7. Lola

There are moments in your life that are so important that a “before” and an “after” are created, with reference to them.

Willow Rutherford came crashing into my life. Despite our very obvious differences, from the moment I felt her on my skin, I knew she was only supposed to taste me more. I left for our date nervous, but the second I saw Willow, I knew she was special and that I wanted her—and I am not the kind of woman to let opportunities slip me by. She was unsure, a confident woman out of her comfort zone. So I took the lead, flirted harder than I perhaps might normally, and pushed myself into her space to show her that what she wanted and what I wanted were the same. Because I knew she wanted me.

It is my job, after all, to read not the things that people say, which are often cloaked by darkness and music. And many words are left unspoken. Instead, I read their bodies, their actions, and the invitations they give away with their eyes without even knowing they are doing it. And Willow’s body was like a megaphone, hollering out exactly what she wanted. Her eyes showed nothing but hunger for me. And once she started to let go of her reservations, the words fell from her beautiful lips as well.

She surprised me sexually. And I don’t surprise easily.

Her words during our sex were so fucking hot. Willow didn’t yet realize that she wanted to really take control--to make me need her, want her, drown in her. And that is exactly what I wanted too.

Willow tasted like heaven to me. I’d have happily drowned in her.

Sleeping on her floor left me achy despite the luxurious floor coverings, however, and the sun was streaming in early, which I wasn’t mentally prepared for. I only see one “six o’clock” in a usual day, and it’s never the first one. But Willow’s body is stunning in the sunlight. Her pale skin is luminous in the morning light and her hair is all kinds of honeyed highlights in easy waves. Maybe a little messy, but not much. Even a post-sex Willow Rutherford who spent the night on the floor is very well put together.

Willow, it seems is an early riser, and the moment her lovely brownish gold eyes open they have a focus I’m envious of.

“Well, good morning, sleepy girl,” she says with a warm smile that makes my morning grumpiness fade in seconds. Her teeth are perfect. Not hollywood dazzling white, but a lovely natural shade of white with very neat alignment. I imagine that has something to do with an expensive cosmetic dentist. She is so very pretty.

“Is it morning? . . . I’ve never seen this mythical thing,” I say with a wry smile, as Willow laughs.

“I usually get up at six, but then I get to the office early, or work out--or you know, do things. I think maybe for this one morning, I could do fewer things.” I listen to Willow’s words, but am aware that her body is telling me more. Her hand reaches to touch me. Her nails are neatly manicured and french polished. Her hand is soft and her touch is gentle and intimate.

“I like fewer things,” I reply, but I can hear the little shift in my own voice. It’s almost thickening with want.

What is it about Willow Rutherford that is so enticing to me?

In my line of work, it would be easy to make assumptions that I often sleep with clients. Either for money or otherwise. I know that some of the girls do, but for me it couldn’t be further from the truth. Maybe it helps that most of my clients are men and I’m just not interested in men. I never have been.

Willow is the first. My first time meeting a client outside of the club. My first time sleeping with a client.

For all the sexual charge I have at work, most of my actual sex is solo. Had alone, at home.

Willow leans in slowly to kiss me, as though it is the most natural move in the world. As though we have kissed a million times before.

Her lips press against mine like I am made of glass. She is so sweet and delicate this morning.

So I give her a really delicate kiss back, super slow, soft, gentle and shy--but I make sure she can feel me linger before I pull away.

I want her to know that I like it.

God knows what this is between us, or where this is going. I’m no expert in one-night stands, but I’m sure that waking up and tenderly kissing the morning after sex isn’t the norm for a casual hook up.

Willow gives me a soft squeeze. I lean forward, resting against her, nuzzling into her. I feel desperate to be close to her and I know how much she craves me like this. “You can lean right here, baby. Okay?” she says, as she gives me another kiss back.

I nod seriously. Sitting exactly where Willow indicates, closing my eyes as she kisses me back, and letting my need wash over me. I feel safe in her arms. Very safe.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” she murmurs softly.

I nod again. I’m not sure I’ll be able to find words right now.

“It’s okay. Needy girls don’t need to talk, do they? And you are a very pretty, needy girl.” Willow is confident when she is with me. I never thought of myself as needy and submissive, yearning for a strong capable mommy type, yet here I am. And I like it.

Who is she?

I look up at her under my lashes, trying to find my thoughts, but they’re all jumbled up. I shake my head and don’t try to talk. I feel myself blush, my eyes lowering shyly as Willow says I’m pretty.

She strokes my cheek delicately with long, graceful fingers. “Oh, I think you might be a special one. So rare. So pretty. So special.” I look up into her eyes and I see the shift, the change within her, as she embraces this side of her. Effortlessly, I’m in the headspace where she needs me to be. A headspace I’ve never been in before. I feel so delicate and I shiver under every gentle touch, as though I might break. It feels like Willow could break me in a second, yet I am still so drawn to her. As her fingers stroke my cheek, I turn my head into her hand and give a tiny kiss, right against her palm.

Almost as if Willow can read my mind, as she tells me, “I could, but I won’t. I’ll never hurt you, I promise. I just want to make you feel good with my touch. It’s okay. I won’t shatter you. You’re far too beautiful to shatter.”

A little noise escapes my lips. I don’t recognize this sound . . . a cross between a whimper and a moan. I do feel good. So good. My lips kiss up her palm to her wrist, my tongue sweeping over her skin, feeling her pulse as I take a little taste of her.

“Taste good, baby?”

I nod fast. “You taste so good.”

“You’re so lucky. You can taste as much of me as you want.”

I am so lucky. I feel it, feel like it’s making me glow. I keep kissing up her arm. Sometimes just kisses . . . other times licks . . . and then light warm sucks.

All the time she is stroking me with soft, light touches.

I am barely wearing anything—only what she gave me to sleep in. A silky top with thin straps. Little shorts that match. All for bed . . . to feel safe and soft. But I want her touches under them. I edge the straps off my shoulders, shrugging them away and the camisole drops to my hips. I’m naked now from my hips up.

“Oh, such a needy baby.” Her hands stroke softly on my shoulders and then she strokes down over my breast.

I am needy. So needy. Every touch of hers makes me tremble. The stroke over my breast is so intense. Her fingers glide, following the curve of my breast. I can’t help it; I moan for her.

Willow’s hands go lower, inching their way toward the little shorts. Slowly, she works her hand under them. I am hyper-aware of everything. I can feel my own heart beating wildly. My panties are so wet, embarrassingly so, and I’m ashamed for her to know, so I try to close my thighs. But it’s too late. Her fingers are under my panties, pushing my legs apart. Willow touches my wetness and I melt into her touch.

My pussy is hidden away, but I feel so exposed. I have nowhere to hide as I sit exactly where she told me to. Against her, leaning into her. Her fingers begin to touch me, exploring my sex so slowly and gently with the same soft light touches that she has been using all along, and I completely lose my mind for her.

This is sex in a way I’ve never known it. It is sex in a way I’ve never known I’ve needed.

She continues to stroke me so nicely. “You do such a good job sitting still. So I will have to give you all those touches you crave so much,” she whispers softly to me, her voice so sweet and calming that I feel my whole body shiver in response.

My nipples are swollen and erect.

Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than to be her baby. I lean in, trying to hold in my moans as I give her the most delicate of kisses. I listen to her wet fingers stroking back and forth through my folds until they slowly slide inside of me. One finger and then two. She kisses me back and I think I might explode.

I need her so much. I need her more than anything else. Her fingers moving deep inside me make me feel full and as though I belong to her.

I moan into the kiss. I’m so close. So very close.

What the hell is happening to me? I’m usually strong and independent. I’m usually the one leading the sex. Yet here I am, completely vulnerable and coming apart at the touch of her fingers.

I could walk away and protect myself. The thought has crossed my mind more than once. But why would I ever want to when I’m only whole when you’re with me, inside me? Then the thoughts crash around in my head and consume me.

My whole body craves Willow. I know she can feel it, see it, and hear it as I start to push my hips toward her.

I want more.

I feel her add a third and fourth finger and curl them inside working them into me, seeking my G spot.

My lips rest against hers, parted. I’m no longer kissing, just giving her every single whimper, moan, gasp, and beg.

“Please . . . uh . . . Willow . . .”

“You feel so good . . .”

“I need you . . .”

“More . . . please . . . fill me . . .”

Her fingers work me so good as I find myself folding back into her arm. She is holding me relaxed in her left arm as her right hand works my body like a puppet.

She begins to fuck me now, finding the perfect rhythm effortlessly.

Willow seems to know exactly when to slow down, to draw me out, and when to quicken, to feed my ache. I’m shaking so hard, tightening around her fingers. I’m losing any control I’ve ever had.

I feel myself squirt around her fingers. Once. Twice. Three times.

I lose count.

Suddenly I feel more pushing inside of me. It is the rest of her hand.

It hurts for just a second as my body stretches open for her. Then her knuckles slide inside me and it feels suddenly very easy. I’ve just taken her whole hand inside me--and it feels easy.

I reach down and realize I can feel her wrist. Her whole hand is in me. She starts to move it slowly but surely, back and forth. I feel her knuckles against my G spot.

Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” she says and my eyes flicker open obediently.

Her eyes are flooded with the hunger she has for me and her pupils are wide with lust. She doesn’t take her gaze away from mine and I daren’t move mine from hers. We are locked together. In that moment, I never want us to be apart.

“I want to come for you,” I moan. I’m pleading.

“You can come for me, baby. Come with my whole hand inside you.”

“I want to belong to you,” I hear myself gasp between hurried breaths. I’m so close, but I’ve never come before without anything on my clitoris.

“You do. You are all mine,” Willow growls, fixing me with the intensity of her gaze. I know she means it.

And I explode.

My orgasm crashes through my body from the depths of my pussy to the tips of my fingers and toes. I feel it everywhere. I come, and I come, and I come some more.

I feel tears in my eyes. I’m crying as I feel my whole body curl up, still held by her, still with her hand deep inside me.

My mind is lost to her, making six a.m. my new favorite time of day.

I am an independent woman. I am very aware of my body and I exert control over it. I also use it to control others. I have done so for most of my adult life. And I have had great, amazing sex before. It’s not like I was finally discovering how good it could be.

But sex with Willow Rutherford isn’t within the normal realm of sex, either. Nor is it a BDSM power play of dominance. I don’t want or need to be physically restrained. The control Willow has over me is mental. It is in the way she edges my body. It is in the way she gives and pauses, teases and toys with me while filthy words drip from her lips like honey. I am a butterfly, addicted to her sweet, sweet nectar.

She is mommy-like in her sweet, gentle brand of dominance and care for me.

This has flipped a switch in me. It has helped my usually full head to feel empty and clear. I have a new lightness about me.

Willow would never need to tie me down. She could tell me to lie still and I wouldn’t move an inch.

Is it just a wild lustful affair? Honestly, right now I can’t tell, and I haven’t asked.

We both seem cautious of discussing the magic between us---as though by voicing it, we might accidentally burst the bubble of happiness we are in.

Willow and I have spent most of our time together naked in one way or another. And the second that sex isn’t in the air, the power dynamic between us shifts. I take control of the conversation, tease, and flirt. I’m confident and much more my usual self and Willow seems to settle into a softness that I’m not sure is her natural state but one still she feels comfortable in. I even saw her blush once or twice.

Many days blended into one. We have both sacrificed pretty much everything in our lives to spend time together. It is strange how quickly your life can entwine with another person’s, and in this case it is almost effortless.

Willow lives such a busy life that it makes me tired just to see her calendar. And I live a life of the night, rarely seeing the sunrise other than on a late walk home.

We live in different worlds, clearly. I haven’t asked about her family, but it is apparent that even though her job is well paid, there is another source of funding. Beyond that, there is a casual classiness to Willow that only seems to be there in the truly wealthy. She has an easy attitude toward money and spending, which seems to be the exclusive privilege of someone who has never had to worry about working or affording rent. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure someone like Willow has never rented anything. People like Willow buy things. Expensive things. Like her luxurious apartment and everything in it.

I’ve always had to worry about earning money and affording rent.

Don’t get me wrong. I do well financially. I make great money from tips and private dances. I am not struggling. But it wasn’t always this way. Money drives me. No-one else will pay for me if I don’t.

But despite our differences, we have effortlessly entwined ourselves with one another. One day we were two separate people, then in the way lesbians have done since the dawn of time (I imagine)—ever since that night we first had sex, we melted into one and have barely been apart since.

I sleep while she works, and I wake to messages of lust and longing. I catch Willow after her long days and we eat, laugh, and talk. And then usually we have sex once, twice, three times. However long we can fit in until I have to leave for the club.

Sometimes she’ll come to the club and watch me from her spot at the bar, her eyes on me. I can feel them. I dance for Willowe now. When she is there and even when she isn’t. I feel her hungry eyes on my body and I just want to please her.

I don’t mind taking my clothes off for men and their money. I never have. Luckily, Willow doesn’t seem to mind either. It is nothing but transactional and I enjoy that it doesn’t cause her insecurity. Willow Rutherford is very secure in every way. She loves watching me dance.

Everything builds until the moment I can have her again. But that’s the thing about it, it’s not just me having her. She has me too. We are both greedy and gluttonous in our need for each other.