Mistress Molly

[woman’s voice, almost whispering at first.

she rises in volume, then sinks to a whisper at the end.]

“I never thought it would come to this.

“It seemed so innocent at first. How could I know that it would
bring me to this point, this place, this strangeness? Would you have
known? Could you? Impossible for you to answer, of course, even if you
had the faintest idea what I meant. Perhaps I should start at the
beginning. That’s generally a good rule.

“My boyfriend’s name is Michael. I’m Kate. We’ve been together
for five years, and they’ve been pretty good years. We were even thinking
of getting married, though I’ve always been a little skittish about the
idea. He’s a really nice guy, and I care about him a lot. He’s also
great in bed– really imaginative, and very considerate. One of the most
caring, giving, unjealous people I know. I’m planning to break up with
him tomorrow.”

“I don’t even have a good reason. Oh, the simple explanation is
that I love someone else, which I do. But Michael is so generous, so
giving, that he could possibly learn to live with that. But I just don’t
want to touch him anymore. The thought of his gentle hands on my body,
caressing my breasts, my waist and hips…his hands tangled in my long red
hair, even his brown eyes gazing into my green ones…it sends little
shivers of revulsion through me now. And there was a time, oh there was a
time when a little kiss from him, or a glance, could turn me on so quick,
so hard, that before he knew it I’d be climbing all over him, pulling off
his clothes and mine, aching to press our naked bodies together, to start
that long, slow rise.

“That all changed when I met Molly. When he introduced us,
actually. That’s what’s so ironic — she was *his* friend, *his*
flirtation, *his* idea. He knew that I’d always toyed with the idea of
sleeping with a woman, and when he met Molly (Molly of the deep brown eyes
and soft body and small hands) he had been tempted. Michael (so
tentatively) brought up the possibility, just the merest possibility, that
perhaps a threesome. Ready to give it up entirely if I said ‘no’. I was
dubious at first, but when I met her, and caught a cheerful grin from
crooked white teeth, and saw the laughter dancing behind those huge doe
eyes, I gladly agreed.

“That was a night! That first night, slow at first, shy about
undressing in front of them both. They took charge between them,
undressing me slowly, like a doll. Peeling off green t-shirt and jeans to
leave me shivering in just my best black lace. I had rummaged in my
drawer until I’d found the black corset and garters and silk stockings I’d
bought years before and never had the nerve to wear. It had taken me half
an hour to actually put them on. Michael’s eyes widened when he saw them,
and an almost smug smile spread across his face. He seemed to be saying
to Molly, “Look at what I brought you — isn’t she beautiful?” And I was,
that night. Molly, though — those clothes triggered something unexpected
in Molly. Her face lit up with the wickedest grin…and the rest of the
night was hers.

“At first it was simple things. She told me to leave the clothes
on, and asked Michael to kneel between my legs, and lick my cunt. He
cheerfully agreed, and I was hardly about to protest. He knelt quickly,
and began to lick, up and around the bare mound — I had shaven it that
night, again for the first time. It seemed a good night for it. She came
up behind me while he sucked and nibbled on my clit, and pressed her
breasts against my back, and her hips into mine, her small hands holding
tight to my hips, holding me immobile against her, while Michael knelt
beneath us. She whispered in my ear, calling me a lovely slut, a
delightful whore, a delicious piece of tight ass, and then she licked a
finger and slid it into my ass, slowly at first, then as Michael’s tongue
moved faster on my clit and I started the climb to orgasm she moved
faster, sliding up and into me, her other hand clenching on my hip,
driving me back towards her hand trapped between us, pushing and pulling
me up higher and higher until I came furiously and staggered, clenching
Michael’s head between my thighs.

“She directed us all evening, commanding us to bow or bend or
kneel before her. She was wearing a simple white dress, sheer and
flowing, looking so damn innocent — but the words that came out of her
mouth! Michael was astonished, I think, but so caught in the mood of that
night that he obeyed silently, and I, I was exalted. She was magical, as
she instructed and commanded and lashed us with her tongue when we were
too slow, and I fell entirely under her spell. At one point she had
Michael tied to the bed with his own silk ties, and we crawled over him,
black and white, licking every inch we could reach. We ran ice cubes up
and down his body, and dripped melting wax to make pretty patterns along
his thighs. We used a feather, the tip of a knife, a pair of silk panties
to drive him quite mad as he lay there, blindfolded and straining against
the ropes, not knowing when or where we’d torment him next. When he came,
the first time, it was deep inside me. The second time, hours later, he
spurted all over her light brown breasts and long neck, and she commanded
me to lick it off, which I did eagerly.

“He fell asleep eventually, poor exhausted thing, and as he fell
asleep against my shoulder he murmured, ‘What an adventure, Kate.
Something to tell our grandchildren about.’ He chuckled quietly and fell
asleep, and I lifted my eyes, stricken, from his sweet face to Molly’s.
She shook her head, solemn for the first moment since I’d met her, and
took my hand and led me out of the bedroom. We didn’t speak again after
that, but fell to the carpet of my living room (mine and Michael’s, that
is) and devoured each other. She was still, somehow, in command, even
silently. She gestured and I obeyed, feasting on her large, soft breasts
or lying back motionless so she could do the same to mine; back and forth,
in and out, our fingers wrinkled and our hands slick by the time we
collapsed in mutual exhaustion, curled into each other on the floor.

“She was gone before Michael awoke next morning, and didn’t answer
his messages when he called. He shrugged, a bit bewildered, and said it
was just as well. An exciting night, but a bit rich for every day, didn’t
I think so? I nodded, as he wished, and waited for her to call me. She
didn’t call. Instead, she appeared on my doorstep one day when Michael
was away to work and I had not yet left. Before she could say a word I
was on the phone, calling in sick, and then I ran to her, standing there
by the open door, and sank to my knees, and waited for my instructions.

“She lay one hand in my hair, gently for just a moment, before
grabbing hard and draggin my head up to her cunt. I started to push aside
her skirt with my hands but she growled, ‘No hands!’ and so I used my head
and face to move aside the folds of white fabric until I was finally
beneath them, and could drop kisses up her thigh and into the crevice
between thigh and hip, and she sucked in her breath at that, so I paused
there a moment, licking and sucking ’til her fingers tightened in my hair,
warning, and I moved on. I breathed softly on her clit, then licked
around it, darting my tongue in and out of her already moist cunt. Her
hand tightened again, and I moved to her clit, licking gently at first,
then harder, sucking eventually and nibbling all around, longing to slide
a few long fingers into her cunt, wanting to fuck her hard, as hard as
she’d fucked me. But she had said, ‘no hands’ and I obeyed and it took a
long long time before she came, and somewhere in the back of my head,
behind the animal pleasure that came from tasting her, was the quiet fear
that a neighbor might walk by at any moment and see me kneeling there
between her thighs and long white boots. The fear made it all so much

“She came again after that, often, though never predictably. I
fell more and more in love with every visit, and at times we would not
even touch each other. The game was to see who would break first, and we
would sit, inches away, our breath falling on each others’ faces as we
talked for hours, our concentration focused almost entirely on denying
ourselves what we most wanted. She almost always won — at some point, my
lips would of their own accord traverse that short passage to hers and
instantly she would devour me, those tiny hands tight on the back of my
neck, dragging me into her and her short brown curls falling in my face,
blinding me.

“I’ve been telling myself, all along, that it didn’t really
matter, it wasn’t important. I could love them both, surely I could, and
Michael didn’t need to know. Maybe if I had told him from the beginning,
maybe he could have changed along with me. Maybe he could have learned to
give me what I crave — harsh words and fevered touches; passion so strong
it has no time to wait for gentleness; pain that opens the gates to
greater pleasures. Maybe. He is such a gentle soul.

“It was yesterday that she asked me, asked me to come live with
her and be her love, her pet, perhaps her slave. The first moment of real
vulnerability I’d seen in her, her heart in her eyes and I knew what I
needed to know — that she loved me too, perhaps even as much as I loved
her. Then her face closed up again, and she became once more the mistress
I adored, and I knew what I would do. I cannot bear to have Michael
touching me now, and I think I will not wait for tomorrow. Tonight we
will sit on our wide bed, where we have been sleeping for weeks without
touching. I will tell him I am leaving him, and I am sorry, and I will
not say, ‘maybe we can be friends.’ That has always seemed a particularly
useless phrase to me in those situations. And he will not cry, but his
face will crumple though he has been expecting this, I think. And he’ll
ask why, and I’ll tell him “Molly” and he will think he understands but he
won’t. If I told him the rest he wouldn’t understand and he would try to
shape himself into something he isn’t and it would tear him apart.

“And tomorrow I will go to her, and if she allows me, will throw
myself into her arms. I must admit, I am trembling at the thought of


M.A. Mohanraj

December 13, 1996