My Body-His (3 page)

I didn’t know what to say. I was shaking, scared out
of my wits, but his actions turned me on so much I couldn’t say
anything to stop him. I just sat there and allowed him to explore
my labia. My heightened arousal from my jaunt downstairs and his
expert fingers had me at the edge of release for several minutes.
He sensed that I was close to exploding and stopped rubbing my clit
to prolong the climb. He circled around my lips, dipping ever
closer to my anus, and then brought his expert fingers back to my
swollen bud.

I could hear my moans with no idea how to stop them.
I felt outside of myself and so wholly turned on. I couldn’t recall
ever before feeling so desperate to cum. I had to cum. I mumbled,
“Please, please, please,” over and over again. He finally allowed
my downhill run by grabbing my hard erect nipple tightly in his
fingers while manipulating my clit. I grunted in a way that didn’t
even sound like me and cried out my release. After the waves of
orgasm subsided, I moved to stand up, but he held me tight against
him. He spread my legs even farther apart and, using more intense
pressure, resumed playing with my clit. I have always hated it when
men masturbated me hard and fast, and yet he had me climaxing again
in less than a minute. The intensity of my cumming astounded me and
I was stunned as I lolled, wholly spent, in his lap.

Leaning my head back against his chest, I closed my
eyes. Feeling his heartbeat on my shoulders and his breath near my
ear, I melted into him. Having never behaved in this manner, I was
at a loss as to what to do next.

I didn’t have long to wait because he removed the arm
he had around my waist and pushed me off his lap.

“
Go sit on the bed,” he said.

Still in a daze, I lumbered over to the footboard and
sat down on the bottom edge, facing him. He watched me settle on
the bed as I crossed my legs.

“
Uncross your legs and keep them open,” he
ordered, leaning back farther in his chair.

“
Excuse me?”

“
Second rule, now pay attention—in my presence,
your legs will always be open to me.”

“
In your presence?” I said
.
“I plan to
never see you again. Never come to this house again. I’m still
debating if I’ll ever speak to Scott after he put me in this
situation.”

He cleared his throat and I realized I hadn’t
complied. I spread my legs, which felt awkward so I leaned back on
my elbows trying to get comfortable. He couldn’t see much with my
skirt lying on top of my legs.

I put aside my qualms and focused on his body. He
wasn’t big but he exuded strength. His forearms were sinewy and I
imagined the rest of him was as well. I looked at the bulge in his
pants and could feel him staring at me. His eyes burrowed under my
skin, as if stripping it away, opening me up so he could look
straight into me.

I gazed up and as we made eye contact, I started. “I
should probably leave—”

“
Soon,” he said, standing. He walked over to
the bed and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. He led me back to
the chair beside the easel and he sat down again. “Lay across my
lap,” he commanded.

“
Excuse me?” I said.

He said nothing but continued to watch me. After a
few moments, he pointed to his lap and then the door. I knew what
he meant. I should have run out of there and never looked back. I,
however, lay down across his lap. My arms hung to the ground and my
long hair touched the floor as well. My legs felt awkward, sticking
out straight behind me.

“
Move back so your knees are on the rug,” he
said. “I will give you a small taste of what will happen if you
disobey me.” He lifted my skirt, folding it against my back, and
smacked my butt with his open left hand.

It hurt, but not badly. My nipples hardened against
his leg and I could feel his erection grow against my stomach.

He spanked me again, harder this time, and warmth
spread across my butt cheeks. He struck me at a steady pace six
more times and then massaged my ass gently. As if in apology, he
leaned over and kissed each cheek. A chill ran up my spine and I
convulsed noticeably. He reached between my legs and touched the
ever-growing wetness there. He smacked my ass one more time, much
harder than before.

“
I knew you would be into this when I saw you
waltzing into this house.”

I pushed myself off his lap in a huff and he
guffawed.

I stomped to the other door in the room, assuming it
led to a bathroom, which it did. After slamming the door behind me,
I looked at myself in the mirror.

“
What in the hell were you thinking?” I said
quietly, not quite recognizing myself.

After peeing, I wiped myself several times trying to
rid my vagina of its excess wetness. I thought of leaving by the
other door and running down the stairs, but couldn’t make myself
open the door that led to the hallway. I closed the lid and flushed
the toilet. I rolled my skirt back down to its normal length.
Washing my hands, I avoided the sight of myself in the mirror, and
sat down on the toilet. Leaning forward and burying my face in my
hands, I tried to force the arousal out of me. My mind wanted me to
leave but my body wanted the controlling artist to fuck me hard, to
slam himself inside of me.

I jumped up when I heard his voice close to the
door.

“
I’ve called you a cab,” he said.

I opened the door and said, “I don’t have the cash on
me to pay—”

“
Here,” he said, handing me forty
dollars.

“
I’ll pay you back,” I said. “Where should I
send it?”

He laughed again to my utter vexation and said, “I’ll
see you after work on Monday. You can pay me then.”

“
What? I can’t see you after work on Monday. I
need to find Scott and tell him I’m leaving.”

“
I’ll tell him,” he said.

“
Oh, you know Scott? I’ll give him the money to
give to you.”

“
That won’t be necessary. So that I have
something to call you, what is your name,” he said almost kindly.
He still looked like he could break out laughing again without much
provocation.

“
I thought you were clairvoyant,” I said,
sounding like a petulant brat.

Again, the laughter flowed out of him. When he
smiled, he looked ten years younger and even more handsome.

“
So?” he asked.

“
So—” I said.

“
You’re going to be a stubborn one I
see.”

“
I’m nothing of the kind. You bring it out in
me!”

He chuckled again, infuriating me even more.

“
Gladys,” I said, crossing my arms in front of
me.

“
Try again. The beautiful woman in front of me
could never be named Gladys.”

Blushing at the compliment, I turned away so he
couldn’t see my face. “Jane,” I answered. “Plain Jane, as my mother
always called me.”

“
Well Jane, there’s nothing plain about you
now.”

He confused me with his compliments. I felt as though
he was trying to make sure I’d agree to see him again.

“
What’s your name?” I asked, trying hard to
keep the edge out of my voice.

“
That, my pretty lady, you will find out on
Monday.”

“
Where on Monday?” I asked, wishing I could
kick myself in the shin to awaken my rational self.

“
I thought you couldn’t meet me,” he
said.

He looked proud of himself.
I should kick him in
the shin,
I thought.

“
I’ll meet you outside your office at
five.”

“
You don’t know where I work and I can’t get
away until at least 5:30.”

“
I’ll find you,” he said with confidence. “Be
out front at 5:00.”

“
Scott doesn’t know where I work,” I said over
my shoulder as I walked through the threshold of the bedroom. I
scurried down the stairs and fled through the front door without
looking back.

The cab pulled forward as I walked down the steps to
the pavement. I gave the driver my address and relaxed against the
backseat, breathing a sigh of relief.

I’ll never see him again
, I thought.
God,
I’m going to kill Scott. What a shit! He knows the
artist .... Are they friends?

From the window, I watched the lights reflecting in
the puddles from the rain that had fallen earlier in the evening.
I can’t believe I just left my underwear,
I thought to
myself. My mind flitted from one subject to another until it landed
on him again. It seemed like a dream ... that he didn’t really
exist.
Did he?
Did I really do all those things? Let him
do all those things to me?

As angry as I was at Scott—and I was steaming
mad—curiosity about the artist took precedence.
Tomorrow’s only
Saturday so I could just show up at Scott’s place and ring him from
downstairs ....

The night after the party, I slept fitfully, waking
up from strange dreams that eluded my grasp. I ran in the evening
at my usual time, planning to swing by Scott’s apartment on my way
back to pick up my car. To my surprise, Scott, who usually doesn’t
run on Saturdays, fell in beside me.

“
What are you doing here?” I asked. I
considered tripping him as payback for the night before but it
wouldn’t have served my purpose. “You’re a real shit, you know,” I
said before he could respond.

“
I knew you wouldn’t come if I told you and I
thought you might get into it.”

“
You’re a jerk, plain and simple. I should’ve
known better.” I continued to run for a while faster than my usual
pace. Scott struggled to keep up.

“
So you know the artist guy?” I
asked.

“
Huh?”

“
Did someone tell you I left?”

“
Oh, yes. Him? He’s an artist? A bit scary if
you ask me.”

“
Do you know him? Do you know his
name?”

“
Know … wouldn’t be the right word. I’ve seen
him around. Don’t think I ever got his name.” Scott stopped running
and leaned over with his hands on his knees. “Still recovering from
a hangover,” he said.

I shuffled back and forth beside him, not wanting to
lose my momentum.

“
Don’t tell me you’re interested in him?” Scott
asked incredulously. “He gives me the willies. There’s something
not right about that guy. You should stay away, Jane. He’s bad
news.”

“
I can take care of myself and I’m not stupid,”
I said. “I’ll see you around.” When I turned to run in the opposite
direction I thought,
that proved fruitless.

“
Oh hell,” I said. I turned around and ran back
to Scott. “Do you know who owns the house from the party?” I asked,
panting.

“
I know that a couple of guys live there,
although they change from time to time. Your ‘artist’ friend seems
to come and go. I haven’t seen him around for a while though, until
last night that is. Really Jane, stay away from him.”

* * * *

I spent Sunday reading the rest of
Servant of the
Bones
and filing away in my mind every detail that had happened
Friday night.
Did I really go downstairs practically naked?
I ran over everything several times, trying to make sense of it
all. Some things he had said confused me but I couldn’t be sure if
I recalled the conversation completely or correctly. He must have
been watching me because I am almost certain he said “he knew” the
first time he saw me walking into the house.

Something else he’d said bothered me—that I was “more
stubborn than the others.”
Others? Is that what he said?

The novel helped to distract me but by six o’clock my
nervous energy overflowed so I went down to the community pool and
swam laps. I swam until I couldn’t lift my arms over my head for
another stroke.

I struggled up the stairs and headed straight for the
shower. The workout helped a lot and after stretching, I cozied up
for a while and fell fast asleep.

In the morning, startled by a dream, I awoke before
my alarm went off. In the dream I ran down an alley near a canal. I
could smell the brackish water mixing with the gasoline from the
cars on the street. I kept looking over my shoulder, knowing
someone was chasing me, but unable to snag a glimpse of him. In
true horror film fashion, when I turned back around, my chaser
stood straight in front of me. It was the artist from Friday
night.

I gasped and sat up in bed. My heart pounded in my
chest and I knew the dream carried an ominous message. I made up my
mind. As intrigued and aroused as my experience at the party had
made me, I still had no intention of seeing him again.
Why was I
worried?

I picked a blue fitted business suit—skirt and
jacket—with a white blouse out of my mundane business attire. All
my work outfits looked pretty much the same except for the color. I
considered them my work uniforms. I added earrings and slipped on
my favorite pair of black shoes. A fashion diva I wasn’t, but the
clothes served their purpose. I gathered my hair up into a twist,
secured it with a clip and applied a pale shade of lipstick.

The company I worked for occupied the top three
floors of the Bank of America building in downtown Fort Lauderdale.
I arrived at my desk and checked my “in” basket, losing myself in
the routine of the day. Mondays were especially hectic at the
office and that day proved no different.