Give Me My Sin Again (2/2)
Title: Give Me My Sin Again
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Beta: Amadi
Fandom: Lotrips
Pairing: Cate Blanchett/Miranda Otto
Rating: NC-17
Kinks: Leather fetish, D/s
Word Count: 12,122
The light is low, Cate's lips pressed to the arch of Miranda's foot as her hands skim up a bare leg. The side of her hand connects with Miranda's clit in a steady press, fingertips still clenching the toned muscle within their reach.
"Ngh," Miranda moans as Cate's wrist twists and her fourth and pinkie finger press in, stretching Miranda's knickers and letting the warm sticky stain spread outward across the fabric.
"Beautiful," Cate whispers, holding Miranda's gaze as she moves up and bites a nipple through the gathered fabric of Miranda's dress.
"Miss!" Miranda cries, clutching the sofa cushions hard.
"Hmm," Cate replies with a cheeky grin, licking the fabric and then nuzzling into Miranda's décolletage. "Does this make Mirry wet? Pretty little girl."
Miranda gasps at Cate's obscenities, but licks her fingers easily just the same when they're offered, trailing her tongue down into the webs between them and up around the manicured nails.
"My precious little treat. I could just eat you up," Cate purrs, trailing her spit-slick fingers down the side of Miranda's neck. "Hike your dress up. Show me your pussy."
Miranda blushes crimson, but she does as she's told, pulling the fabric up to her waist and lifting one leg up, knee hooking over the low back of the couch, the other foot falling to the floor. Cate purrs with pleasure and shoves a pillow under Miranda's arse, then grabs her knickers and just pulls, hard enough to imprint little pink ridges in Miranda's skin, hard enough to rip the fabric and expose most of her vulva and part of her arse. Miranda gasps and Cate grins, shoving two fingers up inside Miranda's already dripping folds.
"Oh, darling," Cate murmurs, in the sympathetic tone of voice a schoolteacher might use with an embarrassed student. "You've got a little flood down here." Miranda whimpers, and of course Cate's words don't help. "Hmm, sweet little pussy's causing a flood, just can't help it, my naughty little princess. Say you're sorry, pretty girl," she says as she twists her fingers and curls them up at the same time, jabbing into the spongey little concentration of tissue that makes Miranda's back arch and a groan escape her lips.
"I'm sorry, Miss."
"And why are you sorry, my pretty little princess?"
"For… making a mess, Miss?"
"Hmm. No. Miss likes messes, pretty. I think you're sorry that you can't have more just yet. Isn't that right, my greedy little girl?"
"Oh, yes, Miss."
"Does my precious little slut want my cock?"
"Yes, yes, Miss!"
"Hmm. No." Cate withdraws her fingers, and Miranda's pussy closes up behind her with a faint wet sound. Miranda blushes heavily, and then Cate slides one slick finger into her arse.
"Oh God!" she groans, her voice finding a deeper tenor, her body twitching in unexpected pleasure.
"Oh, that's just lovely," Cate murmurs, bending down and giving Miranda's pubic bone, still covered by the torn fabric, a kiss. "My little girl likes having it up the bum, does she?"
Miranda's blush only intensifies. "I… I don't know, Miss."
"Well then, my pretty girl," Cate says, reaching behind the couch with her other hand and producing two items-an all-leather gag and a leather blindfold-then depositing them on Miranda's chest. "You'll find out. Put those on for me."
Miranda whimpers again, doing the gag first, finding the place to bite and doing the buckle with trembling fingers. It pushes her tongue back a bit, but not so much that she can't lick, can't taste. She does so as she fastens the blindfold, blocking out Cate's sultry, deviant smile.
"Oh, my girl is a precious little treat indeed. Imagine what I'm seeing, girl. Dress hiked up, legs splayed, blindfolded and gagged in matching leather, panties ripped, finger up your arse. Oops-two fingers," she teases, pushing the other one up inside her, still wet with her own lubrication. Miranda moans into the gag, feeling the vibrations through the stretch of her mouth.
"That's my slut," Cate murmurs, and she pushes four fingers-the other hand, Miranda figures out after a moment of confusion, up inside Miranda's pussy, the thumb pressing hard down on her fleshy mound. She shrieks, but the sound is muffled, and she feels herself expand around Cate's fingers, her arse clenching down on the other two. "If you need a safeword, grab my hair," Cate instructs. "Otherwise," she continues, her voice thick with deviousness, "this doesn't stop."
Miranda shakes her head frantically. No, no, she doesn't want it to stop. Without her sight, she's zeroed in on touch and smell and taste, leather overwhelming her senses, and Cate reaping the benefits of her arousal. Her body blooms around Cate's fingers, expands, and she feels like she could take a fist in each end at this point, her muscles knowing no limits. Cate closes her teeth over the remaining fabric of Miranda's knickers, and tugs gently, pulling at her pubic hair. Miranda cries out again, and her hips still for the moment, but it doesn't matter. Cate keeps slowly fucking her with the two fingers, beckoning with the four, a steady sweeping, curling, pressing motion. Miranda cries out and comes around them and Cate keeps going, exploiting her trembling body, her sopping wet cunt. Miranda feels the gentle sweep of a tongue around her sensitive, throbbing clit, and hears the lapping sound of Cate licking her own palm. But she doesn't stop, and Miranda's body weakly approaches another peak.
"Look at my exhausted little girl," Cate coos. "Taking most of my hand, taking my fingers, coming because I want her to. You won't stop, darling. Not while your body can keep going," she warns, circling the fingers in Miranda's arse, stretching the tight hole. "I love it when sweet girls want to beg, but they can't. You'll just keep drooling and biting down around that warm leather gag, and it'll set your clit on fire even though you don't want it to, even though you think you want to rest. I know you already, baby, I know what you'll ask for. You're afraid of what you want, but you love it, don't you? You crave it. So part of you wants to say no, but stretch of your mouth, and the spread of your cunt tells me, yes, yes, yes." Miranda comes, hard, almost unable to hear what Cate says over the squealing plea of her muffled cries. "It says something to me, Mirry. It says Miss, please, please. Give me my sin again."
And so, Cate does.
~*~
"Find anything interesting?" Cate asks, smiling as she walks into the small, private library off of her bedroom. It was supposed to be one of a set of his-and-hers walk-in closets, but instead Cate keeps three tall cases of books, separate from the larger library downstairs, with a space just big enough to walk through in the center. It's here Miranda is curled up, back to one shelf, a book in her lap. Her whole vuvla, and her arse, are throbbing, even though it's been a few hours since the scene ended. Four orgasms under Cate's hands, and then another with a leather truncheon before Cate allowed Miranda to bring her off and finish the scene. Cate passes a re-filled water bottle down, then slides onto the carpet next to her, pulling Miranda's head to her chest, stroking her hair.
"It's very pretty, Miss," Miranda says, showing Cate what she's looking at. It's an erotic photography book, all shibari, all women.
"Ah, yes, it is. It's quite an art form."
"Do you know how to do it?"
"No, but one can learn," Cate says, sliding her finger down the spine of another shibari book, this one an instruction manual with pen-and-ink pictures. "There are also classes for that kind of thing."
"Classes?" Miranda exclaims, and Cate laughs, touching her finger to Miranda's lips.
"Yes, lovely. Classes. We aren't the only ones, you know."
Miranda blushes. "But who teaches them?"
"A few people. There's a Mistress in Sydney who does quite a few, and two men that I know of elsewhere in New South Wales. Sometimes there will be a conference, with workshops, or someone passing through. There's more in the States and in Europe, but we do all right."
"Wow. I had no idea."
"Hmm. Where there is perversion, commercial interests will come."
"Where did you get all these books? There are so many."
Cate laughs. "Well, I'm a publisher, lovely girl. I like books. Some of them I found in shops, most online. I keep an eye on the market. Did you see the fiction?"
"Oh, no, not yet."
"Hmm. You might like some of these," she suggests, handing over a collection of kinky lesbian erotica. "Why don't you borrow it? Read some bedtime stories. And describe to me later what you did to yourself. In detail," she says, tone sharpening just a little. Miranda shivers.
"I'd like that."
Cate smiles and pulls Miranda's hair back from her face, kissing her cheek. "I thought you might, sweet."
"Was… it good, then?" Miranda asks a little uncertainly, sipping her water. "You think this might work?"
Cate breathes deeply, but she keeps Miranda's head pressed against her chest, holding her close. "I think it might."
~*~
Miranda feels eyes on her back, but it doesn't stop her. She slowly lifts from the chest, her arms over her head sweeping an arc as she moves up from the floor, gradually reaching a vertical position. Her legs are stretched in a near-horizontal split, flexibility only starting to wane with age. Her fingers reach skyward as her head tilts gently back, focus lifting her upper body away from her pelvis and then slowly to the right, pinkie finger guiding until her nose touches her knee. She feels the stretch in her legs and back, but she cannot remove awareness from the dull soreness in her arse, from her pussy. Memories of last night flood her knickers underneath the loose yoga pants, and a blush fills her cheeks.
She stretches again through her fingers, reaching past her toes, and lifts back to vertical, twisting and slowly stretching back down over the left leg. She sees Cate out of the corner of her eye, curled up on the sofa with her tea, but she doesn't look. She's determined to show Cate that the girl won't subsume the self, that they can do this right. Still, there's an urge to curl up at Cate's feet that she has to quell.
When she finishes her stretches, Miranda curls into a ball on her back, grasping her knees, eyes closed, rolling gently back and forth and rocking side to side to massage her spine. After a minute, she rises to her feet and goes to pour a cup of tea. She dithers for a moment in front of the sofa and then chooses to sit down next to Cate, albeit with her head resting against Cate's shoulder. Cate smiles and reaches across with her hand to stroke Miranda's hair.
"How do you feel?"
"Mm, better. Bit sore."
"Here?" Cate asks, resting her hand on Miranda's knee.
"Noo," Miranda replies, her voice light and teasing.
"Here?" Cate repeats, smile in her voice as her fingers trail up between Miranda's thighs, pressing evenly against her.
"Yes."
"Mm, I thought so. Drink your tea before it gets cold."
Miranda smiles and sips, and Cate withdraws her hand, stroking Miranda's ankle instead. "I have an idea," Miranda says after a moment, cupping her teacup in both hands, drawing warmth from the glazed ceramic.
"Yes?"
"I'd like to have a date night. Once a week, maybe Fridays."
"That sounds nice. And what would we do on our date night?"
"I don't know. Anything. Just… date night is for us. Some time to set aside for our relationship. I think maybe your relationships became stifling in the past because there was too much time taken up by the role you felt you had to occupy. I don't want that to happen to us."
"You're a smart girl," Cate says teasingly, rubbing a finger over Miranda's lips. "All right. We'll try a date night, then."
"Good. And maybe I can call you Miss when we're in private, but it doesn't have to mean that I'm not still me, you know? We could have a signal, to indicate that we're doing a scene."
"All right," Cate agrees. "What about… you can call me Miss anytime, but when we're not in scene, I'll call you Miranda, or Mirry. If I say girl, that's a scene signal, or at least means that I'd like to spend some time with you behaving as my girl. And if it's not really not a good time for you, you tell me."
"Yes, that's good. I can remember that."
"Good," Cate replies, falling silent again and stroking her hair, then her hip. They sit in companionable silence until Miranda's stomach growls, and Cate laughs, rising to her feet. "What would you like? Eggs? Bacon?"
"Oh, I don't know about bacon," Miranda replies with a little laugh. "An egg on toast?"
"Very well, my beautiful danseuse," Cate teases, kissing Miranda's forehead when she stands up, pressing her hands to the sides of Miranda's face. "And fruit, I think. There's a melon and some strawberries in the fridge, if you'd like to get them out."
Miranda nods and follows Cate to the kitchen, washing the strawberries in their plastic carton and dumping them all in a bowl, then slicing the melon carefully, Cate's chef's knife gleaming and sharp.
"Don't be so cautious," Cate says with a little laugh as she turns a burner on under the pan and knocks a pat of butter into it with her knife. "The sharper the knife, the better it cuts," she says, tucking a tendril of hair behind Miranda's ear and kissing it gently. "Less likely to slip."
"Hmm. Still."
Cate smiles and shakes her head. "Do as you wish," she teases, slicing half a loaf of crusty Italian bread and putting the slices in the toaster once the pan's hot.
"Where did you learn to cook?" Miranda asks, arranging the melon slices on a plate and wiping down the cutting board.
"At home. Geni was always out with some boy, and our parents were busy, so I'd have a craving for something and figure out how to make it. We had a few cookbooks in the house, and I'd go to the library and pick up more, copy out the recipes by hand."
Miranda smiles at the thought of little Cate, library card in hand, intent on learning how to make coque au vin or beef bourgignon. "Did your parents not mind your messing up the kitchen?"
"Ah, they could care less," Cate says with a hint of bitterness, sliding her spatula under each egg and letting it flap down onto a slice of toast. "As long as I fixed mum her four 'o clock martini, as long as dad had his friends and cigars and brandy, the world revolved ever on."
"They must be proud of your success."
"They must," Cate murmurs ironically, putting the plates on the table and taking a seat. "Here, eat up while it's hot."
Miranda does as she's told, biting into the chewy bread and egg and butter, moaning a little at the taste. She lets the subject drop, though she doesn't rule out a bit of prying later. "Do you have a lot of work to do this week?"
Cate shrugs. "There's a cycle. I'm less involved in the day-to-day operations now, more in the last minute approvals-budget, manuscripts, staff. It's a bit drab, but someone has to do it."
Miranda laughs. "I don't think I'd like your job very much," she admits. "But it's a good thing you've built."
"Hmm, indeed. An enterprise that I don't get to enjoy," Cate says with a laugh. "I do read our books, though. That's something in it for me."
"Do you have a favourite author?"
"Of ours?"
"No, anyone."
"I'm in love with Adrienne Rich, if you're counting poetry. I like something slow, sensual… Nabokov, Pablo Neruda… have you read Like Water for Chocolate?"
Miranda laughs. "An appropriate favourite for a foodie. Do you like Proust?"
"Hmm. Perhaps madeleines aren't for me," Cate teases. "I do adore Virginia Woolf."
"Oh, who doesn't?"
"What about you? What do you like?"
"Me? Oh, I don't know. I read a lot of crappy mysteries, these days. I used to adore Dostoevsky, back when I was smart. In school."
Cate smiles. "There are different kinds of smart. You're very intuitive."
"Am I?"
"Yes. Any fool could see that."
"Well, then. If only intuition paid the bills."
Cate shakes her head, sipping at her second cup of tea. "Do you like your job? The teaching?"
"I do. I wouldn't want children full time, but I enjoy working with them, most of the time. Sometimes it gets old, and I like doing master classes, working with adults. It's hard to stay motivated and in shape when all you're doing is chasée-ing around the room with eight-year olds."
"I can imagine. Do you miss the ballet?"
"Of course. But in a way… it's long hours, stressful on the body, and when you reach a certain age, constant injuries. It's a luxury to be able to take care of my body, rather than slowly destroying it."
"It's a body worth taking care of," Cate says with a little flirtatious grin, leaning forward and reaching under the table to skim her fingertips up the inside of Miranda's calf and knee and thigh. Miranda blushes a rosy pink and nibbles at a melon slice.
~*~
"Right then, Gen, you remember Miranda," Michael says as his wife comes over, resting his hand at her lower back.
"Of course. So good to see you again, Miranda. I understand you and my sister have become friends recently."
"Oh, yes," Miranda replies, hoping her blush isn't visible. "Quite. She's an outstanding woman."
"Indeed she is. And around here someplace, I believe."
"Ah, I'm sure I'll find her eventually," Miranda says, nibbling a canapé. "Congratulations on your anniversary."
"Thank you so much. We're so pleased you could come. Michael, could I borrow you in the kitchen for a moment?"
"Of course. Enjoy the party, Miranda."
"I will," Miranda agrees, accepting his two-cheek kiss and then weaving her way among the partygoers scattered around Cate's back patio and lawn. A few young women, younger members of the ballet corps, are dangling their legs in the pool, and they wave, recognizing her. She doesn't stop, though, seeing a shadow in an upstairs window. Smiling deviously to herself, she sneaks up the staircase when no one is looking and makes her way to Cate's bedroom, slipping out of her high-heeled shoes for a moment's reprieve, Cate's thick carpeting heaven on the soles of her feet. "You'll be missed, soon. Miss," Miranda adds, giggling as she winds her arms around Cate's waist. "What're you doing up here?"
"Mm. Waiting to see if I'd be missed," Cate replies, smiling and brushing her lips over Miranda's. "I wanted a moment alone with you. Parties can be so fucking stifling."
Miranda coos sympathetically and winds her arms around Cate's waist, kissing her neck. "It's all right, Miss. It'll all be over soon, and tonight when they all leave I'll sneak back in and take care of you. I give a halfway decent massage."
"Oh? That sounds fabulous."
"Mm-hmm. And I'll give you a bath and tuck you in," Miranda teases. "You're having the cleaners in tomorrow, aren't you?"
"God, yes. I'd never get through the detritus myself. And the caterers will do their part."
"Mm. The food's good. But not as good as yours."
"No, of course not," Cate teases, brushing her finger over Miranda's mouth. "From my hand to your lips."
"Always the sweetest way," Miranda mumbles, sucking gently on a fingertip. "Go ahead down first. I'll follow in a few minutes."
"All right. Thank you," Cate adds, lifting Miranda's hand and kissing her knuckles. "For not minding the secrecy."
"Oh, it's all right. It's a very nice secret to have," Miranda replies, smiling. "And delicious to know that I have you all to myself."
"That is delicious, isn't it?" Cate murmurs, pressing Miranda's slender hand to her chest. "Right here. Do you doubt that?"
"No, Miss. Not the way you show me."
Cate smiles, and the look on her face before she leaves the bedroom convinces Miranda that she is happy. She smiles and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning back and splaying her limbs, turning her face to the side and feeling Egyptian cotton against her cheek. She smells sex and perfume and the lingering hint of Cate and herself. She curls up then, into a ball, surrounded by the fabric of her skirt, and closes her eyes.
To belong, Miranda decides-to find the missing slot for one's own unique puzzle piece-is the most extravagant feeling in the world. She stretches again, and rolls from side to side, and she smiles.
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Beta: Amadi
Fandom: Lotrips
Pairing: Cate Blanchett/Miranda Otto
Rating: NC-17
Kinks: Leather fetish, D/s
Word Count: 12,122
The light is low, Cate's lips pressed to the arch of Miranda's foot as her hands skim up a bare leg. The side of her hand connects with Miranda's clit in a steady press, fingertips still clenching the toned muscle within their reach.
"Ngh," Miranda moans as Cate's wrist twists and her fourth and pinkie finger press in, stretching Miranda's knickers and letting the warm sticky stain spread outward across the fabric.
"Beautiful," Cate whispers, holding Miranda's gaze as she moves up and bites a nipple through the gathered fabric of Miranda's dress.
"Miss!" Miranda cries, clutching the sofa cushions hard.
"Hmm," Cate replies with a cheeky grin, licking the fabric and then nuzzling into Miranda's décolletage. "Does this make Mirry wet? Pretty little girl."
Miranda gasps at Cate's obscenities, but licks her fingers easily just the same when they're offered, trailing her tongue down into the webs between them and up around the manicured nails.
"My precious little treat. I could just eat you up," Cate purrs, trailing her spit-slick fingers down the side of Miranda's neck. "Hike your dress up. Show me your pussy."
Miranda blushes crimson, but she does as she's told, pulling the fabric up to her waist and lifting one leg up, knee hooking over the low back of the couch, the other foot falling to the floor. Cate purrs with pleasure and shoves a pillow under Miranda's arse, then grabs her knickers and just pulls, hard enough to imprint little pink ridges in Miranda's skin, hard enough to rip the fabric and expose most of her vulva and part of her arse. Miranda gasps and Cate grins, shoving two fingers up inside Miranda's already dripping folds.
"Oh, darling," Cate murmurs, in the sympathetic tone of voice a schoolteacher might use with an embarrassed student. "You've got a little flood down here." Miranda whimpers, and of course Cate's words don't help. "Hmm, sweet little pussy's causing a flood, just can't help it, my naughty little princess. Say you're sorry, pretty girl," she says as she twists her fingers and curls them up at the same time, jabbing into the spongey little concentration of tissue that makes Miranda's back arch and a groan escape her lips.
"I'm sorry, Miss."
"And why are you sorry, my pretty little princess?"
"For… making a mess, Miss?"
"Hmm. No. Miss likes messes, pretty. I think you're sorry that you can't have more just yet. Isn't that right, my greedy little girl?"
"Oh, yes, Miss."
"Does my precious little slut want my cock?"
"Yes, yes, Miss!"
"Hmm. No." Cate withdraws her fingers, and Miranda's pussy closes up behind her with a faint wet sound. Miranda blushes heavily, and then Cate slides one slick finger into her arse.
"Oh God!" she groans, her voice finding a deeper tenor, her body twitching in unexpected pleasure.
"Oh, that's just lovely," Cate murmurs, bending down and giving Miranda's pubic bone, still covered by the torn fabric, a kiss. "My little girl likes having it up the bum, does she?"
Miranda's blush only intensifies. "I… I don't know, Miss."
"Well then, my pretty girl," Cate says, reaching behind the couch with her other hand and producing two items-an all-leather gag and a leather blindfold-then depositing them on Miranda's chest. "You'll find out. Put those on for me."
Miranda whimpers again, doing the gag first, finding the place to bite and doing the buckle with trembling fingers. It pushes her tongue back a bit, but not so much that she can't lick, can't taste. She does so as she fastens the blindfold, blocking out Cate's sultry, deviant smile.
"Oh, my girl is a precious little treat indeed. Imagine what I'm seeing, girl. Dress hiked up, legs splayed, blindfolded and gagged in matching leather, panties ripped, finger up your arse. Oops-two fingers," she teases, pushing the other one up inside her, still wet with her own lubrication. Miranda moans into the gag, feeling the vibrations through the stretch of her mouth.
"That's my slut," Cate murmurs, and she pushes four fingers-the other hand, Miranda figures out after a moment of confusion, up inside Miranda's pussy, the thumb pressing hard down on her fleshy mound. She shrieks, but the sound is muffled, and she feels herself expand around Cate's fingers, her arse clenching down on the other two. "If you need a safeword, grab my hair," Cate instructs. "Otherwise," she continues, her voice thick with deviousness, "this doesn't stop."
Miranda shakes her head frantically. No, no, she doesn't want it to stop. Without her sight, she's zeroed in on touch and smell and taste, leather overwhelming her senses, and Cate reaping the benefits of her arousal. Her body blooms around Cate's fingers, expands, and she feels like she could take a fist in each end at this point, her muscles knowing no limits. Cate closes her teeth over the remaining fabric of Miranda's knickers, and tugs gently, pulling at her pubic hair. Miranda cries out again, and her hips still for the moment, but it doesn't matter. Cate keeps slowly fucking her with the two fingers, beckoning with the four, a steady sweeping, curling, pressing motion. Miranda cries out and comes around them and Cate keeps going, exploiting her trembling body, her sopping wet cunt. Miranda feels the gentle sweep of a tongue around her sensitive, throbbing clit, and hears the lapping sound of Cate licking her own palm. But she doesn't stop, and Miranda's body weakly approaches another peak.
"Look at my exhausted little girl," Cate coos. "Taking most of my hand, taking my fingers, coming because I want her to. You won't stop, darling. Not while your body can keep going," she warns, circling the fingers in Miranda's arse, stretching the tight hole. "I love it when sweet girls want to beg, but they can't. You'll just keep drooling and biting down around that warm leather gag, and it'll set your clit on fire even though you don't want it to, even though you think you want to rest. I know you already, baby, I know what you'll ask for. You're afraid of what you want, but you love it, don't you? You crave it. So part of you wants to say no, but stretch of your mouth, and the spread of your cunt tells me, yes, yes, yes." Miranda comes, hard, almost unable to hear what Cate says over the squealing plea of her muffled cries. "It says something to me, Mirry. It says Miss, please, please. Give me my sin again."
And so, Cate does.
~*~
"Find anything interesting?" Cate asks, smiling as she walks into the small, private library off of her bedroom. It was supposed to be one of a set of his-and-hers walk-in closets, but instead Cate keeps three tall cases of books, separate from the larger library downstairs, with a space just big enough to walk through in the center. It's here Miranda is curled up, back to one shelf, a book in her lap. Her whole vuvla, and her arse, are throbbing, even though it's been a few hours since the scene ended. Four orgasms under Cate's hands, and then another with a leather truncheon before Cate allowed Miranda to bring her off and finish the scene. Cate passes a re-filled water bottle down, then slides onto the carpet next to her, pulling Miranda's head to her chest, stroking her hair.
"It's very pretty, Miss," Miranda says, showing Cate what she's looking at. It's an erotic photography book, all shibari, all women.
"Ah, yes, it is. It's quite an art form."
"Do you know how to do it?"
"No, but one can learn," Cate says, sliding her finger down the spine of another shibari book, this one an instruction manual with pen-and-ink pictures. "There are also classes for that kind of thing."
"Classes?" Miranda exclaims, and Cate laughs, touching her finger to Miranda's lips.
"Yes, lovely. Classes. We aren't the only ones, you know."
Miranda blushes. "But who teaches them?"
"A few people. There's a Mistress in Sydney who does quite a few, and two men that I know of elsewhere in New South Wales. Sometimes there will be a conference, with workshops, or someone passing through. There's more in the States and in Europe, but we do all right."
"Wow. I had no idea."
"Hmm. Where there is perversion, commercial interests will come."
"Where did you get all these books? There are so many."
Cate laughs. "Well, I'm a publisher, lovely girl. I like books. Some of them I found in shops, most online. I keep an eye on the market. Did you see the fiction?"
"Oh, no, not yet."
"Hmm. You might like some of these," she suggests, handing over a collection of kinky lesbian erotica. "Why don't you borrow it? Read some bedtime stories. And describe to me later what you did to yourself. In detail," she says, tone sharpening just a little. Miranda shivers.
"I'd like that."
Cate smiles and pulls Miranda's hair back from her face, kissing her cheek. "I thought you might, sweet."
"Was… it good, then?" Miranda asks a little uncertainly, sipping her water. "You think this might work?"
Cate breathes deeply, but she keeps Miranda's head pressed against her chest, holding her close. "I think it might."
~*~
Miranda feels eyes on her back, but it doesn't stop her. She slowly lifts from the chest, her arms over her head sweeping an arc as she moves up from the floor, gradually reaching a vertical position. Her legs are stretched in a near-horizontal split, flexibility only starting to wane with age. Her fingers reach skyward as her head tilts gently back, focus lifting her upper body away from her pelvis and then slowly to the right, pinkie finger guiding until her nose touches her knee. She feels the stretch in her legs and back, but she cannot remove awareness from the dull soreness in her arse, from her pussy. Memories of last night flood her knickers underneath the loose yoga pants, and a blush fills her cheeks.
She stretches again through her fingers, reaching past her toes, and lifts back to vertical, twisting and slowly stretching back down over the left leg. She sees Cate out of the corner of her eye, curled up on the sofa with her tea, but she doesn't look. She's determined to show Cate that the girl won't subsume the self, that they can do this right. Still, there's an urge to curl up at Cate's feet that she has to quell.
When she finishes her stretches, Miranda curls into a ball on her back, grasping her knees, eyes closed, rolling gently back and forth and rocking side to side to massage her spine. After a minute, she rises to her feet and goes to pour a cup of tea. She dithers for a moment in front of the sofa and then chooses to sit down next to Cate, albeit with her head resting against Cate's shoulder. Cate smiles and reaches across with her hand to stroke Miranda's hair.
"How do you feel?"
"Mm, better. Bit sore."
"Here?" Cate asks, resting her hand on Miranda's knee.
"Noo," Miranda replies, her voice light and teasing.
"Here?" Cate repeats, smile in her voice as her fingers trail up between Miranda's thighs, pressing evenly against her.
"Yes."
"Mm, I thought so. Drink your tea before it gets cold."
Miranda smiles and sips, and Cate withdraws her hand, stroking Miranda's ankle instead. "I have an idea," Miranda says after a moment, cupping her teacup in both hands, drawing warmth from the glazed ceramic.
"Yes?"
"I'd like to have a date night. Once a week, maybe Fridays."
"That sounds nice. And what would we do on our date night?"
"I don't know. Anything. Just… date night is for us. Some time to set aside for our relationship. I think maybe your relationships became stifling in the past because there was too much time taken up by the role you felt you had to occupy. I don't want that to happen to us."
"You're a smart girl," Cate says teasingly, rubbing a finger over Miranda's lips. "All right. We'll try a date night, then."
"Good. And maybe I can call you Miss when we're in private, but it doesn't have to mean that I'm not still me, you know? We could have a signal, to indicate that we're doing a scene."
"All right," Cate agrees. "What about… you can call me Miss anytime, but when we're not in scene, I'll call you Miranda, or Mirry. If I say girl, that's a scene signal, or at least means that I'd like to spend some time with you behaving as my girl. And if it's not really not a good time for you, you tell me."
"Yes, that's good. I can remember that."
"Good," Cate replies, falling silent again and stroking her hair, then her hip. They sit in companionable silence until Miranda's stomach growls, and Cate laughs, rising to her feet. "What would you like? Eggs? Bacon?"
"Oh, I don't know about bacon," Miranda replies with a little laugh. "An egg on toast?"
"Very well, my beautiful danseuse," Cate teases, kissing Miranda's forehead when she stands up, pressing her hands to the sides of Miranda's face. "And fruit, I think. There's a melon and some strawberries in the fridge, if you'd like to get them out."
Miranda nods and follows Cate to the kitchen, washing the strawberries in their plastic carton and dumping them all in a bowl, then slicing the melon carefully, Cate's chef's knife gleaming and sharp.
"Don't be so cautious," Cate says with a little laugh as she turns a burner on under the pan and knocks a pat of butter into it with her knife. "The sharper the knife, the better it cuts," she says, tucking a tendril of hair behind Miranda's ear and kissing it gently. "Less likely to slip."
"Hmm. Still."
Cate smiles and shakes her head. "Do as you wish," she teases, slicing half a loaf of crusty Italian bread and putting the slices in the toaster once the pan's hot.
"Where did you learn to cook?" Miranda asks, arranging the melon slices on a plate and wiping down the cutting board.
"At home. Geni was always out with some boy, and our parents were busy, so I'd have a craving for something and figure out how to make it. We had a few cookbooks in the house, and I'd go to the library and pick up more, copy out the recipes by hand."
Miranda smiles at the thought of little Cate, library card in hand, intent on learning how to make coque au vin or beef bourgignon. "Did your parents not mind your messing up the kitchen?"
"Ah, they could care less," Cate says with a hint of bitterness, sliding her spatula under each egg and letting it flap down onto a slice of toast. "As long as I fixed mum her four 'o clock martini, as long as dad had his friends and cigars and brandy, the world revolved ever on."
"They must be proud of your success."
"They must," Cate murmurs ironically, putting the plates on the table and taking a seat. "Here, eat up while it's hot."
Miranda does as she's told, biting into the chewy bread and egg and butter, moaning a little at the taste. She lets the subject drop, though she doesn't rule out a bit of prying later. "Do you have a lot of work to do this week?"
Cate shrugs. "There's a cycle. I'm less involved in the day-to-day operations now, more in the last minute approvals-budget, manuscripts, staff. It's a bit drab, but someone has to do it."
Miranda laughs. "I don't think I'd like your job very much," she admits. "But it's a good thing you've built."
"Hmm, indeed. An enterprise that I don't get to enjoy," Cate says with a laugh. "I do read our books, though. That's something in it for me."
"Do you have a favourite author?"
"Of ours?"
"No, anyone."
"I'm in love with Adrienne Rich, if you're counting poetry. I like something slow, sensual… Nabokov, Pablo Neruda… have you read Like Water for Chocolate?"
Miranda laughs. "An appropriate favourite for a foodie. Do you like Proust?"
"Hmm. Perhaps madeleines aren't for me," Cate teases. "I do adore Virginia Woolf."
"Oh, who doesn't?"
"What about you? What do you like?"
"Me? Oh, I don't know. I read a lot of crappy mysteries, these days. I used to adore Dostoevsky, back when I was smart. In school."
Cate smiles. "There are different kinds of smart. You're very intuitive."
"Am I?"
"Yes. Any fool could see that."
"Well, then. If only intuition paid the bills."
Cate shakes her head, sipping at her second cup of tea. "Do you like your job? The teaching?"
"I do. I wouldn't want children full time, but I enjoy working with them, most of the time. Sometimes it gets old, and I like doing master classes, working with adults. It's hard to stay motivated and in shape when all you're doing is chasée-ing around the room with eight-year olds."
"I can imagine. Do you miss the ballet?"
"Of course. But in a way… it's long hours, stressful on the body, and when you reach a certain age, constant injuries. It's a luxury to be able to take care of my body, rather than slowly destroying it."
"It's a body worth taking care of," Cate says with a little flirtatious grin, leaning forward and reaching under the table to skim her fingertips up the inside of Miranda's calf and knee and thigh. Miranda blushes a rosy pink and nibbles at a melon slice.
~*~
"Right then, Gen, you remember Miranda," Michael says as his wife comes over, resting his hand at her lower back.
"Of course. So good to see you again, Miranda. I understand you and my sister have become friends recently."
"Oh, yes," Miranda replies, hoping her blush isn't visible. "Quite. She's an outstanding woman."
"Indeed she is. And around here someplace, I believe."
"Ah, I'm sure I'll find her eventually," Miranda says, nibbling a canapé. "Congratulations on your anniversary."
"Thank you so much. We're so pleased you could come. Michael, could I borrow you in the kitchen for a moment?"
"Of course. Enjoy the party, Miranda."
"I will," Miranda agrees, accepting his two-cheek kiss and then weaving her way among the partygoers scattered around Cate's back patio and lawn. A few young women, younger members of the ballet corps, are dangling their legs in the pool, and they wave, recognizing her. She doesn't stop, though, seeing a shadow in an upstairs window. Smiling deviously to herself, she sneaks up the staircase when no one is looking and makes her way to Cate's bedroom, slipping out of her high-heeled shoes for a moment's reprieve, Cate's thick carpeting heaven on the soles of her feet. "You'll be missed, soon. Miss," Miranda adds, giggling as she winds her arms around Cate's waist. "What're you doing up here?"
"Mm. Waiting to see if I'd be missed," Cate replies, smiling and brushing her lips over Miranda's. "I wanted a moment alone with you. Parties can be so fucking stifling."
Miranda coos sympathetically and winds her arms around Cate's waist, kissing her neck. "It's all right, Miss. It'll all be over soon, and tonight when they all leave I'll sneak back in and take care of you. I give a halfway decent massage."
"Oh? That sounds fabulous."
"Mm-hmm. And I'll give you a bath and tuck you in," Miranda teases. "You're having the cleaners in tomorrow, aren't you?"
"God, yes. I'd never get through the detritus myself. And the caterers will do their part."
"Mm. The food's good. But not as good as yours."
"No, of course not," Cate teases, brushing her finger over Miranda's mouth. "From my hand to your lips."
"Always the sweetest way," Miranda mumbles, sucking gently on a fingertip. "Go ahead down first. I'll follow in a few minutes."
"All right. Thank you," Cate adds, lifting Miranda's hand and kissing her knuckles. "For not minding the secrecy."
"Oh, it's all right. It's a very nice secret to have," Miranda replies, smiling. "And delicious to know that I have you all to myself."
"That is delicious, isn't it?" Cate murmurs, pressing Miranda's slender hand to her chest. "Right here. Do you doubt that?"
"No, Miss. Not the way you show me."
Cate smiles, and the look on her face before she leaves the bedroom convinces Miranda that she is happy. She smiles and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning back and splaying her limbs, turning her face to the side and feeling Egyptian cotton against her cheek. She smells sex and perfume and the lingering hint of Cate and herself. She curls up then, into a ball, surrounded by the fabric of her skirt, and closes her eyes.
To belong, Miranda decides-to find the missing slot for one's own unique puzzle piece-is the most extravagant feeling in the world. She stretches again, and rolls from side to side, and she smiles.