James Williams's stories have been published in Advocate Men, Attitude, Black Sheets, Blue Food, International Leatherman, Sandmutopia Guardian, Spectator, and other magazines, and in anthologies such as Best American Erotica of 1995, and 2001 edited by Susie Bright (Simon & Schuster), Best SM Erotica, edited by M. Christian (Black Books, forthcoming), Bitch Goddess, edited by Pat Califia and Drew Campbell (Greenery Press), Doing It for Daddy, edited by Pat Califia (Alyson), My Biggest O, edited by Jack Hart (Alyson), and SM Futures and SM Visions, both edited by Cecilia Tan (Richard Kasek Books and Circlet Press). He was the subject of profile interviews in Different Loving, by Gloria Brame, Will Brame, and Jon Jacobs (Villard), and Sex: An Oral History, by Harry Maurer (Viking). He lives in the San Francisco Bay Area.
Mind Caviar proudly presents Mr. Williams first published online fiction.
E-mail James Williams.
"We waited and waited for music that never began. Silence stretched before us like an India rubber cat awakening: licked its whiskers, licked its chest, and settled back to sleep. You had talked about the prospect of this concert almost as long as I had known you, and were plainly excited by the very notion.
" ‘Sound is soft,’ you said to me as I served your supper the night before, ‘malleable, permeable. Anything can happen in it. You can do anything with it.’
" ‘Me, Maitresse?’ I asked.
" ‘You goose, you know exactly what I mean.’
" ‘Yes, Maitresse,’ I answered, though I certainly did not."
+ + +
"The mid-December night fell early and the temperature fell with it, frosting the snowdrifts melted in the day with smooth, treacherous caps of ice. You declined to take the car, which you found unreliable in the modern streets, preferring to borrow, between the two Margeaux, one carriage, four black horses, and even one Margeau herself when she offered to drive us because she thought the night too special for her coachman’s Montparnasse eyes and knew it would never occur to you to refuse. You sat bundled in your furs looking in the direction of the Bois like noblesse oblige herself, as if you weren’t paying attention to me at all; but I knew nothing would be closer to your mind, as I sat naked on the carriage floor beneath my own pile of rugs and rubbed your feet, than the upturned nipples of my teacup breasts and the beckoning drapes and welcoming vestibule of my young, dark pudendum. Watching you peer through the isinglass at what I couldn’t imagine, I sometimes brought your toes to my lips and kissed them through your stockings. If I licked hard along your right instep I knew you were likely to shudder and lose control, but I was worshipful, not in a playful mood. You turned your gaze on me."
" ‘Are you warm enough, dear girl?’ you asked.
"I hugged your legs to me and with my eyes closed pressed my cheek against your closer calf. ‘I am warm enough, Maitresse. Thank you for inquiring.’
" ‘Then remove your robes and let me look at you.’
"In motions so fluid they were as one, I slid your feet into their shoes and raised myself to a kneeling posture, emerging from the center of the resounding pelts like a mermaid shedding the depths of her bath. Your eyes took so solemnly to mine I extended my arms and struck a saucy odalisque pose, one hand behind my black curls, the other with splayed fingers obscuring but only partially these breasts you doted on. I saw your eyebrows rise a hair and softly swept that arm away and down, revealing, as if it slowly rent a curtain, all the front of me beyond my navel and past my quivering thighs which, parted as you had taught me to keep them for you, revealed me, warm and moist for you. I wanted to feel your hands on me so badly that I ached throughout my groin. My tender button was erect, my nipples reached for you as if they were fingers, hands, arms, young girls themselves in love with you, even my breath and heartbeat called to you while I, your goose, your slave, your whore, your new coquette, while I who waited on your pleasure longed to taste your tongue on mine, to feel your breath hot in the hollow of my throat, your teeth against my thinnest skin as you struggled not to wet your lips with my willing blood and ground yourself against my narrow, bruised hips until you bucked and spat and cursed exhaling like a sliced balloon. The thought of your hunger consumed me as I kept my body steady in the rocking carriage, knees toed in, so that you’d want to take me to your bed tonight as well as to the music.
"Time began to stretch so that whole worlds of meaning were born between two steps of the horses’ progress. Your eyes made love to my eyes, to my cheeks and then my lips, to my shoulders and my underarms; when they caressed my breasts and nipples, pulling at them as if they were pouting mouths, I could not prevent myself from dancing the little dance, and a cry barely voiced escaped me. The horses took another step.
" ‘Turn around,’ you said. ‘Bend over.’
"I obeyed. I always obeyed you, to the surprise and sometimes the chagrin of women my age but never those of yours. I felt your hand caress my cheeks as if they were my face, felt your fingers part my lips as if they were my mouth, felt you enter me and stroke my convoluted walls, my frantic little tongue, urging me on to lather like a manic pony, helpless and shaking with more than just desire. You rested your thumb against my other hole and said, ‘Sit back,’ so rolling slowly from side to side I took you into me, pursing and kissing with my small pink obedience. You were so strong and I so little, you lifted me from the floor that way, by your thumb and finger, too quickly for me to gasp before you’d set me naked on your lap to kiss and fondle like a doll. You held me tight against your soft, round, fur-wrapped breast and yes, I shook and threw my arms about your neck and pressed my face against you whimpering, but you just let it pass."
+ + +
"Nowhere but that place, never but that time, could you have taken me from the carriage as you did, in only brand-new pumps, one long fur, and a neckful of diamond-bedded sapphires. Margeau herself escorted us into the hall and to your couch, and smiled at me like a fond aunt. With infinite politesse she took the fur from my shoulders, revealing me a moment at a time, and then she took the pumps from my feet and was gone. The leash you attached to my necklace was white gold, worked in such an intricate design it took the light itself like diamonds. I knelt on the floor beside you with my hands folded modestly before me, outwardly composed but inside seething with shame and pride, fear and excitement, embarrassment and hauteur: for others’ eyes, though not of course for mine, a human thing and not a person, the simple property of your display. The chamber, though it could not seat more than several dozens, was full, and no one with eyes could have failed to see us.
"The instrument glowed dull gold at the front of the room. The chair adjacent shone from the dark depths of its richly polished wood. As if another person’s horses had frozen in their walk, nothing happened for so long we ceased to be the center of anybody’s unacknowledged attentions. It was not just that, as in the carriage, time itself moved slower: now, here, the air itself grew gradually thicker. Though sounds could only travel shorter distances, their timbres became greatly magnified. Some less polite gentlemen coughed and I could discern the sympathetic rhythms of each uvula. I felt the impatient intake of breaths and the puffery of their exhalations. I heard a flask unscrewed before I smelled the spirits, and I knew by the way the pewter scraped and rasped which threads were worn from careless use. Shod feet shuffled on the carpet, bone joints cracked, and papers started rustling. Here and there a voice exposed itself enough for me to name its mutter, then its meaning. I heard some man stand, and turn, then walk away. A door was opened before his step, and shut again with a muffling hand. More people spoke with gentle lilting voices full of air and inspiration; some talked whose anger clicked and chipped. Couch springs sank and chair backs snapped as more people stood. The door stayed open while they left and every person’s steps receded differently, each with its own cadence, each with its own heft. When the room was nearly silent I heard you breathe as if you were asleep. I looked up at you at last and saw you smiling down at me.
" ‘Come up here across my lap,’ you said, and lithely I obeyed. Your silk-draped thighs were firm and yielding both, and the damask rose wool couch seat smelled of hair and prickled against my face. You rested one forearm on my back, your hand gripping my far shoulder. As your other hand stroked me, roving my two mounds, my far hand, fallen, clasped your ankle, and my near hand snaked behind and underneath you. I heard the clap of skin on skin before I felt your palm strike down on me, but after that first slap you did not let up and all the hard sounds of your spanking disappeared for me in the rush of heat then pain that took me over in a flurry I did not count or time, but when it was over I was crying and panting and I knew that I had squealed and you were happily shaken in your seat. You took me up and held me to your breast again as you had done in the carriage, but smiling and contented now.
" ‘Now,’ you said, ‘I want to take you home.’ "
"I looked in your eyes and pointed to the front of the room. You nodded and released me. I walked, conscious all the while of your eyes on my flesh, but after I had collected the ancient tape recorder, dull gold in the light of colored gels, I turned and knelt and bowed, then came across the floor on hands and knees to bring this offering for you to turn off in the room that had now grown completely empty."
Copyright © 2001 James Williams. All rights reserved.
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Copyright © 2001 Mind Caviar. All rights reserved. Mind Caviar is a working trademark pending registration.