Up Against the Wall

I look around as we enter the cavernous space. It is certainly striking, with dramatic lighting, sleek modern furnishings and what might be described as Asian-ish decor. The crowd consists mostly of young professional types, well-dressed, clearly moneyed. It is, I decide, the epitome of the kind of place one goes to see and be seen.

In fact, this would have fit right in with just about every restaurant to which Aldous ever brought me. To show me off like a prized possession. I suppress a shudder of revulsion.

"Kinda looks like the Asian fusion trend threw up in here," Cosima says sardonically, nodding toward a wall at three different representations of Buddha that appear to be of Thai, Chinese and Indian origin.

"All over the menu, too," I murmur into her ear. "I've heard the food is hit or miss, and mostly not worth the trouble. It's a good thing we're not here to eat."

I rest my hand at the small of her back and guide her over to the large bar that surrounds a vast fountain in the center of the room, enjoying the glide and play of muscle beneath the form-fitting velvety fabric of her dark green leopard print dress no less than the admiring and envious stares she stirs in her wake.

Nimbly she hops up onto a low-backed padded barstool, hooking the heel of one of her ankle boots over a rung for balance; I make sure she is comfortably settled before scooting the next stool closer to hers and sitting down. The golden glow from the lighted side panels that run the length of the bar warms her complexion and picks out gleaming highlights in her dreads, which are neatly caught up into an elegantly simple bun. I can't help smiling at her.

"What?" She leans toward me, having to raise her voice above the crowd noise and the much too loud Top 40 music.

"You're beautiful."

She ducks her head and gives me that smile, looking up at me through her long lashes. "Bet you say that to all the girls who let you rim them in the shower for, like, days until they come like a freight train."

Shivering at the sense-memory, barely hours old and still incredibly vivid, I cup her cheek in my hand and slowly caress its warm satin with my thumb. "There is only one girl I know who matches that description, chérie."

Leaning closer, she drops her voice to a husky purr. "I can still feel your tongue in my ass. I am so fucking wet for you right now."

I bend forward to kiss her deeply, hungrily, immensely pleased that she responds in kind. Not in any hurry to abandon her lips, it is quite some time before I am aware that we have an audience.

The bartender is handsome in a dark, flashy way; his tailored black shirt nicely showcases his broad shoulders and tapered waist. "Please, don't let me interrupt."

"Sorry." I am perfectly aware that the perfunctory apology sounds completely unapologetic, and that my equally perfunctory smile does not quite reach my eyes.

White teeth glint appreciatively between his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. "You shouldn't be. I was about to say that if you two were planning to hang out for a while, drinks are on me. This place becomes a nightclub after the restaurant closes."

"We have plans," I say, laying a placating hand on Cosima's knee before she can sling a barbed insult his way. "But thank you. Some other night, maybe."

He shrugs self deprecatingly, clearly a practiced maneuver. "Our loss. What can I get you ladies?"

Cosima gestures for me to order first. "Lychee martini," I say, naming the first thing that catches my eye on the cocktail menu.

"Awamori, in a glass, not a chibuguwa. Ice and a carafe of spring water on the side." The bartender raises an eyebrow and inclines his head toward her before moving over to his main station to prepare our drinks.

"You seem to have impressed him," I tease, stroking the incredibly soft skin inside her knee through the wide mesh of her tights. "Awamori?"

"Distilled rice spirit indigenous to Okinawa. Spent a summer in the Ryukyu Islands when I was in college — tagged along on one of my mom's research trips, ostensibly to be her assistant."

I smile. "I thought you were going to say that you once dated a sake sommelier or something like that."

Her grin widens. "Well, there was this girl I met while I was snorkeling around the Yonaguni Monument."

"Of course there was." I roll my eyes in mock exasperation.

"Hey." She moves her hand to rest on my arm, caressing me gently. "You don't mind my talking about my exes and fuck-buddies, do you?"

Tilting my head, I frown a little. "Why should I mind?"

One slim shoulder shrugs. "I dunno, some people — women especially — get kind of freaked out when they find out how many sex partners I've been with."

"Then they're fools. There is nothing wrong with enjoying yourself with someone you find attractive, as long as you stay safe and there are no obligations on either side." I refrain from mentioning that she and all the other Leda clones are routinely screened for STDs each time labwork is run. "Besides," I kiss her softly, "I seem to be reaping a great many benefits from your wealth of experience."

"Smooth, Dr. Cormier, very smooth," she says into our kiss. "And just so you know, that goes both ways. I have never in my life come as hard as you made me come today. I'm still, like, twitching."

I smile, nibbling at the fullness of her lower lip. Perfect.

The arrival of our drinks temporarily breaks us apart. My martini is quite tasty, with the lychees adding their sweetness to balance out the woody, spicy and citrusy flavors of the gin.

Cosima swirls her glass and sniffs deeply before taking a sip. "Nice. Bar dude might be kinda smarmy but he hooked me up with the good stuff. Here, try this."

Curious, I examine the clear liquid in its highball. Copying her example, I give it a swirl. The scent is unexpected — herbal, mainly, but also with hints of melon, anise and even mushroom. Cautiously I take a small sip, letting the rich, almost oily liquor play over my tongue. Initially the herbal impression predominates, but it dissipates quickly into a complex melange of sweet and almost savory flavors, finishing with a warm, unctuous sensation all around my mouth.

Carefully she adds a splash of water. "Now try it again."

The water seems to bring out more of the sweetness, with the other flavors harmonizing in the background. With a small pair of tongs, she drops a single large cube of ice into the glass. The taste is no less complex but now it is refreshing rather than full-bodied and makes my martini seem suddenly bland and one-note. "That's remarkable."

She smiles as I start to hand back her now half-empty glass. "Keep it," she says, waving to the bartender to bring her another.

"See?" I say, capturing her mouth again. "Benefits."

We finish our first round quickly, then take our time with the second, chatting effortlessly about anything and nothing and randomly kissing all the while. Pleasantly lightheaded from the alcohol, I can feel my pulse pounding; my entire body is acutely aware of the warmth and presence of this incredibly alluring woman. "Would you like to know why I brought you here, chérie?"

Her mouth quirks. "You mean other than to take advantage of a primo opportunity to make out in front of a bunch of pretty people?"

"Aside from that." Signalling to the bartender for the check, I leave him a tip that earns another raise of his eyebrow. "Come with me."

Taking her by the hand, I lead her to a dimly lit corridor, nodding to the attendant who opens one of a series of sliding doors that are reminiscent of shoji screens. Inside, I flick the switch that turns on the magnetic lock. "What do you think?"

"Dude." Cosima looks around the cubicle, a rather spare but tranquil and spa-like space with stacked-stone walls. The only illumination comes from the large, nearly floor-to-ceiling window that looks out onto a small, thoughtfully curated zen garden decorated with fountains and statuary. "Never thought I'd say this about a bathroom, much less a restaurant bathroom, but this is spectacular."

I wrap my arms around her from behind. "The window is actually a one-way mirror. Which means we can see out, but no one can see in. Not even those people walking around in the garden." Letting my hands smooth their way down the lean lines of her body, snugging her buttocks against my hips until I hear the rough catch in her lungs, I hold her closely to me, kissing her below one ear while we watch a young couple stroll by.

"Mmm, Dr. Cormier." She reaches back to wind the fingers of one hand into my hair and graze her nails lightly over my scalp, making me shiver. "So what did you have in mind?"

"This." Carefully removing her glasses and setting them on the floating shelf that supports a multicolored vessel sink, I shuffle us forward until her upper body is pressed up against the huge pane of glass. I tug at the hem of her dress and slip, rucking them up well above her hips and revealing that rather than tights, she is actually wearing stockings and a garter belt. And nothing else. "Oh, chérie. How very prescient of you. And how very convenient for me."

Running one hand down the flat plain of her stomach, I tease at the soaked curls covering her sex. Instantly her hips start to undulate, grinding the firm rounds of her buttocks against me. With the tips of my fingers I rub gently at the swell and pout of her clit and the already — or perhaps it would be more accurate to say still — turgid inner lips beckoning me toward her weeping cunt.

With my other hand, I reach into my pocket and pull out a small bottle of lube, messily anointing my fingers and leaving the bottle on the shelf. Slowly I circle the tip of my middle finger around the pucker of her ass. "Fuck!" Raising her arms to support herself, she lets her belly drop as she tilts up her pelvis, whimpering softly in response to my every touch.

"That's the idea," I whisper into her ear as I press the pad of my finger against her asshole. Still warm and pliant from my earlier attentions, it opens readily to welcome me in, clenching around my knuckle. Sliding deeper, plunging back and forth, I pause briefly in my tease of her clit and cunt to pour more lube over my hand; it is not long before I can introduce a second and then a third finger inside her spasming ass.

Her hips in constant motion as she writhes and keens with increasing frenzy, I can feel her first convulsions gripping me bloodless. With my other hand I trap her pulsing clit between my fingers, working the slippery little bundle in time with my thrusts and prolonging the staggeringly intense waves of her release until she is sobbing for breath and leaning heavily against the glass, shivering endlessly.

Stilling my hands, delighting in the random shudders quaking through her and the exhilarating scent of sex and sweat, I nuzzle the silky skin at the nape of her neck.

"Holy fucking shit," she says, her breath fogging the glass with every panting gasp.

Carefully I free my fingers. Making sure she is well braced against the window, I let her go only long enough to wash my hands and then retrieve the object I'd stashed in my purse before we'd left my flat this evening. Encouraging her to lean back against me, I show it to her.

Made of sleek stainless steel, the plug is nearly the length of my hand; though relatively slender, it is heavy enough to make its presence emphatically known when I slip it easily inside her, the base winking at me between her cheeks as her ring closes around the narrow neck.

I greedily absorb her long drawn-out moan. "I take it that you approve of our new friend, chérie?"

Cosima turns in my arms to kiss me roughly, clinging to me, her entire body still trembling. "Oh, yeah. But if you don't get me home soon, I'm gonna make you take me on top of that bar."

Pressing my lips to her forehead, I smile. "We'd probably get free drinks for life from that bartender. When we finally get out of jail after being arrested for public indecency."

"Hmm." She nips the tip of my nose. "Then you'd better take me home and fuck me, Dr. Cormier. To keep me off the streets and all."

"As you wish."