His hand glided along the voluptuary curve of her ass as they peered from a dark corner of the lobby into the gift shop. The shopgirl was closing up the store for the night, straightening the shelves in the half-light of the dimmed fluorescents. She wore a long, thin pencil skirt, a loose-fitting blouse. Her raven black hair fell freely over her shoulders. She moved with the fluid, natural grace of the young.
She seemed fully unaware she was being watched.
– from Closing Time, by J G Cain
Serious Moonlight 9: Mindful is free on Amazon for two more days.
I’ve posted several excerpts from the story here previously, so feel free to look them up. For now, all I will add is that it’s about a couple trying to find the boundaries and limits of their desires. If a sensual path feel healthy and loving, they continue down that path. If it throws out mental red flags, they stop. So, amid all the graphic sex, not in just this story but in all the stories, I am trying to paint a picture of what that active sexual exploration looks like. Following your bliss while being mindful (the name of the story, after all, is Mindful) of your partner’s boundaries.
The sound of the ripping fishnet spurred him to take her violently, as if it were the aural key to some previously unlocked door. She felt the ripping mesh against her skin, each individual thread popping down the length of her leg, freeing her skin, and so much else.
She presented her ass to him. He thwapped it again, significantly harder this time. She responded with a sharp intake of breath.
The tenor of his voice changed. “Can I spank you harder?” he asked. They had never done this before. They didn’t know the rules. Maybe there were no rules.
Pause. “Yes,” she whispered.
He loved watching her put on her make-up in the mirror every morning. She applied it so expertly, so mindfully, so carefully. The result was modest, tasteful, immaculate. A mask.
He loved smearing her meticulously applied make-up all over her face during sex. Lipstick smudged recklessly. Messy trails of rouge and mascara marking her delicate skin.
Both were masks.
It was no-frills sex. No toys, no lingerie, no roleplay, no power exchange. They had shared a look in the car, a longer look in the hotel lobby, and in the elevator a fiery exchange of eye contact so incendiary that if that old lady with the dog had not been standing behind them they would have started right there.
When he remembered the moment years later, and he would, he would recall her expression as not even specifically sexual. He would remember the openness of her gaze, the complete lack of boundaries, the trust in knowing anything might happen next. It was the awestruck look of a child; it was the worshipful look of a parishioner deep in prayer. The look of an athlete milliseconds before the firing of the starting gun. The look of a girl about to receive her first kiss.
Their eyes locked. The air shimmered. The moon broke out into clear sky and moonlight spilled through the window, baptizing them.
And then he sneered and pulled the belt tight and the air went red and everything seemed to happen at once. He lifted her off the ground with the belt, kissing her roughly as she gasped and choked and moaned, biting at her lips and tongue. He lowered her back to the ground.
It was a no-frills fuck, and it didn’t last long. She walked into the room, turned and flopped backwards onto the bed, a dirty smile ricocheting across her face. He leaped headlong onto her as if swan-diving into a pool. Not a single piece of clothing was entirely removed. His pants were around his knees; her skirt was hiked up to the waist. She tore open his shirt, buttons flying like popcorn. He took the time to actually unbutton her blouse only because it was one of her favorites, fashion temporarily trumping the extra few seconds lost in fumbling with the buttonholes.
– from J G Cain’s The Gravity of Desire
“Oh my God, Amazon sells sex toys?” she asked.
“Well, stockings aren’t exactly sex toys,” he responded.
“No. Look at the bottom of the page. Where the ‘People who bought these items also bought…’ is.”
He looked to the bottom of the page. Crotchless panties. Chemises. Peek-a-boo bras.
She squealed. “Oh my God, they have vibrators!”
“…and they’re in the Health, Household and Baby Care department!”
They both laughed.
They jumped into the virtual rabbit hole after that, following random sexual links to vibrating eggs, beads, nipple clamps, wrist restraints. They described what they found, sent each other links, filled their virtual shopping carts with toys and apparel. Most of the time the items were more silly than hot – plastic toy handcuffs, cheap pleather BDSM kits – but occasionally an item would tinder a sexual spark.
While browsing the bondage section of the store (though helpfully still within the Health, Household and Baby Care department) they both clicked on the same page at the same time. The page displayed a red, handcrafted leather collar with careful white stitching and a faux fur lining. A red leather chain-link leash matched the collar. The phone line went silent, both of them hushed by desire. Underlying the silence lurked the cellular hum of their connection.