Rendezvous With a Stranger (15 page)

      
His loose, long hair tickles my skin that’s begun to sweat.
 
As I’m rolled from bottom to top, then over and over, it tangles with mine, gets stuck in my mouth, is breathed in with my nose, is brushed away by his hand or mine.
 

      
When I’m on top, he controls me with his hands firmly gripping my waist, moving my groin over his as if I’m a toy.
 
I laugh to feel his cock poke lightly at the opening of my cunt.
 
It makes me shriek, and my pussy go wild. I squeal and his eyes laugh in the darkness.
 
Wiggling as I can against his stalk, I try to control this fuck but I’m completely thwarted. My belly spasms softly, while each contraction is just the prelude to another that is more intense. Knowing my cunt needs more, he jams himself inside me rudely and propels us over so I’m on my back with him astride my hips.

      
Rising above me, he sits on my groin and slaps my pale breasts. I would buck him off if I were strong enough, but instead his cock slips deeper within me until it hurts.
   

      
His hair mesmerizes me.
 
The way it clouds his face I see a savage Indian within him.
 

      
His movements having momentarily stopped, he descends to my chest and slowly, carefully draws his erection in and out of my vagina. All our playfulness vanishes as we stare into each other’s eyes, diving soul deep in awed wonder. We do this until I feel an orgasm rip inside my pulsing cunt and feel his cock quicken and charge toward the end.
 

      
I’m touched by him, by all the tiny gestures he blesses me with as we lie lazily in each other’s arms.
 
We don’t speak, but his lips kiss my ears and move tenderly all the way down my neck.
 
He won’t say a word to me in intimacy until I’ve cleaned up all the unfinished business—but he will have my body and use it for these simple pleasures.

      
In the morning, he climbs from bed before I do.
 
Seeing his body washed in the pale light of daybreak, he’s as breathtaking and potent as my dreams remember him.
 
His cock is hard as he moves from the bed to the bath, though it’s flaccid by the time he returns dripping with water.

      
“I want you to stay with me here,” he says, as he scratches his head with his towel.
 
The long hair floats about his face, and I still think he’s savage seeing him this way.

      
“You want me here tonight?” I ask.

      
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
 
He’s almost annoyed that he has to clarify himself, but I greet his wishes with so much surprise I have to be sure that he really meant what I heard him say.
 

      
“I’ll be here then … and what about the next night?”
 
I query timidly.

      
“I said I want you here with me.
 
Brings your things, make your arrangements, whatever you have to do.”
 
Delivering his message, he wanders into the bathroom having answered all my questions.

      
The skies aren’t big enough to hold me inside them today. There are golden meadows teaming between my legs and a day’s worth of sunshine heating inside my belly.
 
How strange this is when the cold rain of November is lingering on, that my psyche thinks it’s spring.
 
I don’t know why my heart leaps so.
 
The stranger, Nicholas Riley, is now as indecipherable to me as he was when I didn’t know his name.
 
I only understand I’m moving in with him and it would seem we have a future together, even if there’s little talk of what this means.
 

      
I make my plans, gather a bundle of things from Isaac’s, but not too much since I’m uncertain how long his arrangement will stick.
 
I can’t quit my one sure port in the storm before I know for certain.
 
I don’t figure there is a lot changing, yet.
 
I’m just sleeping over at a boyfriend’s like I might have done when I was twenty.
 
I do leave a new message on the answering machine and phone one to Isaac in Greece so he doesn’t worry because I’m not answering his late evening calls.
 
I tell him to call me at the office if he needs to reach me, and to tell no one I’ve changed addresses.
 
I decide to let Robby suffer not knowing where I am.
 
Of course, I’ll be home over the weekend and tell him everything he needs to know about my leaving him.

      
I give Smithereens to a sweet old lady who will nurture the dear thing better than I can.

      
With all that handled I belong to the stranger.

      
Classes are the same; grading papers and conferences seem as simple and easy as always.
 
Perhaps I’m even more inspired with my lectures.
 
A fresh wit surfaces—I seem to recall Nicholas Riley’s flippant teaching style while I’m delivering my daily lectures.
 
It appears to work when I find I have a more enthusiastic audience.

      
I live with him half-captive, not by the ropes and leather he binds me with, but by the force of his power over me.
 
It’s all my choice whether I live with him; he holds no threat over me.
 
Yet, he’s made his decision like an ultimatum.
 
I can’t seem to object, so it feels as if he has me kidnapped from my real life—even when my real life’s hardly changed.
 
I wake in his bed in the morning, return to his apartment in the afternoon just as I would return to Isaac’s, cook him supper when he arrives anytime from six p.m. to midnight, and let him use me just as his desire shapes his sexual needs.
 
Nicholas has a penchant for capturing me unaware that doesn’t change with this living arrangement.
 
This has me sexually awake every minute of my day.
 

      
At noon the day after I became his live-in lover, he brought sandwiches into my office for lunch—unannounced.
 

Before we ate, he silently made love to me, pressing me softly into a corner of my office where his hands played my body for the orgasm that was on the brink.
 
Afterwards, I knelt at his feet and took his cock to a climax.
 
Then we ate.
 

      
I’ve noticed that he prefers eating after making love, as though sex is the main course, and food his dessert.

      
At night I feel him stalk me.
 
It always surprises me what he’s able to draw from me in ready compliance; though it never surprises me that I’m aroused.
 
I’m living constantly with the thought of his sexual prowess wooing me from decency with one of his schemes.
 

      
The second night of our living arrangement, he binds me before we sleep, before sex, before he even kisses my lips goodnight.
 
I slumber with ropes drawn through my cunt, my hands tied together behind me, my ankles tightly bound with leather straps.
 
He blindfolds me and I have nowhere to go but into my dreams.
 

      
When he awakens me, it seems we’ve both been roused from sleep in the same instant.
 
I feel his hardened cock at my ass, pressing its way between the crack.
 
Grease from somewhere lubricates the tight hole.
 
The massage opens the doorway enough so that he slips inside me painlessly.
 
But so full of him, I feel impaled on something much too big for me to bear.
 
When he starts to move, he clutches my breasts and cunt driving himself in a ceaseless rhythm.
 
His fingers caress my clit, others pinch my nipples so that long and steady streams of pain jerk me from tit to cunt.
 
His fingers press into the steamy hole as his dick glides forcefully in an out of my ass, bringing me almost to my own climax.
 
Yet, before I’m at that perfect edge, I feel his cock pulse hard then spill its gift.
 
When he withdraws he leaves me tied, and I’m desperate because my climax remains bound inside me as tightly as my hands are bound.
 
I think I’ll remain awake all night waiting for the end.
 
And yet, I fall asleep.
 
Some time between this late night hour and dawn I’m untied so I awaken in the morning free to move at will, with my cunt still wanting more.

      
All that haunts me now is the silence of our exchanges.
 
That silence is not unlike it was before I moved into his apartment, but it’s more uncomfortable now.
 
There’s a wellspring of unshared thoughts between us.
 
If he would only speak his mind, if the affection in his eyes would only tell me what it’s for, if I could only dissect his heart and see what secrets it holds inside.
 
But he’s adamant that I come to him without the baggage of a past and I won’t try to break his silence until I can cut my ties to Robby.

g

      
I think of Nicholas Riley all the way to the country, down all the familiar winding roads to the A-frame, and even as I pull into the drive and see my towering beautiful home rise loftily into the trees.
 

      
It’s quiet inside the woods at six o’clock, and already pitch black except for the one burning light by the door on the deck.
 
My key fits in the lock as if I belong here, but once inside I feel odd walking through the rooms I know so well.
 
They don’t know me now.
 
I’ve become another person, and what I cared about when I decorated these wide-open spaces has disappeared.

      
Up the stairs to the loft, even the smell has changed from mine to hers.
 
I wonder if she wears my weekend clothes as well as using my husband.
 

      
Hearing a door squeak somewhere on the main floor, I suspect it’s Robby coming home and I don’t bother to turn around when I hear someone walking up the stairs and into the room.
 
The shoes creak strangely and there’s a crawling in my gut I’ve felt before.
 
Not the one I associate with Robby, maybe it’s …. a split second later I think of Nicholas—another of his miraculous appearances to shock me.
 
I’d be awed but hardly shocked.
 
But then, smelling her perfume, I smile to myself as I recognize the intruder.
 
Turning around, I grin broadly.
 
“Why Chelsea, what a homecoming!”

      
“It’s been a while, Carolyn,” she simpers.

      
“And he gives you a key now?”

      
“We didn’t think you’d be here.”

      
I see she’s nervous but covering it well with the practiced moves of a self-assured woman.

      
“And you hadn’t the presence of mind to wonder at my car in the drive?”

      
“Are you going to be uncivil, Carolyn?” she asks exasperated.
 
Her face is rude, her make-up bold—tasteful some would say, but I think it’s garish. And the way she swishes her ass reminds me of old movie stars, alluring flirts with devious intentions.
 
She shifts on one foot coyly and we stare eye-to-eye trying to decide what to say to each other.
 

      
I notice how soft her cheeks appear, how her full red-painted lips are easily seductive to men.
 
They are to me.
 
Her pale yellow curls fall buoyantly around her face.
 

      
As her heels click softly on the hard wood, she approaches me so openly, I think of giving up sharp retorts.
 
We really have no quarrel.
 
Neither of us love the man we fuck in this house; he just seems to be a convenient creature for the time and place.
 
But his double-dealing makes us both a little bitter.
 

      
As she sashays to my side I almost spot a look of tenderness on her face.

      
“You’re going to leave him, aren’t you?” she says.

      
“Is that just a guess, or do you have some particular reason for wondering?” I reply.

      
“I don’t know, it’s just something I see in your eyes.”

      
I don’t know why I suddenly feel empathy for this woman, but she’s so vitally open and completely uncomplicated.
 
I suppose that’s why Robby can’t let her go.
 
She asks so little of him—just sex.
 
I’m sure it’s great sex with her body and her overtly sexual moves.
 
I am nothing but a complication, especially since we got married.
 
All that’s clear now, but it has no impact on me and as I gaze into her honey-warm eyes.
 
I’m wooed.

      
I know she feels something too.

      
“Have you ever wondered what it’s like to kiss a woman?” she finally speaks again.

      
I’m hardly startled.
 
“I did once in college, made love to my roommate.
 
Her lips tasted better than a man’s and they were much smaller and more refined.”

      
She smiles wistfully.
 
“That’s exactly how I felt the first time.”

      
I think she’s going to lean in and kiss me, but before she does, I see shadows behind her, the light in the room altering so slightly that it’s hard to notice why, until I look over her shoulder and see the man in the doorway.
 
I jump so suddenly that Chelsea sees the spark of fear in my expression and turns around.

      
Nicholas Riley is standing at my bedroom door, a gentle trace of mirth in his cold visage.
 
“My, even I get surprises sometimes,” he says.

      
“Who are you?” Chelsea asks, as if she owns the house, not me.

      
A friend of Lynnie’s,” my dark stranger replies.

 
     
“Then I should go,” she says in a strangely awkward voice.
 
Apparently she can handle me inside this house, but not my lover.

      
“No, don’t,” he says as he moves inside the room.
 
“You might want to stay and watch.
 
Or better yet, maybe I should tie you up like I’m going to do to Lynnie.”

      
She becomes more attentive and looks back at me.
 
“You’re going to tie her up?”

      
“Bondage, whips, clamps on her nipples,” Nicholas has her attention again.
 
“You ever try that?
 
Chelsea, isn’t?”

      
“Yes, it’s Chelsea,” she replies in a breathless voice. The strength of her arousal is so obvious that I know if pressed against her backside I’d feel her pussy throbbing with excitement. I watch that plump ass twitch, her legs quiver under her short skirt.
 
She turns again to me.
 
“You’re into S&M?” she wonders.

      
“I’m into doing as he says.”

      
Nicholas walks to me holding the leather he intends to use for my hands. This time it’s leather cuffs.
 
He’s brought a bag with him and I can only guess the contents.
 

      
As he drops the cuffs on bed beside me, Chelsea watches, staring in curious wonder as he begins taking off my clothes.
 
The sweater, the camisole, the skirt jerked down.
 
He leaves the garter belt and the lace-top hose, but otherwise I’m naked standing in my three-inch pumps.
 
She backs away while he buckles the cuffs around my wrists, and leads me to the broad doorway between the bedroom and the bath.
 
Reaching into his bag he pulls out a thick, 5” nail and a hefty hammer.
 
Pounding the nail in the framework overhead, he then loops the chain on my cuffs above me, so I’m strung up tight.
 
My cunt turns liquid.
 
And Chelsea’s eyes stare where the dampness sticks to the tuft of soft brown hair between my legs.