Revenge Should Have No Bounds 065

[If you have not already done so, you must
read the Introduction
before proceeding.]

For 1-55 (Chapters 1-13), see here.
56     57     58     59     60     61     62     63     63     Chap 14  056-063

Revenge Should Have No Bounds  065
Chapter 15 (2 of 11): Lovers

The ‘dragonfly cycle’ could only have been devised by a true voluptuary like Yukiko, tinged as it was with a kind of narcissistic masochism.  A précis might be this:  the release of passion is fleeting, but the journey to climax, the ladder to the top, prolongs desire and multiply enhances the discharge.  In likening the whole process to a dragonfly Yukiko had wanted to capture something of the saccadic hither-thither-ness of yearning as it flits desultorily above the pond of normative life in its restless quest for the object of desire before, vacant of all juice and puissance, its whirring wings are finally stilled and, a sere and empty husk, it falls exhausted to earth.

She prescribed a rigorous regimen that was to take them somewhere between two and three weeks to work through.  It was only during this period while they were together that Yukiko asked Mazarine to take a working holiday.  She insisted that if Mazarine maintained her regular schedule of seeing clients it would interfere fatally with the whole purpose of the dragonfly cycle.  Mazarine thought it an odd request, but she complied.

The first evening they went to room 1965, a Tuesday, they would not undress, not touch, not even speak to each other.  They would agree that Yukiko arrive first, and an hour later Mazarine was to let herself into the room.  Without words, taking off only their shoes, they would lie down on their backs on the huge bed, covers still on, and, apart, not sleeping, simply listen to the other’s breath and inhale her scents.  This would last about an hour, and then Mazarine would get up and leave.  Yukiko would leave shortly thereafter but might also stay the night.  Three nights later they would meet again.  This time the covers would be pulled down to expose the crisp white of the bed’s sheets, and Yukiko would be lying in her underwear and bra.  Mazarine, wordlessly, would undress to the same state and lie down next to Yukiko, careful not to touch her at all.  They would again lie for an hour or so and ‘learn’ the presence of the other, sense the emotional energy, key in on her essence.

Mazarine had initially considered the whole thing bizarre but was willing to indulge her lover-to-be.  After that Friday’s silent meeting, however, she began – she thought – to get some deeper sense of what Yukiko was up to.  Without a word being said or a touch encountered, she had in fact felt herself get wet and quite aroused.  Back in her own apartment, lying in bed, it had been hard for her to fall asleep, her head filled with images and fantasies of the dusky Yukiko lying on the bed, marked out as it were by the damask white of her panties and bra.  During the quotidian interstices in the dragonfly cycle even the gentlest sexual self-touching of any kind whatsoever — much less masturbation — was strictly proscribed.  Violation of this stricture would render the whole exercise ineffectual, and a promise by Mazarine to abide by this rule had been extracted with great seriousness, as it in turn had been given to her.  For this reason alone she did not give in to her strong need for release.  Yukiko’s point about the dragonfly cycle was becoming abundantly, agonizingly clear.

They spent a lot of time together during the weekend, dining both Saturday and Sunday evening at fashionable bistros.  Saturday they were both amused at being hit on several times by young attractive men with that sleek moneyed look of gen-xers who were on the fast track.  They flirted mildly but deflected persistent interest by claiming to be old college roommates who had not seen each other for many years and now needed to catch up on family and busy lives.  The next night they waited over an hour to get seated at a new restaurant featuring Asian-French fusion that had gotten a favorable write-up in the Sunday entertainment section of the local paper.  That morning had been a dazzling day with a precipitous drop in humidity, and, along with the many other amblers out for the gorgeous weather, they sauntered lazily in the beautiful park behind La Ville chitchatting about this and that, carefully eschewing any and all reference to — or comments about — the dragonfly events of last Tuesday and Friday evenings in room 1965.

On Monday they again met in room 1965, without word, without touch.  Yukiko was lying in the dimming light of dusk with only panties on.  Her breast were voluptuously exposed, tilted to the sides, and Mazarine found it hard to take her eyes off them as she unhooked her own bra and lay gently down next to but apart from Yukiko.  The picture of Yukiko’s white softnesses with their small dark areola and the centered nipples, erect and taut, rushed excitedly through her head like an agitated tiger confined in a cage too small for her energy.  They were to concentrate on the skin tonight – visualizing it, imagining its taste, catching its scent, feeling its heat.  Only when she finally got up after an hour or so did Mazarine again gaze at Yukiko’s breasts, and she felt a kind of choking well up in her throat.  She never took her eyes off them as she dressed and, as she imagined had been Yukiko’s indubitable intent, could not stop thinking about what would be revealed next time when she would be wearing no panties.

For both women, on fire with yearning, the next three days passed in a daze, a writhing lust uppermost in the mind of each, knowing that for all the deliciousness of next Thursday, it would not be until Sunday that the fiery release would actually take place.  Each fought their hands, seemingly endowed with an irresistible urge to touch places they had agreed not to touch until Sunday.  Mazarine had never thought of passion as an unreleased exercise in restraint, in patience, in deferral, but she realized with a shivering frisson of anticipation that nothing could crank up the final intensity of its liberation more spectacularly than precisely those qualities.  For her it was a different way of thinking and feeling about sex, ardor, passion – almost more a matter of mental than physical involvement.  As with Agung a few weeks ago, but greatly leveraged.

Mazarine did not recall much of Thursday except the pained slowness of its passing, until evening arrived and, twice showered, she could retreat to room 1965.  She was wild with desire just to see.



‘Revenge Should Have No Bounds’,’passion deferred’,’dragonfly cycle’,’intensifying physical passion’

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