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The Last Place You Look
By Stephanie Alexis Bonvissuto

Bzzz! “Ms. Withers? You have a call on Three.”

Dammit. I still had to review the quarterly report before the team meeting at ten. “I’m a little busy in here, Holly. Take a message, please.”

 “I tried, Ms. Withers, but she keeps calling.”

I frowned around the pen I was chewing on. “Well, does ‘she’ have a name?”

 “I’m sorry, Ms. Withers, but all I could get out of her is that her name’s Fay.”

I looked up, eyeing the blinking line. “I’ll um, I’ll get it.” I put my headset on and stabbed the button. “Theresa Withers here.”

The familiar voice tickled my ear. “Theresa Withers? Since when did you get so formal?”

 “Since they started paying me six figures to do so. Hi, Fay.”

 “Hey, hiya. Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

 “Well, now that you mention it, I’ve got this team meeting in a few minutes . . . ”

 “Never any rest for the wicked, eh?”

 “Yeah, well, you know me. So what’s up?”

 “I know I’m springing this on you all of a sudden but it’s kinda come to my attention lately that I’ve lost something and I think I may have left it with you.”

Uh-oh. “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t. You took everything with you that last night, remember?”

 “I haven’t even told you what it is yet,” she said. “How could you know if you even have it if I haven’t told you?”

Good point. She so rarely made them I had to concede. “Okay, I’ll bite. What is it that you think I have?”

 “My heart,” Fay said.

 “Right,” I finally said. “I’m hanging up now . . . ” I reached for the disconnect button when I heard the other voices spilling out of my earpiece. Wait, was that really Chad in complaining about his lackluster ten year old marriage? I thought I could hear Mary and Pam lamenting the shallowness of the dating pool, then Joel and Tommy comparing notes on how to score on a first date. My stomach went into freefall when I heard the tinny electronic rendition of Night on Bald Mountain go off, the cell phone signal that Brian’s new wife Samantha was calling for the fifth time that morning.

Then I heard Holly’s voice in my head and right outside the door. “Um, excuse me, excuse me but you can’t go in there . . . !”

Oh no. I got to my feet just as the door opened and there she was, Fay Raymond, a.k.a. Butterfly Jones, the peroxide screaming lead guitarist of The Cervix, local spoken-word artiste, self-proclaimed peace activist and third generation embroider, standing in my doorway.

 “Guess I can,” she replied.

 “Shall I call Security?” Holly asked me, eyes wide as tea saucers.

I held up a hand. Remain calm. “No, not yet, at least. Just give us a few minutes.”       

 “But the meeting…”

I checked my watch. “…is in ten minutes. Buzz me in eight.”

Holly nodded, paying Fay a look she reserved for penny-begging homeless she met out on the street before shutting the door.

I had to shake my head. “You know, it’s scenes like this that led to us breaking up.”    

Fay walked her long denim-clad legs across my shag. “Funny, I always thought it was you going down on Rachel while we were still together.”

Touché. “Yeah, well, I went home with her for a reason. Anyway, that’s seven year old news. You need to get over it, hon.”

 “Six years and three months,” she corrected me, “and I will as soon as you give me back my heart.”

 “Jesus, I don’t believe this.”

 “Neither did I,” Fay said, walking around the sharp corners of my desk as fluid as water. “I took me so long to figure it out. You gotta understand, for the last couple of years the world’s just really sucked. The band kicked me out, every girl I took home broke up with me the next morning, all my friends just stopped hanging out with me. Everyone was saying the same thing—that I had become this cold, heartless bitch. Then I began to wonder, wow, if I really was heartless, then where did I leave it? So I tried real hard to remember when I had it last. That’s what my mom always says, right? Figure out the last place you had it and there it will be.”

I crossed my arms tight. “Mine always said it’ll be in the last place you look.”

 “Yeah, she was always a scream, huh?” She was close enough now for me to smell the not unpleasant scent of patchouli and sweat wafting off of her skin. “So I thought on it and thought on it and I finally remembered. The last time I saw it was the night I caught you and Rach out in the driveway. . . ”

 “This is crazy,” I said.

 “Tell me about it,” Fay said. “I mean, no wonder why I kept thinking about you. You had it all along!”

 “What? No I didn’t. I mean, I don’t.”

Her voice grew accusatory. “Well, I gave it to you. Are you telling me you lost it?”

 “Yes…I mean, no…look, I don’t have it, all right?”

 “Do you mind if I look around a little?”

 “No—yes—oh Jesus, sure, fine, go ahead, but you’re not going to fi . . . ”

The kiss came out of nowhere, her mouth swiping the words right out of mine, her tongue finding mine wanting. I’m pretty sure I resisted for a few seconds, at least.

Then she broke off, leaving me sputtering. “I’m . . . with someone . . . ”

Fay hummed from that secret spot on my neck. “Let me guess. Her name’s Dorothy, she’s older, a little distinguished gray in the hair, very academic, like to take you to all the faculty parties, museums and weekend concerts.”

 “She prefers Dot,” I said, half-heartedly trying to push her off.

But Fay wasn’t having it, her hands lighting on my tits. I swear, I could feel them burning through the satin. Then her digits were popping my buttons and peeling the Victoria’s Secret bra back. I fell back into my chair, Fay following me down with my nipple between her lips. Her hands slid down my sides to the bottom of my skirt. Before I could stop them (and to this day I’m not sure I really wanted to) they slipped underneath the hem and pushing the fabric north, revealing to all I had gone commando today.

 “Mmm, glad to see some things don’t change,” she whispered, sinking down between my legs.

I automatically locked myself up tight but Fay knew the combination to all my tumblers. Her knowing fingers went to work, tracing my furrows, burrowing deep. At the same time she was sweet-talking secrets from my clit. I tried squeezing her out but that only invited her to go in deeper; I made to push her away but instead my fingers raked through her crazy hair. No, no, no! I couldn’t let her find it, couldn’t let her take it away, it was mine now, my extra, my bonus, I deserved it!

As if she could read my thoughts (and she probably could, the bitch) Fay giggled around my clit. Of course she knew exactly where to excavate—she was my goddamn ex, after all. She dug through layer after sweaty layer, uncovered my buried treasure and slowly drawing up all. I felt it all go through my shaky grasp, each and every groan slipping through my clenched teeth, until the trickle became a stream that burst into a flood that just swept everything—my senses, my breath, photos of a disapproving Dot—all out to sea.

Fay stayed with it until she made sure I was thoroughly drained. Then she fell back on her ass and looked up like the mischievous sprite she was. “Wow. So that’s where it was.” She got to her feet and paid me a salty kiss. “Thanks. I should have known you were good at this safekeeping thing.”

 “What? Wait a second!” I sprang up and hobbled after her on a single heel. “You can’t just come in here, do this and go!”

She stopped at the door. “Why not? I got what I wanted.”

 “Well, what about me?”    

Fay shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t see yours anywhere. If I ever come across it though, I’ll tell it to go home, promise.”

And then she was gone, leaving me there with hair disheveled, a boob hanging out and my skirt tucked up in my waistband.

Bzzzz! “Ms. Withers, it’s ten oh five…”

Stephanie Alexis Bonvissuto is a New York based writer who has been publishing short stories since 1988. Her work as a journalist includes Managing Editor for the short-lived sex-positive paper Hott Press, freelance local reporter, and currently as a columnist for www.gaypride.com.

Mistress and Slave

I watched her walk around the room and quietly light candles, setting the room aglow with a flickering half light. She started the music, a hypnotic, seductive sound that filled me with anticipation.

I was ordered to lay face down on the bed, say nothing and not look up. Everything was quiet as she vanished into the bathroom...and I waited. It seemed like an eternity before she returned and I could not help but cast a glance toward her. God, she was beautiful... a mass of blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, black leather bra and chaps, thigh high boots and black gloves that reached above her elbows. In one hand she carried a large whip of horsehair and a crop in the other.

I was captivated by her....filled by an anticipation I had never felt before. I know I gasped, she made me breathless. This was my Mistress, and I had become her slave. I knew at that moment that I would do anything she asked, anything to please her.

From the end of the bed she spoke, strong words, but with a tenderness that disclosed her love for me. She said that from now on I could not speak unless spoken to, nor look at her, express any feelings of pleasure or pain, and must address her, always, as Mistress. Our safe word was "red" but I knew I would never speak it. I would suffer all her punishments and love every second of it.

I felt a blindfold go over my eyes, and I lay there, feeling a rush course through my body, every nerve aroused. One by one she strapped my arms, tying each to a bedpost. I felt her near me, I could smell her and I wanted to taste her, touch her, but I could not. She gently slid off my panties and I had nothing of myself left to hide. I felt straps around my ankles as she tied both feet to a bedpost and then a strap around my thighs, binding my legs together, when all I wanted to do was spread them wide. I could feel the wetness between my legs and hear my heart beat pounding in my ears. I could not move and my mind was racing with sensation. The eroticism of it and the same music playing over and over again.

She spoke and I knew I had to answer, but I cannot remember the question. I said "yes" and knew that "Mistress" should follow, but I did not say it, knowing that punishment would follow. I could hardly wait. She chastised me for breaking the rules and then I felt it—the stinging pain of the crop on my naked buttocks. Suppressing the feelings of pain, unable to move or express emotion—she was in total control. The whip lashed back and forth across my back—exquisite pain, filling my mind with a tidal wave of feeling—pain and pleasure, mingling together, sending me on a rollercoaster ride of eroticism.

And then nothing. All I could feel was the heat, the burning of my beaten flesh...and it felt so good, I wanted more. Then, just as my thoughts gained release, I felt the crop slapping against me and it was all I could do to regain my control, remain expressionless. My muscles tightened against the sting of the leather and the ride started again. I wanted her. God how I wanted this woman, to feel her pressed against me, pushing inside me. The tangle of feelings and thoughts, the pleasure, the agony of it sent me into a mental tailspin.

What a rush! Adrenaline coursing through my body, and the love, the boundless love I felt for my Mistress. I felt a sudden release as she unstrapped my thighs, my wetness cooled by the air as my legs opened. My arms became loose as she untied me and told me to turn over. Still blindfolded, relying on my other senses, all heightened by my lack of sight. My arms tied back up and once again I was helpless, at her mercy and glad to be there. And then the moment I had craved: she touched me, caressed the essence of my femininity and my body shuddered with arousal. I was ripe, ready for her, full to bursting and I wanted her, desired her with such intensity. She finally told me I could express my pleasure.

Suddenly there was a pressure between my legs and something plunged deep inside me. Ecstasy! I heard my arousal as she thrust back and forth and I knew I would not hold back for long, my juices flowing from me, trickling down between my thighs, the familiar feelings building, rising toward that final release. I could hear myself moaning and my hips grinding against her hand as I came, squeezing my legs together, my back arched high off the bed. I could not stop shaking; the orgasm would not end. I lay there, quivering in the aftermath, exhausted. But my reward was not over. I felt the warmth of her breath between my legs and the jolting shock of her tongue on my swollen, sensitive pussy, flicking back and forth, licking, stroking, drinking the fruits of her labor.

She untied me and removed the blindfold. And there she stood, at the edge of the bed, hair wild, electric blue eyes flashing in the half-light. She was so incredible, I could have stared at her all night; the wildness in her stare mesmerizing. Black leather binding femininity, and between her legs, the only remembrance of a man strapped around her hips. She pulled me to the edge of the bed and leaned into me, pulling my hips up over hers, her breasts spilling over leather, her body sparkling with sweat. She thrust into me and I watched. Never had I felt the way I did at that moment. Looking at her pounding between my legs, all woman, thrusting inside me, long blonde hair spilling over her soft creamy shoulders. I had to have her, please her. Harder and harder she rocked into me, in and out, in and out, rhythmically until I exploded, my body wet.

I leaned up and tasted her lips, succulent and sweet, tongues exploring each other. I loosened the buckles around her hips and slowly undressed her, viewing her nakedness, consumed with my love for her. I let my tongue devour her, inch-by-inch, biting, licking, tugging at her erect nipples, down her stomach, closer to the heat of her, the warmth of her wet, open pussy. I let my tongue trace between her lips and tasted her. She gasped and her moans spurred me to satisfy her more. I devoured her with a ruthless hunger as she writhed around the bed, pushing herself against my mouth. I drank her as she flooded into my mouth, sweet nectar. I needed to fill her, be inside her. I fumbled with buckles as I strapped myself up. I climbed up onto the bed and leaned down over her. She parted her legs and I saw her wetness glimmering in the candlelight. My lips pressed down onto hers and she moaned softly, squirming with anticipation beneath me, reacting to the caress of my fingers.

Slipping inside her, slowly, gently, I felt her move down onto me. Our roles reversed now, I looked into her eyes and saw her love for me, the passion, the desire, and it only made want her more. I slid in and out of her, slowly, gliding through her juices. Her legs wrapped around mine. Faster, then slower, then faster, bodies bathed in sweat, feeling her climax rising, no longer two but one, moving together. Her neck arched as I pulled her head back by her hair and I knew she was close. I plunged into her harder, faster. I held her close to me as she reached her climax, feeling her body shudder against mine, and I was complete in her.

Mistress and Slave.

I knew I would serve her always.


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Vivid by Anonymous

It was frightening the way days seem to wane in to one passive stare. I could never grasp the concept of time. The clock watchers with coffee stains running through their veins. Wouldn't it be just a peach to live in the moment, to walk away from the credible posture of fulfilling a role?  I did exactly that several hours ago. I enjoy sleepwalking through the paths of this small seaside town. The streetlights flicker in contrast to the steady gaze of the moon. I am somewhat of a small creature who quickly disappears into darkness if needs be. My mind is most comfortable away from the maddening pounding of the daily grind. The night had always been easy on my nerves with the wind and the crashing waves nearby.  There was a little cafe for the moody types to settle their differences.  It is the only place open past sunset really.  Most families tidy up and head in for the night far early. I had never owned a television so being captured indoors was rather questionable. I had never been very sexual, although my dreams were sensual and vibrant.  My male friends were a chatty bunch, some downright hysterical in their rudeness. They could always bring me back down to earth when my mind wandered a little bit too much. But I was lucky to be alone in this dimly lit cave of a place where the flowers grew limp from smoke. The violinist puffed a cigar completely in tune with the bow. He had the hands of a bear, clumsy and endearing. His sister, the chanteuse, had yet to appear even though the blue spotlight waited patiently. He played a lingering note over and over. I was already in a trance from so very little sleep that it seemed uplifting. All of a sudden the blue light shut off and a soft whisper emerged. Like Marilyn Monroe, drowning in breath and pauses. The blue light then streamed down onto her face. Her full lips were cherry stained and quivering as she sang about a French lover who had been married. Her dark bangs framed the most sensual face I had ever seen. It was a very rare beauty very unlike the manufactured glossies and lifeless housewives that filled my town. I thought if only I was a man maybe she would be interested in sitting in my lap. I was dressed rather manly in my beige raincoat but my round face would not be able to convince her. She seemed to notice I was her only audience after the first song ended. She gleefully looked me up and down as if asking to remove my coat. I nervously obliged as she motioned me to move to the table nearest to her. I faintly walked towards her in my solemn black dress. When I had reached the table she had taken both my hands and placed them firmly on her hips. Her brother began to play one of those Gypsy dances that people mistake for Italian. I felt completely overcome with pleasure touching her, holding her across the shoulder. Are feminine forms almost identical in a languid heat? She laughed as I blushed, caressing my cheek, circling my lips with a small finger. I felt woozy and fell into a heap on the floor. She became extremely serious and sat down on top of me. Comforting with a hug, then a long passionate kiss. A kiss that seemed to bleed into my very being. She picked me up and held me close as we continued this dance of romantic frenzy. It must have lasted long into the night before I woke up at my office the next morning. My coffee tasted bitter but my memory was a great refreshment.

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