A Good Girl

All those years ago:

I spotted her coming down the escalator as I approached the bottom of it. I recognized her legs, her posture, even the dress she was wearing and I knew it was her before I even saw her face. She looked up at me and smiled, recognizing me too. This was the first time that we met, though we'd spent a few months getting to know each other by way of the internet after crossing paths online thanks to a mutual friend. It seemed a little crazy that she should travel over a thousand miles to visit me but at the same time it made perfect sense. We knew before ever touching that when we did it would be addictive and that meeting was a dangerous idea, but we did it anyway.

She came down the last steps dragging her suitcase behind her and we wrapped our arms around each other. She rested her head on my shoulder and we held each other tight. We'd been waiting for this moment for a few weeks, suffering because of the way time dragged on in the last few days leading up to it. She trembled in my arms or maybe it was me that was shaking. I took her suitcase and as we walked away she clutched my arm so tightly and pulled us close together. I looked at her, taking in every little detail as we exited the airport on the way to my apartment.

Emily is exactly what I've always imagined when using the word 'lithe'. Her delicate collar bones peeked out from under a pale pink dress and the smooth skin of slender arms led down to hands that felt needed to be held. I'd seen her shapely legs in pictures and I loved them, even more, seeing them in person. Her eyes swirl with blue and green and grey and even flecks of gold; her lashes are delicate and her eyebrows add a hint of seriousness to an otherwise soft, sweet face. Her hair was swept back out of her face and it fell over one shoulder; it's a cool brown blond, with hints of honey and sunflower. Her bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top and when she smiles, it kills me.

We dropped her things off at my apartment and while walking through the French Quarter together, she reached out and ran her fingers through leaves that poured through a wrought iron fence. She did it again in the park, touching the flowers and leaves as we passed through Jackson Square. She beamed at the crepe myrtles and marvelled at the way the branches of the old oak trees crookedly plunged and rose, touching one of them as we passed beneath. I still can't see those trees or flowers without thinking of the way she ran her fingers over them.

When we returned to the apartment I followed her throughout the long hallway, watching the way she moves, studying her gait, appreciating everything about her. Light poured in through the courtyard, through the windows and on to the brick and plaster of the old walls. We climbed the stairs to my second-floor apartment and as her dress moved, I slide a hand beneath the flowing fabric. She laughed a little in disbelief, but she slowed her pace and met my eyes for an instant in the reflection in the mirror that stood against the wall at the top of the steps. Her hips moved ever so slightly as my hand continued on.

We spent three days together when she visited me the first time and it wasn't enough.

**

"I am your good girl" she purred into my ear after coming when I'd told her to.

It'd been a few weeks since we'd last seen each other and every time she comes while we are together, she tells me. She asks permission and comes when it's given. When she has, she says so and it makes her happy to say what a good girl she is. When she is away, she's to tell me when she's come while thinking about me. Emily is married and they both see other people but I get the messages regularly that say simply I did or I did again. I don't make it easy on her because there isn't any fun in that; how long I make her wait is different every time.

"Tell me about something that you've imagined while making yourself come while you were away," I said.

Still inside of her, I started to move again and she told me about imagining being fucked in front of the french doors in the next room, looking out of the window as I stood behind her. She described my lifting her favorite dress (the one that's pretty enough to die in, she says, just in case she becomes a ghost and has to wear it forever) and I imagined it vividly, down to the feeling of my hands landing on her hips.

She asked me about one of mine and I told about something that had come to mind when she was professing a love for socks the night before. I'd imagined her wearing just a pair of pale knee-high wool socks, panties and her glasses (I love them on her but she doesn't wear them often), laying face down on the bed reading. I whispered how I'd pictured tying her wrists first, then her ankles before bringing the two ties together. I'd imagined putting the gag in her mouth while looking into her eyes and without turning away I would reach a hand between her legs. I whispered how I would touch her through the fabric before turning her on her side, pulling her panties out of the way and slipping my fingers inside of her.

She moaned into my neck as I described it and asked for permission to come. I made her wait. When she asked again, I told her to be a good girl and come for me.

"I am your good girl," she said, shaking as she held on to me tightly.

"I came for you. I'm your good girl. I always want to be your good girl" she said, breathing heavily with her face pressed against my neck. Her breathing calmed just a little and I whispered into her ear.

"Yes, you are my good girl," I said and she shook a little as she pulled in a jagged breath, melting into me a bit more.

Wrapped up in bed with her I could hear the rain but we couldn't see outside because the shutters were closed so I left the bed to open them. Before I'd finished opening the french doors she was at them, just as I knew she would be; the rain falling on the balcony always draws her out. I sank into the chair watching as she looked up at the sky, delighted by the lightning and the thunder. I watched as she let the rain fall on her and I wanted to be near her, be with her, in a way that was bigger than just the moment. I walked outside and wrapped my arms around her from behind. The rain splashing around her toes and I committed to memory the shade of pink her nails were painted. I loved the smell of the rain, the feel of her skin against mine and being in that very moment, just the two of us as though there hadn't been a yesterday and there would be no tomorrow. She turned to me and kissed me just as that notion occurred to me and we didn't move until the rain ended.

Back inside I pulled the wet shirt over my head and dropped it to the floor.

"I like watching you take your clothing off," she said.

"I like taking yours off of you," I said before peeling the borrowed T-shirt free from her wet body. Her pale skin was beautiful and I watched her shiver as the cold breeze blew across it. She smiled brightly despite the chill and when I asked her if she wanted to get into the shower with me, she followed close behind.

I started the music and the first notes to come out of the speaker were from Dream a little Dream, which felt really perfect for the moment. I turned the battered handles in the old porcelain tub and water leaked from everywhere as it found its way through the ancient pipes. I could hear the thunder outside of the window I knew that the storm wasn't over. I propped open the bathroom window, giving a view of the grey skies and the rain, which had started again. We let the warmth of the shower wash over us and Nina Simone's voice filled the room; I Put a Spell on You played as I lathered shampoo into her wild, rain-soaked hair, untangling strands of it gently as I did.

I guided her back under the hot water and kissed her as I rinsed her hair. Taking the soap I started at her shoulders, running my hands over them slowly, admiring the curve of them. She bowed her head slightly but continued to look me in the eyes as I ran my hands over her arms, her breasts and down to her hips, where I lingered for a moment, letting my fingers find every line, every ridge, every curve. I turned her toward the window so she could watch the storm and she stared through the six-inch gap as I ran my hands between her legs, down the length of them and back up again. I heard the soft echo of her moan off of the old tiles and dimpled panes of glass as Nina Simone belted Feeling Good and I rinsed her body off. I slipped my hand between her legs paying the same sort of attention I'd paid her hips, sliding slickly over her sex, inside of her, loving the way it made her knees weaken. I pressed my body to hers; the water made us slick and we rubbed together until she asked again.

"Can I come? Please?"

"Be a good girl and come for me right now," I said, and she did, gripping the sill tightly as she sank back against me. Outside the rain continued to fall and I held her tightly while kissing her neck gently, living in the moment until the music ended.

***

She was visiting for two weeks and we'd agreed to make an effort to leave the house now and again so we made plans with some of my friends, most of whom she'd never met. She wore a pink dress and looked vibrant and beautiful; it was nearly impossible to take my eyes off of her. I snapped a picture of her and sent it to Charlotte (who is a mutual friend and who introduced us), sharing a moment of awe with her about how captivating Emily is.

She smiled and joked easily with my friends and I adored her even more for it because they aren't always the easiest to get along with. I introduced her to Ian and he watched us together all night, noticing everything about us. He playfully told us once to get a room which made us laugh because it's something that no one ever says, but we often say it jokingly about our own behavior.

Ian likes her and I trust his assessment of people because he's observant and honest in a way that most people don't even notice because of his gregariousness. He is always the center of the room, the life of the party; his ice blue eyes are full of life and he's known for his generosity as well as his innate ability to irritate people with his frankness. He's never mean-spirited, but sometimes he's upper-cut gentle.

"I get it," he said with a wink.

We went bar hopping and Emily had a bit more to drink than she usually does around me. It made her amorous and convivial and I was completely spell-bound by her all night long.

"J. I want to make out with you right now. Can we?" she asked in a very serious tone and I laughed until her mouth was on mine. I took her face in my hands and forgot about everyone else for a moment.

"Get a room", he said again and we laughed, shameless.

****

There was a mixture of panic and need in her eyes when I shoved the thrice-knotted scarf into her mouth and lifted her head to tie the ends. She rested her forehead on my chest while I finished the knot and I could feel her heart racing. I caught sight of her delicate collar bones which were even more pronounced in that position and I held her face in my hands when I rested her head gently back against the pillow. Her eyes watered ever so slightly and when my hand slid down to her throat she nodded yes and I tightened my grip.

I rocked my hips as we stared into each other's eyes; I know my expression was voracious and the look in her eyes urged me to be. She pulled at the rope a little, flexing and curling her fingers around it without looking away. I moved slowly, holding her throat in one hand, using the other to hold myself over her. I worried about getting carried away but when I loosened my grip on her throat she pressed herself into my hand with a sense of urgency and a look of desperation in her eyes.

She asked for permission to come and I didn't answer. With the fabric in her mouth, she could hardly manage to form the words and I let her struggle in the attempt to. I leaned in and pressed my cheek to hers as she tried to hold back from coming; it was difficult for her and I wanted it to be. She struggled to maintain control and she asked again more urgently.

"You want to come?" I toyed. She nodded emphatically, her eyes wild with the need to be given that permission.

"Show me what a good girl you are and come for me now," I said, her begging having taken me to verge as well. She locked her hips immediately and we both came, hard.

She panted and I waited for her to say it. I pulled the fabric from her mouth and she whispered in my ear.

"I came for you. I'm a good girl. I'm your good girl. That's all I want to be."

A moment passed and she sank back into the bed. Our bodies were wet and slick and her thighs slid down my hips. Her breathing was still heavy and I kissed her neck, kissed her cheek and when I said it, her body quaked and she melted into me.

"You are my good girl, Emily. You are such a good girl."

*****

We went with Ian to the strip club on a Saturday night; it was near the end of Emily's trip and Ian had some friends in tow. Ian and Emily chatted excitedly and I kept forgetting that we were only a few feet away from a stage. We kept the public displays of affection to a minimum but there wasn't a moment when Emily and I weren't touching in some way; holding hands under the table or sitting knee to knee. I kept forgetting that there was a stage nearby and I hardly noticed anyone else in the room.

Her eyes sparkled in the pink light that washed over the room and when she smiled at me it made me ache, as though my wanting her could cause me to split wide open. Our time was coming to an end and while it was important to me that we should be able to do (semi) normal things, the ticking clock made me look at it time as too precious to really want to share it with others. I wanted to kiss her without worrying about offending anyone, I wanted to hold her hand without having to hide it beneath the table. Ian invited us to do something the night before she left and recanted immediately, ever-observantly realizing that we'd want the time to ourselves. He winked at me and said goodnight as we took our leave; I was happy for his friendship and appreciated his understanding of the situation but I was also happy to have Emily to myself.

We walked out on to Bourbon street, hands locked together, cutting through the crowd to find a quieter way home. The crowd was thick and rowdy and a fight broke out very close to us, but we dodged it and forged on without even looking back. I have little patience for Bourbon street most nights but everything ricocheted off of my happiness, which felt completely untouchable in that moment.

She's come to see me three times in as many months and I always want more. I want more of her mouth pressed against mine, more of her skin beneath my fingers, more of her begging to come and more of her telling me that she is my good girl. I'm filled with a ravenous desire for her and it only grows every time I see her.

For the next few days, we hardly left the house. We ordered in, spent quiet time alone soaking up the last bit of it we had together because we weren't sure when we'd see each other again. We'd had two weeks but it wasn't enough; not knowing when we would see each other again made it seem like to was over far too soon.

The day she left, I called the cab and asked them to be there at quarter after one. Five minutes doesn't seem like very long until it's the length of time that a cab driver arrives early when you are saying goodbye. The impatient honking outside put me on edge because I wanted to say goodbye on my own terms. I wanted to stand outside and wait for the cab to be late as they usually are and instead I listened to him impatiently honking as we hurried to get her luggage to the car and had a rip the band-aid off goodbye. I stood in the street, waiting to see if she would look back, but the cab rounded the corner and she was gone without a glance. I put the key in the lock, but I couldn't go back inside; I didn't want to be in the apartment alone because I knew how empty it would feel without her there. I walked around the block, stopping to buy a bottle of water even though I wasn't thirsty, just to have something to do with my hands. She was on her way home to her husband and her life miles away and I felt frustration and a little bit of jealousy, then realizing how covetous that was, I felt a bit ashamed for taking those two weeks and wanting more. It should have been enough, but it just wasn't.

I told myself that I should let the distance mount, that I should back off a bit and that no matter how many times that she whispered in the moment that all she wanted was to be my good girl, things weren't so simple. I scolded myself for letting things escalate so quickly and I tried to tell myself that the reason she didn't look back was that she was looking forward; to her own home in another county, to her own life and to the husband who'd been waiting for two weeks for that return. We'd lived in a paradise that sheltered us from the rest of the world for two weeks, but sooner or later life catches up and that was exactly what I felt when the cab pulled away from the curb.

"I miss you," she texted, not even all the way to the airport.

I stared at the screen and thought 'let this end sweetly, mercifully, untainted by any pettiness', but when she texted me to tell me how sad she was, I knew that I wouldn't be able to stop myself from missing her, from wanting her and from seeing her again if she asked to come back. I tried to give myself all sorts of good advice that I just couldn't seem to take, because no matter what the complications I do believe that she truly wants to be my good girl... and I want her to be too.