movement, and how, in the end, no matter what barriers to true intimacy arose, feelings were there. Whether people wanted them to be or not. Whether she wanted them or not. or her.
But frankly, she soon forgot all about their film, all about anything but them when he gave up on the pool and sat next to her in their booth. Feelings, inconvenient or not, were there.
“You’re incredibly sexy,” he told her.
“Ha,” she said. “I should’ve gone back to the hotel, actually put on some girl clothes.”
“I didn’t want to let you out of my sight.”
“You could’ve come along.”
“I don’t want you to remember that you have a suitcase, a hotel room, another life. Away from me and my insatiable cock.”
“I don’t,” she said, “for the moment.”
He kissed her gently, nibbled on her neck.
“Do you have another life than me?”
He shook his head. “Just work. And you are my work,” he said, “for the moment. I hope that makes sense. And doesn’t sound like I have no – soul or something.”
“I understand. Partners, remember?”
“Oh definitely, partners.”
They could not quite keep their hands off each other. She was not wearing a bra beneath his tee shirt and sweat shirt, and he could easily and unobtrusively move his hand beneath the thick layers of fabric and stroke her breasts until the nipples sprang erect. They kissed and necked leaving love bites on each other’s skin. Still, they weren’t doing anything particularly unreasonable, yet.
She knew they would be, soon.
They discussed what they would do, in fact.
“We’ll go shopping, tomorrow. Get you expensive, gorgeous evening wear. We can go to the best restaurant in town, to the theater, to a dance club. Get everyone’s eye, but of course we can’t actually do anything too naughty in a private place. But we’ll be noticed. I’ll use lipstick cameras on us, get reactions.”
“And on the street, at closing time -”
“We can see where that leads, yes.”
“And then we’ll talk about it. And we’ll cut our stuff into the sound bytes you already have from other couples.”
“Will we post a spot online, like the others do? To draw a crowd? Use the code of the day?”
“Yeah,” James said. “We should do that, too. Pick a spot in Hyde Park, maybe.”
Which led them to their evening stroll in the autumn rain.
“I wish the weather were warmer,” Caty said.
“You don’t think I’ll keep you warm enough?”
“You’re making me hot right now, just your arm around my shoulders, just wearing your clothes – I like wearing your clothes.”
“You’re all hidden,” he said. “Only I can see what you really are.”
“And what am I, really?”
“Voracious. Voluptuous. Ravishing.”
They stood there in the park, under the halo of a street light, the electricity making little rainbows of the drizzle. He pushed her hair aside and nibbled on her neck again. He put his hands beneath her jacket and shirts and tweaked her nipples with his chilly fingers. He ran them down her belly and beneath the rolled waist band of those pants until he’d slipped them inside her again. There was no one to see them here, no camera, no watchers. It was like he’d said, only he could see who she really was, what she was really feeling.
Was it even better this way, without everybody watching?