Mia
Window Watching
Gina let me in and said nothing as she watched me walk in with my head high, and the first thing I did was head straight for my bedroom. I stripped naked and stepped into the shower, hot water pelting down my body in the stall and making me cry out in pain—I had misjudged my stamina. It was all I could do just to turn the water off and grab a towel, curling up in it and dragging myself slowly across the tile floor to run the bath. I leaned carefully against the hollow side and breathing carefully as I waited. It didn't take long; the smell of tangy bath gels and salts billowed up in steamy bubbles as I turned the faucet off and hauled myself in. Closing my eyes, I sank down into the depths and passed out, but luckily I was long enough that the bottoms of my feet pressed against the opposite end of the tub and support the rest of my body above the water. When I opened my eyes the water had cooled a little.
It seemed that I had regained some of my strength with the sudden nap. Reaching out for a netted, fluffy scrubber, I soaped myself down and did my best to erase the last traces, but for the bruises and the aches and pains, of Armand from my body. When I was done, I lay soaking what I could of the soreness out, until the water turned lukewarm. It took a while to gather enough force to propel myself up out of the water, but I did, grabbing a terry-cloth robe and walking barefoot, hair dripping, out of the bathroom. Still no sign of Mona.
After wrapping a towel around my head in a turban, I slid on some underclothes, threw on a little talcum powder and gave up on the idea of lotion, then figured out a way to get into my nightshirt without any extra damage to my sore limbs. And finally, with my hair damp, and blissfully clean, I threw back the covers of the bed, sinking onto the mattress to fall into an exhausted sleep.
“Good morning, darling,” whispered a voice in my ear, and I opened one eye to look up into startling green ones, cat eyes that purred without making a sound.
“Mmm,” was my response, and Mona laughed softly, pushing a lock out of my hair.“You came back late last night, Gina tells me. After two in the morning.” She didn't look very mad, not even terribly interested. She looked as if she were simply wondering in passing. Or was it only an act?
“Met some people,” I mumbled, pushing my face against the pillows, snuggling deeper into the bed and secretly glad that my wrists were hidden beneath the covers on the side of the bed away from her. I opened one eye again and looked around. It looked like it wasn't even eight yet. Too early for me; I needed to re-energize. My eyes fell to the covers. Maybe Mona was thinking that there’d been a war zone in here last night, the bed was such a mess.
“Went to clubs, didn't notice the time,” I finished, talking into the downy pillows.
“She said you looked like hell.” I felt her sharp fingernail trace the line of my left ear.
“Had a little trouble. Men—you know. Dumped me out in the middle of the city, a bad part of town. Had to find my way back on my own. Real crazy. Just wanted a bed and a bath—and now I just want sleep. Talk to you later.” Mona laughed and got off of the bed, the mattress lifting up slightly at the absence of her weight.
“Alright, I’ll let you get your rest. I see you had an adventure. I’ll be gone most of the day—but I want you up and ready by two o’clock. I’ll be coming to pick you up for your gyn appointment.” The door hardly made a noise as Mona closed it behind her.
At two o’clock Mia had managed to regain a lot of her energy, but not all of it, and she still found it very hard to do any movement greater than standing still or lying down. But she managed, and when she presented herself to Mona, the woman noticed nothing different about her except that perhaps she was a little feverish looking and rather tired.
What Mia was worried about was how well-informed the doctor kept Mona, and whether or not she was going to be asked questions about what the hell she’d been doing the night before. She wasn't aware of any internal bleeding—she just knew that she’d probably stretched all the muscles of her sex to their limit, and that their aching tenderness would be very noticeable to any doctor. But when she sat in the stirrups, finding even that position terribly difficult to maintain, the doctor said nothing, only remarked that in the future she ought to take it easy, and let her go with a clean bill of health. The woman did stop to talk to Mona for several moments while Mia waited just outside the open door, anxious but not letting it show. When Mona was again at her side, all that she mentioned was that the doctor had been pleased to see how well Mia took care of herself, and that she looked forward to the next appointment, and had no doubts that she’d be in perfect shape until then.
When the limo pulled up to their building, Mona turned to Mia and apologized, giving her a deep, loving kiss, before withdrawing to explain that she had to get back to work.“But we’ll spend more time together tomorrow, darling. And after this weekend, I’m going to be able to devote just about all of my time to you, alright? But until then ... bear with me, hm?” Smiling, she kissed Mia’s temple, then withdrew.
As the door shut between them, she exclaimed softly, “Ciao!”
After which Mia watched the long black car drive away.
Back upstairs Mia was standing in front of the ceiling-to-wall window between the bed and a small, Oriental-style table with a marble inlay, feeling the absence of life and wondering if she had become addicted to Mona's lifestyle, if she now needed to have somebody with her twenty-four hours a day.
She looked down at the phone and saw the little writing pad next to it, with Mona's large, bold handwriting leaving a flourish of numbers and a name: Claude. Unable to stop herself, she picked up the telephone and tapped in the numbers with her thumb faster than she could say them aloud, and after one ring a voice answered.
"Yes?""Mona said it was alright ... I–” For some strange reason her breath caught. She was nervous, she realized that, but she had another itch in her brain, the one that she'd soothed with that violent image of Armand above her, and she was starting to get an idea. A rather sick one, but a good one.
"I need you to come up. How soon can you come?" Her voice had changed from uncertain to demure. It hardly took a second for his response.
"I'll be there in a few minutes," he said, and without another word they both hung up the phone. Then Mia stuck her hand in her purse and rummaged around, found an undeniable slip of paper, and looked down at the numbers. Pressing another button on the phone, she waited for the dial tone, then quickly dialed in the second number, waiting tensely as she listened for any sound like a knock on the bedroom door.
After a moment someone picked up, but she didn't give them a chance to greet her.
"I want you to go to your window and watch." There was a silence, and just when she was going to hang up, his voice, calm and very, very low, responded.
"Of course." The words were so soft they sounded like he were saying something far more intimate.
It was a few seconds after Mia had hung up and removed her shoes and pantyhose that the knock she'd been waiting for came.
"Come in."
Claude entered quietly, shutting and locking the door behind him before walking toward her and the window. As he approached, Mia grabbed a chair from the little table on the other side of the window, one with a shoulder-high back that curled at the crest, and a cushioned seat. She set it a few feet from the window, facing away, and moved behind it, turning her back to the glass and smiling invitingly as the tall chauffeur bent his head to hers, his hands at her hips, his mouth on hers. She melted into him, felt his muscles slide beneath his clothing, and cupped her hands at his buttocks, her tongue delving deep into his mouth before she gasped at the sensation of his hand against her breast. Without her realizing it, he had gotten her out of her blouse and skirt and now he was sliding his right hand into the space between her legs, his free hand tangling itself lightly in her hair as he trailed hot, greedy kisses along the line of her neck.
Mia cast a glance to the window as he did this, her eyes smoky and her lashes low, and saw, immediately across from the penthouse, standing in a window just as large as hers, Armand. He wore a loosely tailored, double-breasted suit, a murky blue that set off his complexion. His reddish lips looked like they'd been kissed recently, and his hair was a little tousled--the expression on his face was so intent, so calm, that she thought, for a split second, that she was like a work of art in a museum. She was being viewed from across the street, high up in the sky, through two pieces of glass, untouchable, unattainable, yet at the same time, she could be influenced by her observer.
Armand did nothing, only stood with his legs slightly apart and his hands clasped behind his back. Mia thought that he was too beautiful for words and felt a tremor go through her body, and now unable to wait, she took Claude by his shirt and led him to the chair, smiling sexily as she sat him down and straddled him, working at his slacks until his sex was free. It was a matter of balance on her part and expertise on his, and then she was without underwear, feeling the driver's wand, hard and hungry, claim all the space she had to give and reawaken the sleepy lust that had been residing in her sore parts since the night before.
Laughing silently, Mia bent her neck over Claude's shoulder and smiled devilishly at Armand, her tongue trailing down the side of her lover's neck, as she rode him slowly. Her need got the better of her, and she felt her control begin to slip, as a dull chill of pain shot from her womb through the very center of her body, reminding her of nothing but Armand, filling her with his scent, his touch, and his taste. It was as if he were making love to her now, watching her through the window, silent and calm as she roughed off Claude's shirt and dug her short nails into his tanned skin, not quite as dark as that of the man who stood clothed and untouched across the street behind glass of his own.Armand watched as she bit Claude repeatedly, her teeth digging into his flesh as he cried out, his mouth next to her ear, his hands guiding her hips as he pumped upward and she rushed downward. The orgasm came, swift and heady, and just as she was about to call Armand's name, just as her face melted into a helpless expression of needy, helpless submission, Armand's eyes softened considerably and a small, indulgent smile touched his lips. Breathing heavily, Mia lifted her face from where she had buried it, too late, to hide it from him. She saw the look on his face and felt herself get wet all over again, and angry.
At least I didn't call his name. At least I didn't do that.
"Again?" Claude pressed his face to her heaving breasts, his lips against her skin, but she pulled away and shook her head, casting about for her clothes.
"No–“ She was breathless, clutching at her skirt and her blouse and finally turning to see that Claude had arranged himself.
"Another time, Claude," she said softly, and he nodded, a content expression on his face, and made his way toward the door. Just as he opened it, his back to the both of them, Mia turned to look at Armand, waiting for what was next, and felt her breath leave her.
He lifted his hand–as casually as if she were a waitress in a topless bar–and crooked his finger at her, drawing it to him twice, fluidly, as if to say that he had all the time in the world, and he did not doubt that she would make her way to him as soon as possible. He was right.
When she entered the lobby of his hotel, there was a bell boy to lead her to the express elevator, and once on it, she closed her eyes and waited until she reached her destination. The door to 2600 opened just as the elevator doors closed behind her, revealing her awaiting lover, who was without expression and still dressed in his suit, but without his shoes and socks, his tie, or his jacket. The top button of his white shirt was undone, and as she looked up at him, she thought that she wanted to slide her tongue into the little crevice that the starched white cloth made against his neck. Instead, she restrained herself, looking up at him as he closed the door.
"You were with a woman, weren't you, when I called?" Mia walked into the living room area and looked around, before turning to gaze back at him. "Or had just been."
"Yes, I was," he said, and he followed her over to the sliding glass windows that led out to his own swimming pool and patio. "She's the wife of a very prominent man. He has no idea that she's an exotic dancer, or that she has a thing for picking up men with lots of money and helping them live out their fantasies. That's her own fantasy. But I suppose that she does love him. She wouldn't dream of leaving him for Mona, as I suggested."
Mia threw a hard look at him, her eyes wide and cold, and stepped out of her short heels.
"You didn't have to tell me all that," she replied, unbuttoning the top few buttons of her blouse after setting her purse down on the couch. "It was a yes or no question."
He didn't answer her, only stood watching her several feet away as she turned to lean her bottom on the back of the couch. Mia balanced the palms of her hands on either side of her and shifted her weight to one leg. She stared down at her stockinged feet.
"You are getting pretty adventurous aren't you, Mia?" Armand asked finally, his voice very soft in the reverberating, air-conditioned silence of his hotel suite. "You think you're getting to be just as inventive as Mona, don't you?"
"Mona isn't inventive by choice," Mia said, looking up at him and noting how his face was beginning to show some expression. A cross between amusement and awakening lust. "It comes naturally. She does it because it's fun, and she does it when and where she wants to. I was nothing like Mona. I planned it. So it wasn't the same."
"Are you confessing?" He came closer, stood just before her, but she dropped her head again to stare at her feet and refused to look up at him. He smelled very good.
"I don't know. Do you want me to?"
He put his fingers on the tip of her chin and tilted it up, and then suddenly his tongue was thrusting against hers, making her moan deep in the back of her throat as he made love to her with cruel obstinance, his mouth hungry and selfish. But in his taking she was receiving exactly what she wanted.
After fighting with herself for several moments, Mia managed to yank herself away and stumble some feet from him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Now I know what you were talking about, you son of a bitch," she gasped, staring at him and wanting him the more she looked. His face went blank.
"What do you mean?" He sounded more like his gentle old self, more like the Armand she had first made love to in the green room of Mona's little castle in San Francisco.
"I mean 'the position' I'm putting myself into." His face began to show signs of consternation, but after an exertion of will, it went, for the most part, clear again. "I mean inviting the devil in, and none of 'this', whatever 'this' is–“ she waved her hand around in the air impatiently, "being your fault. I know what you were talking about."
"So?"
The raw honey of his eyes had long since disappeared, had begun to evaporate into pitch darkness only minutes after she'd come into the suite. She wanted those warm brown eyes again, but she found that she was irresistibly attracted to this dark side of her lover, this side that was cold and cruel, but just as passionate, if not more so, than the man she had first met.
"What was I talking about, then?" He asked finally, crossing his arms over his chest.
But she wouldn't face him on his terms. Instead, she turned on her heel and made her way to his bedroom. Having no other choice, he followed, and watched as she stripped unashamedly down to her underwear, the same underwear she'd been wearing in the window opposite the one she was standing near now. She walked toward the bed and stood waiting beside it.
Armand took the hint and came closer, but seeing the cruel expression in her eyes, he sank slowly to his knees, putting his hands on her hips, admiring the exquisite shape of her curves. She was too beautiful, far too beautiful a woman to be real. But she was ... and she was his ...
"You want to hurt me, don't you?" She asked it matter-of-factly, without hesitation, and he was stunned that she had understood so clearly, without any uncertainty.
"You blame me for making you feel emotions that you haven't felt before, or emotions that you've felt and learned to hate. You hate me for making you submit that night in San Francisco, and for manipulating you. You think I want to be like Mona, is that it? You think that I have control over you?"
He looked up at her, helpless, without words and without a defense for her true accusations.
"I'm putting myself in the position to get hurt. You think that it's my fault I'm here, not yours. You think I deserve it, to be punished, to be tortured."
Leaning down real close so that their eyelashes were nearly touching, Mia said softly, "Let me tell you something Mona taught me, Armand. In utter submission, there is power. I was learning that from her, and unwittingly trying to teach it to you that night in San Francisco. It gives you a high, did you know that? When you give everything you've got to give and you know you've won because of it? Nothing can hurt you then, Armand.
“If you understood that, this crazy brutality of yours wouldn't be all that's between us. There'd be more to enjoy, in giving and taking, if you'd see that and get over it. So what, I broke you. But you broke me! It's just as much your fault as it is mine. It takes two to fuck things up or get them right, you asshole!"
She pulled away from him and heard his heavy groan, watched him bow his head and press his face down into the carpet.
After several minutes he looked up at her.
"Christ, Mia," He sighed, his voice raw. It looked like he was going to cry. But he was more beautiful than ever. She couldn't tell if he would cry tears of joy, of defeat, or of rage. Maybe all three.
"So goddam beautiful and always right ... always right."
Finally, he stood up and began to undress, shrugging out of his clothes as if he were shedding skin, and when he stood naked, she saw that he'd been painfully aroused for what looked like a long time.
"My god, she didn't leave you in this state, did she?"
He nodded, a pained expression on his face. "I tried to fuck it out of her after you left. It just kept getting worse and worse and finally I just called her. But I ... she can't give me what I want." He reached out for her, and the heat of his body, strong enough to make her worry that perhaps his body temperature had more to do with illness than arousal, set her own on fire.
"And now you're here."
He took away her panties, pushing her down onto the bed, between the lower bedposts, and slid himself in so deeply that she cringed, the heat of his organ heating up her insides like an oven, to tens of degrees over its normal temperature, so that she gasped with her need for him, her own body turning as flushed and hot as his. With deep and greedy rocking motions Armand began to make love to her, his sex pumping rhythmically to a slow but steady pace, building up in force and speed over a short time until they were rocking the bed.
Every thrust drew a whoosh of air from the both of them, but the pleasure lasted, and lasted, and continued to ride through them for so long that Mia began to think it would never end, until finally, blessedly, Armand came, drawing her up to him and grinding his incredible cock into her so far that he stroked her G-spot, triggering another flux of tremors inside her. He held her to him as she fell to wave after wave of orgasm, his name on her lips with every breath she took until she collapsed, limp and soaked with perspiration and sexual juices, beneath him.
"I think you need to go to bed," he whispered in her ear, picking her up and lifting her up to the pillows, drawing the covers down and back before climbing in beside her. "I think I've worked you hard enough."
Mia stirred and opened her eyes, smiling tiredly up at him. The warm, honey brown eyes were back, a little darker maybe, smoldering with the hunger he seemed to have no lack of, but much more preferable to the dark murkiness of his more unpleasant side.
"Hardly enough," she murmured from the back of her throat, and she closed her eyes as he kissed her deeply, soundly, his hand trailing down beneath the covers to stir her back into excitement.