The blotter

I was still at the bench when Julien came in. Unlabeled bottles, blotter strips, the black silk blouse. One shoe off because my foot had gotten restless. I am thirty-one. He is thirty-nine. I had told him to come after the distillations were done. He shut the door. I did not turn around at once. I wanted him to see the bare foot on the rung and wait for my voice.

Julien, I said. Kneel by the bench. He did. Take the bare foot. Kiss the arch. Do not touch anything on the table. His mouth found the sole. Warm. I kept my eyes on a blotter so I would not rush. Tell me when you want more, he said. I want your tongue slower, and I want you to say my name against the skin. He did. Anouk, into the arch. My nipples tightened under the silk. My cunt tightened with them.

Now the toes, I said. One at a time. He obeyed. The sound of his breath was louder than the street. I opened my knees on the stool. Put your hand on my knee. Higher when I say higher. Now higher. His palm slid under the skirt. I was bare under it. I heard him realize. I said, yes, I planned that. Rub my clit with two fingers. Keep kissing my foot. My cunt is right there.

He did both, and I talked him through it. Circles. Slower. Do not stop the mouth. I came with my hand braced beside the bottles, careful, voice breaking into a plain oh, my cunt pulsing on his fingers. Then I stood, turned, and bent over the clear end of the bench. I said, fuck my cunt. Hands on my hips. His cock filled my cunt and he fucked me. I moaned at the stretch. The silk stuck to my back. Kiss my ankle if you can reach, I said. He folded enough to do it and kept fucking me.

I told him the pace until the pace told me. Faster. There. I came again, saying his name because I wanted it in the room. Cum in my cunt, Julien. I want to smell like skin after, not only citrus. He came deep, a low sound into my shoulder. After, he put the shoe on and washed his hands before he touched a bottle. I wanted him in my kitchen next. He came to the kitchen.