The Floating World

Butterflies land on

many branches. Old wood is

strong, saplings grow fast.

***

"So who is he, Amanda?"

"He's just a customer at the cafe. I sell him coffee in the mornings. We chat, when there's no queue."

"You must do more than chat, if he gives you this."

"This" was a wrapped box Amanda brought home from the cafe that day. It sat unopened on the table between her and Antony. In every way, it sat between Antony and Amanda; her boy not knowing what it meant, Amanda knowing exactly what it meant.

Adam had given Amanda the choice when he placed the box on the counter that morning. She chose to take the gift home knowing that Antony would eventually see it, and like Scarlett in the morning she would have to cope with whatever reaction he had. At least, she hoped there would be some kind of a reaction from Ant, to show that he cared.

"What is it? What does it mean?" Antony didn't know. He was scared to know.

"I don't know what it is, but it will be beautiful, I'm sure." Adam doesn't do plain, she thought, remembering her afternoon with him at the fashion exhibition. Whatever it is, it will be wonderful. She assumed it was Adam's way of saying he wanted to be with her again. His confidence amazed her.

But then, she had astonished herself that evening as well, thoroughly enjoying the ebb and flow of their togetherness. One minute he took her somewhere sensual, decadent and luxurious, then it was her turn to take him. To take him, and to be taken. Oh god, she wanted that again. She clenched her thighs together, a heat spreading in her belly.

Amanda knew she was testing Ant, and knew she was unfair doing so. Sometimes she just wanted to shake him, slap him even, just to get him to react. In her way she loved the young man, but Adam set such a high bar now. She knew she was unfair to Ant. He was so out of his depth.

Amanda's spreading heat in her belly, and the knowledge that she could seduce Antony in a moment, gave her a new confidence. But I mustn't play with him, she thought, that would be cruel. She gazed at him, admiring his slim beauty.

Amanda knew they made a good looking couple, with her elfin looks and Ant's lithe, blond grace, but he frustrated her so. His emotional distance drove her mad, sometimes. Just when she wanted him to stay, he would go, his mates calling and his games. His games, his constant, mind numbing games. Sometimes his fingers were more adept on his damned XBox controller than they were on her.

Now though, the idea of Adam and his worship in her head at the end of the day, she was horny, her mood shifting hot, and she would seduce her boy. She knew how to do that, slowly and with great delight.

Amanda reached for Ant's face, her fingers gentle from learning Adam's touch and understanding his slowness. "It's OK, Antony, I can handle it."

Antony winced away from her touch, and Amanda's eyes darkened, her mercury rising for a fight. A thread of adrenaline pulsed into her cunt, her nipples tightened and her fingers gripped the wood of the table. She waited for Ant's next move. Adam's parcel was a challenge between them, and her heat Antony's reward, if he could find it.

"But what the fuck is it, this fucking box wrapped so nice?" Antony's anger was rising, but he was beating on himself too. When was the last time he had given Amanda anything? He picked the box up from the table, but had the sense to open the parcel carefully and not tear the paper. He could see the care that had gone into the wrapping, and wondered about the man who would do that, care so much about little details. He looked at Amanda watching him, and thought he had never seen that look on her face before.

She watched his face as he turned the box over and removed its lid. Antony looked upon the contents, confusion on his face. He placed the box on the table, and his movement had a quiet reverence to it, for even he could recognise quality, especially when it was right in front of him. Amanda was right in front of him, but he didn't always see her. He glanced up, but not to her eyes.

"Why? Why is he sending you this? What have you done to deserve this?"

Amanda reached inside the box and took out the folded dress, a silver blue, silken blue dress. She stroked the surface of the cloth with her hand, a slow caress, and remembered Adam's caress of her skin, a gentle caress.

"Because it's beautiful," she replied, "it's because he likes beautiful things."

Antony looked at her. They were both standing, the table between them and the box and its silken contents between them even more, a gulf of understanding dividing them. Antony didn't understand at all. Amanda wanted him to, she wanted him to see her beauty when it was right before him.

"Are you fucking him, Amanda? This man, are you fucking him?"

Amanda looked at him, her eyes dark. "No, Ant, I'm not fucking him." He's too gentle for that. "You're the one who fucks me, then you leave me."

Her voice was steady, her passion controlled and directed towards him. She wasn't angry with her boy, she just wanted him to see that she craved love, wanted his gentleness, his attention. She wanted him to see her, the girl right in front of him. Look at me, Ant, am I beautiful? Look at me.

He didn't see her, all he could see was the dress.

"You bitch, Amanda, you fucking bitch. Jesus, that's where you were that night, wasn't it? With him, fucking him."

Amanda didn't say a word. Instead, she slowly made her way around the table and stood right in front of Antony. He was quivering, she was in control now. She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide, her lips ever so slightly opened, her small teeth a promise of a nip and a bite. Amanda smiled. She reached down.

"Antony, are you jealous? Does the idea of someone else fucking me get you hard?" She gripped him. "Gets you hard now, doesn't it?" She squeezed his length, and his cock gave an answering throb.

She pushed him backwards, through the door and down the hall, through the door to her bedroom, gripping his iron hard cock held tight in his jeans, her fingers feeling its heat through the cloth. She slammed shut the door and pushed him up against it, her hand still firm on his prick. She had him, literally, in the palm of her hand.

"Oh Antony," she crooned, "you want me, don't you." It was a statement, not a question. She squeezed. "The thought of someone else fucking me, your Amanda. It gets you hot, doesn't it? You thought I was yours, didn't you?" She was relentless. She pressed her palm hard against his crotch, pushing his ass back against the door. "You're mine, now."

Amanda tilted her head up to his, and took his mouth with hers, her tongue fucking him, pressing between his lips, taking his mouth. Her hand on his hardness gripped, feeling the shape of his shaft, and it hurt, so hard in his jeans but trapped. With her other hand, she reached for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one.

Antony's hands were helpless, hanging, he didn't know what to do in the face of her heat. Amanda pulled the cloth of his shirt aside, revealing his chest and a fine thread of dark hair down the centre and a crucifix to his nipples.

With her small sharp teeth she teased up one nipple, sucking and biting it into her mouth, and her cunt opened up and she was wet for him. The hand on his groin widened, her fingers spreading around his trapped, sideways shaft, and her fingers splayed and tightened, gripping and releasing.

Helpless moans fell from his mouth. "Fuck, Amanda, I..."

"Hush, Ant, it's OK, just do as you're told, be my boy." Amanda's voice was a low sing-song, her aroused huskiness a low, sweet threat, a promise. "Just let Amanda..."

She silenced herself with her mouth on his, and this time as she kissed him, both hands dropped to the buckle of his belt, and quick fingers undid the clasp. Antony pressed back against the door, his hands pushing back against the door jamb to steady himself, his head knocked back hard against the wood.

Amanda dropped down, her short skirt riding high on her thighs as she crouched before him. Her cunt lips were opening wide, her panties a dark wetness hidden, the stretching of the cloth pulling tight against the crack of her ass. The wide crouch stretched the star of her asshole, and she was aware of her opening heat and the cooler air.

She crouched before him, and her skirt rode high. Both hands undid the buckle of his belt and the button of his jeans, and Amanda slid down the zip. The top of his jeans opened, and Amanda mouthed the line of dark hair descending down his centre into the darkness of his jeans. Antony was fair haired and smooth skinned, just fine trails of soft darkness on his chest and down the centre of his gut, and Amanda's tongue followed down the trail.

With one hand against his belly to hold him still, Amanda pushed his legs apart so he was steady, peeling down the tight skin of his jeans to his thighs, revealing the hard rod of his prick still sideways in his jockey shorts. She held her hand against him, not letting him straighten. She looked up to his face, his eyes were closed.

"Look, Antony, look at me."

He looked down and watched as Amanda extracted his rigid cock from his jocks, taking it in both her hands, her palms holding the heat of his shaft. Her fingers touched tips above its length, and the shape of her hands was the promise of her sex. She held him for a moment, his cock jutting from his groin. Then she pushed his shaft up against his gut and held it there with one hand, and with the other she pulled his jeans down so he stood naked before her.

She took his prick back in both her hands, and held him. His arousal was a beat, she held him. Amanda looked up to his face to make sure he obeyed her, was watching her, looking at her. Finally, she thought, he looks at me because I've got his cock in my hands. She thought of Adam's gaze, how he looked into her eyes and held her there. She remembered how she bent before Adam, displaying the firm curves of her ass and the small droop of her breasts, and smiled at the way she wrapped the curtains around herself.

Amanda closed her eyes, blocking out the memory of her older man, and turned her attention to the younger man thrust before her. She leaned forward, and with the most delicate motion, as if she were savouring a sweet ripe fruit, bite by bite, she opened her lips and took Ant's head into her mouth, slowly licking his end, piercing the small slit with her tongue. The feel of his hot cock head on her fingers, he was so hot and hard, was the same velvet touch of her own lips when she caressed herself. She slowly swirled her tongue over and around his swelling head, and he moaned.

"Fuck, Amanda, that's good, so sweet, suck me, oh fuck, fuck." Antony reached down with his hands, and held the back of her head. He started to thrust into her mouth. But Amanda pulled her head back, letting his cock fall from her hot lips.

"No Antony, you're not fucking my mouth. I'm sucking your cock." She pressed her hand against his belly, pressing him back against the wall. "You're not to move, it's my cock now, not yours."

Amanda returned to the shaft before her, and this time she kissed and licked the length of it, feasting her eyes on his beautiful cock, kissing it up and down with a quiet reverence.

"See Ant," Amanda's words were dreamy and slow, "you don't have to rush all the time. Your cock," and she twisted her hands around his head and pulled a sharp wince of pleasure from Ant's throat, "your cock is in no hurry. We've got plenty of time. So hot, it's so hot."

Again Antony reached his hands down to her head, but this time he stroked her hair gently, carefully. Amanda shook her head slowly, and her long hair swayed and caught on his arms, like a fall of soft rain. "See Ant, it's best slow, so slow."

Amanda sucked his head into her mouth, her tongue swirling under and over the most sensitive places. She allowed him to push into her mouth, pulling back when he thrust too deep, showing him her rhythm, sucking his cock, sucking his cock.

Her mouth grew wetter and she was hungry for him, her spittle looping long strings of glistening wetness when she pulled back for breath. Amanda sucked harder, her mouth slopping from his wet prick and grappling it into her mouth, deeper. Her cheeks sucked in, and his cock head thickened.

Antony's moans and cries grew louder, incoherent words shuddering from his mouth, and his hands left Amanda's hair. With a finger and thumb he pulled on his own nipples, alternating left and right, pinching his tight buds into rigid tips. Flicking fast with his finger tip, Ant teased pleasure into his nipples, like darts of ice behind his chest.

Amanda stretched one hand around his shaft, stroking, stroking, sucking in the head of him to her wet mouth, stroking. With her other hand Amanda reached into her own panties, pushing the wet cloth into her cunt, pulling the edge of the cloth tight against her heated asshole, sliding her fingers into her slippery wetness. She darted her fingers into her cunt, and put them up to Ant's mouth. He sucked hungrily on her taste and his cock thrust in response.

"Fuck me, faster Amanda, don't stop, oh h, fuck, my cock. Jesus, I'm getting close. I'm going to come, ahh, god, yes, fuck, in your mouth, Mandy, take me in your mouth."

Amanda kept up the steady stroke on his shaft, urging up his cream. Her mouth was wet with her spit and her lips were swollen and red around Ant's head. She sensed his closeness, and slowed her stroke, slowing him. Her hand went to grip his high balls, riding tight up against his body, and he shuddered. Amanda stopped her stroke, and his cock was rigid and tight. She looked up at him, his head knocked back, his fingers hopelessly gripping the wall behind him.

Beyond thought now, Ant barely registered the cooling air between his legs as Amanda bumped one foot wider, exposing his high, hot balls and his puckered asshole. Amanda slicked a wet mess of cunt juice and spit onto her forefinger, and probed it up into his hottest hole, pressing upwards relentlessly until her knuckle found the first tight ring of muscle. She eased back, and sucked his head deep into her mouth. Her finger pushed and pushed, then eased back again, working into him. Deeper this time, and with a sobbing gasp, Ant accepted her finger's entry and his asshole took her.

With a suck on Ant's cock and a deep fingering, Amanda started a relentless probing finger fuck up his ass, and Ant's moans turned into sighs, "yes, yes, yes, fuck me Amanda, my ass, suck me, fuck, oh fuck yes, I'm going ..."

His semen was faster than his words, Amanda's finger fucking up inside him, and his cock erupted creamy fluid, spurting jets into her mouth.

Amanda drank his thrusts down as much as she could, but he was young and his balls were full, and his cum spilled and dripped down her chin. Amanda licked her tongue around his gorgeous mess, and smeared her chin with Ant's cream, loving it on her face, rubbing it into her skin.

Staggering backwards onto her bed, Amanda pulled her naked man on top of her, Ant's softening cock shining with his cum and her spit. Cum still dripped from his cock, and smeared a trail on her skirt and over her thigh. She loved the smell of him, the sweet odour of his jism ripe in her room, and underneath the rich smell of her own arousal.

She loved that she was dressed and Ant was naked; somehow it meant he was hers now, naked and soft before her, her boy. Amanda wrapped her arms around Antony, stroking his fair hair and kissing him, softer now, more gentle with him than before. She was making him stay with her, her dishevelled clothes a promise, because of course he must undress her and cradle her in his arms, make love to her later.

"Antony," her voice was soft with her love for him, "you mustn't be jealous, not any more." Amanda touched her fingers to his cheek, claiming Ant for herself. "I'm not leaving you." She rolled onto her side, holding him. She pulled covers up around his naked body. "You mustn't get cold."

"Adam's a thing, I admit it. He's a fascination, and I like him. But he's... I don't know how to explain. But he's not you. Do you get that? He's not you."

Antony understood Amanda well enough not to push her. She was confessing something, but he didn't know what.

"But the dress. What does the dress mean?"

"It's nothing. It's just a dress. Adam likes beautiful things, but it's just a dress."

***

Just a dress.

Adam arrived at the gallery a little after six. He greeted the owners and was introduced to the young artist showing her first exhibition. Never good at small talk, he took his wine glass and moved slowly around the walls, studying each painting, each small drawing. From time to time he would stop, fascinated by a small detail here or a particular spray of colour there. He kept half an eye on the door. He didn't know when Amanda would arrive, but was sure she would.

The gallery filled and Adam found himself caught up in conversations he didn't really want to have, with people he didn't really care for. In the crowded room he gave up watching the door, and waited instead for a shift in the sound of the room, a lull of silence as heads turned and the air held its breath.

Just a breath.

Adam turned, and there she was. Amanda made a quiet entry into the room, a slim figure in the vintage silk, silvery blue dress. Her hair was coiled high in a tight twist on her head, accentuating her elegant neck. Instead of the usual diamond studs in her ears, Amanda wore a pair of perfectly dropped pearl earrings. The dress was a vintage fifties design, a strapless sweetheart bodice fitted tight to Amanda's delicate waist, swirling wide over her hips. The type of dress that could only be worn by a girl of a particular, perfect age.

Adam gazed at her and Amanda was everything he wanted her to be. He watched as Amanda was approached by a waiter, and it was only right that she should be served, this little coffee girl going out in the evening. She took a cocktail glass from the waiter's tray, and the colour of the drink, the palest blue, matched her dress. The waiter said something and Amanda laughed. She touched the waiter's hand on the tray in a greeting or a conspiracy, just as she had touched Adam's arm one long ago lunchtime. I called her honey, thought Adam, and she smiled at me.

He smiled to himself, and the woman beside him turned and asked, "daydreams, or sweet dreams?" Adam was gracious and charmed her for a moment. The woman sensed his distance and touched his arm to remember, but knew without a word she was not tonight, not with him.

"Josephine, is that you, where have you been hiding?" Adam was rescued by the gallery owner, who had given Adam two tickets and knew he was waiting for someone else. Josephine looked back at Adam, an ache in her belly and a longing to be longed for by him.

Amanda mingled through the crowd, slowly making her way to Adam. He stood waiting, and Amanda came up to him and kissed his cheek. "Adam. Thank you, this is wonderful, thank you so much for the invitation." Her discretion was perfection, but her eyes shone just for him in that moment. Adam's heart stopped and started, and he remembered to breath.

She stretched up to whisper in his ear, "have you got..."

"Yes, on the 22nd floor this time, higher up than before."

"Oh goodie, I can pretend it's my birthday floor." She quickly gripped his fingers, and her hand reminded him of mornings at the cafe.

Oh goodie? Adam marvelled at the girl. Amanda sometimes forgot she was a young woman, dropping years off her age.

"When will we leave? There's people I want to meet first."

Amanda's eyes were bright with her excitement for later, but also wide with her love of people, now. She thrived on the whirl of conversation and movement, and was like a rippling stream high in the mountain. Adam was the opposite, a still rock who preferred the water to flow around him. Crowds exhausted him, and his energy came from the only one before him.