wanted him inside her. She told him as much and he looked up at her with surprise. Then he had her by the arm, dragging her to the bed. She hadn’t expected this sort of intensity from Sebastian, but it pleased her to no end that he could be so commanding, so demanding. The bed was made and he didn’t bother to pull the covers back before he pushed her down onto her back by the footboard and climbed on top of her. With his knees he pushed her thighs open while he unzipped his pants and pushed them down his thighs. His penis was hard already and jutting upward out of a thick patch of black hair. She reached for it, needing it, and he pushed her hand aside. She lifted her hips in invitation, and he entered her with a rough stroke. She cried out in relief and joy.
Bliss. The purest bliss. He drove his cock into her with more rough thrusts. It was a thick organ with an upward curve that tickled a tender spot under her navel. He played with her breasts while he fucked her, tugging on the tips, massaging them with his whole hands. Her head lay at the edge of the mattress and each thrust pushed her head further off the bed. She arched her back and the world turned upside down. It was dizzying, being fucked like this, but she relished it. Anything to stop her from thinking of Malcolm. Sebastian didn’t fuck like Malcolm. His penis felt different inside her, and whereas Malcolm made soft dirty grunting sounds during sex, Sebastian stayed completely silent. Even his face was silent, no expression as he rode her hard. She raised her head and watched him fucking her. When he saw her looking so intently, he pulled out of her, grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up. Mona let herself be putty in his hands. He could put her in any position, take her any way he wanted. Sebastian placed her on her hands and knees on the bed, and left her there waiting for him while he stripped naked quickly, discarding his clothes all over the floor in his haste to get back inside her. He took her by the hips and entered her again from behind. His hands cupped her breasts and held them while he rode her with long thrusts. He seemed in no hurry to orgasm and she was pleased he was taking his time inside her. He brought his middle fingers to his lips, licked them and then ran the wet fingertips around and over her nipples. Without asking she knew he’d fantasized about doing just this to her—entering her bare, licking his fingers, fondling her nipples… Mona wanted him to do everything he’d fantasized about doing to her and she told him. He laughed softly at her words, grabbed a handful of her bottom, pinched it hard and then slapped it. The sound rang out in the room. A spank, an ass slap, normal sexual fantasies. No nymphs. No slave auction. No riding crop. No maze, no grove, no Minotaur. It was better like this, this normal human sex without Malcolm’s bizarre fantasies, without the games he played on her body and her mind. Wasn’t it?
Across the back room, Mona saw her and Sebastian’s bodies bound and locked together in the cheval mirror. They looked good together, his tall lean male body curled over her smaller female form. His mouth at her neck. One hand between her legs to caress her clitoris as he slid in and out of her with wet strokes. In the mirror she saw herself on her elbows on the bed, her back arched and Sebastian’s hips pumping into her. She wanted to come but she wanted to watch Sebastian come even more. Her nipples brushed the silk of the bedcovers and tightened painfully again. They wanted sucking but they could wait for their turn.
Mona could tell Sebastian was close. His head fell back and he groaned, the first audible sound he’d made since entering her. His hands held her by the pelvis and he jerked her back against him. Mona took the deep thrusts stoically as his curved cock pounded painfully inside her. At the last moment he pulled out of her, took his shaft in hand, and pumped his semen onto her back. Mona watched it happening in the mirror, the pearly spurts covering her skin, Sebastian’s face contorted into a mask of ecstasy.
He took a few breaths when it was over, then pushed her onto her back again. He buried his face into her pussy and ate her. She writhed underneath his mouth, his tongue delving deep into the tender hollow he’d just fucked. It was beautiful to her, seeing his head between her thighs. She had to force herself not to watch him working so she could concentrate on coming. He lapped at her clitoris and she moaned in pleasure and approval.
Her climax built quickly. She’d needed this for weeks. Mona gripped the covers, almost tearing them with her long, manicured red fingernails as she pulled on them. Sebastian’s tongue was relentless. He didn’t let up at all, not once, until she was screaming from her climax. Her vagina fluttered, grasping at emptiness. She needed to be filled again. Sebastian rose up over her and she saw he was erect again. He started to mount her and she stopped him, smiling, and put him on his back. He let her do it without protest—what man wouldn’t?—and she took the cock in her hand and pushed it into her sex, which was still gasping from the orgasm. She moaned like the whore Malcolm had made her, sliding down the rod, taking every inch of it. With her palms flat on the bed by his shoulders, she worked herself up and down the length of him. Sebastian took both of her breasts in his hands, squeezing them, pulling her down to his mouth to suckle the red and tender tips.
Her writhing and contortions proved too much for Sebastian. His hips bucked under hers only a few times before his head fell back and he came again. She was too close to stop.
"Forgive me,” he said between breaths. "You’re too much for me.”
"I need more.” Her sex ached. It needed pounding.
"What do you need?” he asked.
"Put your fingers in me and fuck me that way,” she said, moving over so he could sit up. She stayed on her hands and knees, spread her thighs, made an offering of her dripping cunt to him. He put two fingers into her hole. It wasn’t enough and she told him so. He fucked her with three fingers, then four. The hand, she told him. The whole hand. In the mirror she saw him start in surprise but he did as she asked, turning his hand and sliding it fully into her. She could sense he didn’t think she could take so much but her body received the hand, enveloped it, and she groaned in relief when it was inside her all the way up the wrist. She spared another glance at Sebastian in the mirror and saw him staring at his arm inside her in fascinated horror. He’d never done this before. Neither had she, but she’d known instinctively she could take it and she had. She reached behind her, grabbed him by the forearm and showed him how to fuck her with his arm.
This was what she needed, total penetration. She rocked her body on Sebastian’s hand, fucking herself, impaling herself, bringing herself to orgasm while he watched her using him. Deep throated groans came out of her as she clawed at the sheets, nearly tearing them. The fist was an immovable object inside her so she moved herself all around, squirming and twisting and contorting herself to make it touch every spot that needed touching. Mona was gone again, lost in the blinding waves of obliterating pleasure. The fist in her was too much to take but too much was what she wanted. She needed the extremities of pleasure and pain. Nothing in the middle would do for her anymore. Malcolm had seen to that.
The climax built to a fever pitch. She could no longer hear her own moaning through the sound of the blood pounding in her ears. Sebastian moved his hand inside her in a gentle spiral that opened her up even more. She came with a sharp single cry. Her interior muscles contracted so hard they forced Sebastian’s hand out of her.
Mona collapsed onto her side and lay there breathing through her nose. Finally, she was spent. But for how long? If Sebastian touched her again she would want him inside her. The aching between her legs was a permanent fixture now. She would have to get used to it.
Sebastian didn’t touch her again. He slid slowly off the bed and found his clothes on the floor. He dressed while she watched. He didn’t speak.
"I’ve horrified you,” she said.
"It’s not that.”
"But it is,” she said. "You can admit it.”
He paused while buttoning his shirt. "I had imagined it differently, that’s all.”
"Did you think I was innocent?”
"No.” He shook his head. "I thought you were...like a girl. I don’t know how to say
it.”
"If I’m not like a girl, what am I like?”
"Like an animal.” He didn’t say it like a compliment.
She slowly sat up on the bed and spread her legs wide.
"Your semen is on me and inside me,” she said, using her fingers to hold her labia open. "See? If I’m an animal, you’re a man who fucks animals.”
He glared at her. "You’re a whore, aren’t you? A whore.”
"You knew I was.”
"No, I didn’t. I thought you had a lover and to please you he gave you gifts.”
"He doesn’t give me Degas sketches because I fuck him. I fuck him because he gives me Degas sketches.”
"Show it to me,” he said. "I want to pretend that’s why I came over here.”
She shrugged and stood up.
"It’s in my office,” she said.
"You won’t put on your clothes?”
"The gallery is closed,” she said. "Why should I?”
He followed her to the office. She could see him out of the corner of her eyes trying not to look at her nakedness.
She switched on her desk lamp and placed the sketch before him on the desk. Sebastian studied it a long time without touching it. She saw his pupils dilate and she knew the sketch excited him in a way that fucking her hadn’t nor ever could. He was the sort of man who wanted a woman to be a girl and if she was too carnal, too sexual, a woman who challenged his primacy, his lust would turn quickly to hate. And to think she’d once judged Malcolm for preferring whores over other women. Now she understood why he did. She’d rather spread her legs for the Minotaur again than this sanctimonious man-child.
"It’s a fake,” Sebastian said, standing up straight and crossing his arms over his chest, defiant.
"You’re certain?”
"I am. Dead certain.”
"I see.” She picked up the sketch and made as if to tear it into two pieces. Sebastian lunged and snatched it out of her hand.
"I thought so,” she said, then laughed at him.
He slapped her.
She stared at him in shock. It had barely hurt, barely stung. He seemed as surprised by the slap as she. Mona laughed again.
He reached for her and pushed her down onto the desk on her back. Mona spread her legs for him as he unzipped his trousers. He leaned over her and entered her. She came almost immediately. Her breasts bounced as he rammed her repeatedly, spearing her with his cock right into her core. This was hate, not lust, but it felt all the same to her. He fucked her to punish her, to shame her for being too much for him. He fucked her to punish her for having desires he could never satisfy, needs he could never meet, a hole he could never fill no matter how many times or how hard or how deeply he penetrated it. He gripped the back of her knees and spread her legs further, holding her splayed open on the desk before him. It seemed the entire office shook with the force of their fucking. A book fell off the shelves and landed on the floor. The desk drawers rattled. Even Sebastian lost control enough to grunt with each stabbing thrust into her. She grasped his shoulders to steady herself she came again. Her pussy clamped down on his shaft, tight as a hand, and his body bent like a bow when he felt it. He cried out and orgasmed with her.
When it passed, she released his shoulders and lay passively on the desk. He remained inside her, his head down as if weeping or praying or hiding his shame.
"Again?” she asked, lifting her hips to taunt him.
"You disgust me.” He wrenched himself out of her and straightened his clothes with his back to her. She wasn’t hurt by his words, only disappointed in him. He had desire but no passion. They would never suit and she’d been a fool to think they would.
"I wonder if I’ll have a bruise on my cheek tomorrow,” she said.
She sat up on the desk and crossed her legs to keep the semen from spilling onto the papers underneath her. Probably too late for that.
He turned around. "I shouldn’t have struck you. I’m sorry.”
"I hope you find a fine sweet young virgin someday to marry,” she said. "And I hope she opens her cunt for your brother and your father and your best friend the minute your back is turned.”
She thought he would hit her again, but he didn’t. He only picked up his coat and threw it over his arm.
"The sketch is real,” he said. "You have my word on that.”
"Here, you can have it.” She held it out to him. His eyes widened.
"You don’t mean it,” he said.
"I do.”
"It’s worth thousands. It’s Degas.”
"He’s your favorite, not mine. Take it.”
Slowly he raised his hand and took the sketch from her.
"There,” she said. "Now we’re exactly the same. You fucked me. I paid you. This is how it works.”
His eyes were nearly red with fury. She smiled.
"You are a whore,” he said.
"Not today. Today I’m buying. So what does that make you?”
He left her then without another word.
He took the sketch with him.
Mona came off the desk. She didn’t want to put her clothes on, didn’t want to rejoin the real world. She had tried and failed. The world held nothing for her anymore. She wanted only Malcolm, but she had sent him away, ended their arrangement and she had no idea how to contact him again, how to beg him to come back.
Exhausted, spent, and sorrowful, she walked around to the book on the floor that had fallen while Sebastian had fucked her the final time. Without closing the book, she picked it up and studied the page it had opened to when it fell. The image on the page was of a painting called Der Blutende. "The Bleeding Man.” The date was 1911 and the artist was Viennese painter Max Oppenheimer, a Jewish artist Hitler had labeled a "degenerate,” according to the caption. The painting was of a young man with dark hair. He had some sort of gauzy white garment falling down his thighs, partly revealing his flaccid penis. The man’s body was curved to the side as if he were in agony. His eyes glowed with pain and he held his hands to the center of his chest where blood was spattered and spurting. Did the blood come from his hands? Or from a wound on his chest? Apparently no one knew for sure. But Mona knew from one glance that the beautiful young man was bleeding from his heart, and he had to use his own hands to hold the heart and the blood inside himself.
She touched the man’s face in the painting and loved him. How could she not love such a perfect picture of a broken heart? She wished she could crawl into the painting, hold his naked body to hers, and seal the wound in his chest with her own flesh.
"Malcolm,” she whispered. Was he sending her a message with this painting? Had she broken his heart? Was that what he was trying to tell her?
No. Nonsense. She slammed the book shut and pushed it back onto the shelf. The book had fallen off the shelf because a man had fucked her with all his wounded male pride and the earth shook when a man’s ego was wounded. That was all.
She went into the gallery bathroom and washed Sebastian’s semen out of her and off of her as best she could before returning to the back room. The bed called to her. She pulled back the covers. Sebastian hadn’t exhausted her with sex, but he’d worn her out with his tantrum afterwards. She would sleep and when she woke, she would put it all behind her.
Seconds after her head hit the pillow, she fell deeply into unconsciousness and dreamed she woke and saw Malcolm in the bed at her side. She was happy to see him in her dream, even happier that he was naked. She slid her body on top of his and took his cock inside her. He had his hands on his chest and she tried to move them but he wouldn’t let her.
"I missed you,” she said as she rode him.
He shook his head. "You banished me.”
"I didn’t mean to,” she said. He felt huge inside her and it was a relief to be filled the way she needed. "You scared me.”
"I didn’t hurt you,” he said.
"I thought you had. But you hadn’t.” She touched his face, his lips, looked into his eyes so dark as the nights they sh
ared together. "Come back to me, Malcolm. I forgive you. Forgive me too.”
"I don’t know if I can.”
"Why not?”
"Because of this.” He dropped his hands from his chest to reveal a grotesque hole, black and red and smoking, and blood pumping from a severed artery.
She screamed herself awake.
Mona sat up in the bed. She shook all over. Clenching a pillow to her chest, she rocked back and forth, back and forth, trying to bring herself to her senses.
"Malcolm…” She said his name into the pillow as if she could conjure him with words and wanting.
Was she losing her mind? She almost thought she was. It was the only thing that made sense. Was Malcolm even real? Had she dreamed all of it? No. There were the paintings as proof. The paintings and the etchings and the sketches proved he’d been here. She had to see him again. She would die if she didn’t.
She left the bed and walked into her office, switched on the Tiffany lamp once more. In her coat closet she found a wrap sweater and pulled it on to keep her warm while she worked. She took the wine bottle she’d tossed into the wastepaper basket, uncorked it and dumped the fragments of the white card onto the desk. In her desk drawer she found tape. For the next hour she set about putting the pieces of the white card back together. The ragged tears and porous paper made the task maddeningly difficult but she didn’t stop, not even when Tou-Tou jumped on the desk and scattered some of the pieces. She didn’t know why she did it, only that she had to get a message to Malcolm. How he saw her, she didn’t know. How he watched her, how he seemingly knew she’d gone out with Sebastian to the exhibit…all mysteries. But he watched her, that much she knew. He saw what she did and who she did it with…and he’d see her message.
She had to have him back.
Finally, it was finished. Every piece back in place, taped down so that it looked like a Frankenstein card. She found her clothes and put them on, picked up Tou-Tou and put him in the large leather handbag that doubled as his carrier. She left the card on the bed and went home to her apartment.
There was nothing left to do but wait for him.