In Too Deep (8 page)

That image of him kneeling before me is just a mind trick. Submissive is the last thing on earth he is.

LIBRARYGIRL: You want to worship me?

As the cursor blinks, I imagine a dark figure rising to his
feet
and then looming over me. In my mind he’s wearing black, and that mask – it’s leather and covers a lot of his face, reminding me of an executioner’s hood and just as menacing.

NEMESIS: Sometimes …

Oh, what a wealth of promise in that single word. My mind is populated with images from the ‘forbidden’ photography books, and imagined scenes from the erotica I’ve read. Nemesis surely lives right up to his forbidding title, even though in mythology the name belonged to an avenging female goddess. He seems combative, dominant, out for some kind of retribution, although for what I really don’t know. Maybe for all that fantasising. I suppose I was cheating on my hubby by not thinking about him while we were in bed.

LIBRARYGIRL: And what do you want to do with me at the other times?

NEMESIS: I want you to obey me … to allow me to educate you and expand the horizons of your experience and sexuality.

Bingo!

LIBRARYGIRL: Why would I want to do that? What if I like my horizons where they are now? What if I know more than you think I know?

NEMESIS: I think we’ll both find there’s much, much more to learn when we get going. You’re enjoying yourself now, aren’t you?

Pause.

NEMESIS: And I’ve managed to get you to obey me tonight by engaging in this conversation. When I’ll wager the whole idea of it runs counter to your quiet-living librarian’s good sense.

LIBRARYGIRL: Who says I’m quiet-living? I could be a raver
and
have dozens of boyfriends and masses of sex all the time.

Just how much does he know about me? Has he been spying on me outside the library? Is he a
real
stalker?

NEMESIS: Well then, I just hope those dozens of men realise exactly how lucky they are. Will you obey me?

I’m trembling. I’m aching. I’ve never felt this excited. My nipples are so tight and erect they’re almost sore, and my pyjama bottoms are wet through at the crotch, almost as if I’ve peed myself.

NEMESIS: Will you obey me?

The repetition reminds me I’m dithering. The remnants of what he quaintly calls my librarian’s good sense are dying embers, ready to be rekindled by a ‘Bring it on!’ But I don’t give in that easily. The defiance of a lifetime doesn’t die in the space of a single online chat.

LIBRARYGIRL: Yes … but how will you know? If you told me to do something right now, how would you know I’ve done it? It’s not as if I’ve got a webcam.

Which is, thankfully, true. If I were to see him, and him me, this would disintegrate. It’s the anonymity – or the pretend anonymity if it
is
Daniel – that’s so thrilling.

NEMESIS: Trust, my dear. I’ll take it on trust. Which puts the onus on
you
not to cheat.

I close my eyes for a moment and seem to see his, framed by that mask. They’re dark and glittering and playful. I wish I could draw so I could record their dangerous beauty.

LIBRARYGIRL: I’m not a cheater.

Ah, but I am one, and I’m such a liar too, considering all that fantasy cheating on my husband.

NEMESIS: I believe you. Now, what are you wearing?

I purse my lips. It’s the old, old phone-sex/cybersex ploy and I’m almost disappointed in him. But not quite. Shall I fib?
I’m
getting so excited and nervous I could explode. I’m like melted toffee boiling over on the stove, and almost literally so between my legs. I decide to compromise. Tell a bit of the truth, but with a bit of misdirection. After all, he’s barely giving me anything from his side of the puzzle.

LIBRARYGIRL: Silk pyjamas … red. Very slinky.

Actually, they’re brushed cotton and blue-and-white-striped.

NEMESIS: Ah, a secret seductress … fond of silk and satin … I was right about you. Imagining the exotica beneath your oh so appropriate attire in the library. You’re making me hard, very hard … but I expect you realise that, don’t you?

Ah hah, so he’s not quite the mindreader or remote viewer I was so afraid of. I have a small advantage over him, a bargaining chip in the game. We’re
both
fooling around with each other. And I like it.

LIBRARYGIRL: Well, I was kind of hoping you
were
hard, otherwise there’s not much point to this, is there?

Silence for a minute.

NEMESIS: We could just be friends …

He follows it with a smiley face.

LIBRARYGIRL: But with extras?

NEMESIS: LOL Of course … Are you wet?

I was close to saturated almost before we started.

LIBRARYGIRL: Yes.

NEMESIS: Oh yummy! I thought you might be. Tell me how wet. Are you seeping all over your pyjamas? Is your luscious honey running down into the crack of your bottom?

I let out a moan. I can’t help myself. My juice
is
running down. It’s overflowing my pussy, like the nectar of a flower, brimming and oozing. I move slightly, adjusting the laptop across my thighs, and a trickle slides into the crease between the back of my thigh and my bottom. I’ve never been so wet before in my life.

LIBRARYGIRL: I’m very wet. There’s a big damp patch in the seat of my pyjamas and it’s trickling down. I can feel it on the insides of my thighs.

I hesitate only a fraction of a second.

LIBRARYGIRL: Does that make you even harder?

In my mind, I hear a soft, very masculine laugh, and the lips beneath the imagined leather hood curve into a smile that’s half sultry, half menacing.

NEMESIS: Of course it does. You know it does. And you’re getting above yourself, Ms Sexy Librarian.

Now that should make me annoyed, indignant. But it doesn’t, it just makes me hotter and more sexualised than ever. My pussy feels pouched, puffy, wide. Needy. I edge my thighs apart, wishing I could shove the laptop aside and just communicate with Nemesis by telepathy, untrammelled by electronics and technology.

I wish he was here so he could reach down and touch my clit.

LIBRARYGIRL: What about you? What’s your cock like? Are you big?

I feel as if I could say anything to him, and yet at the same time I’m actually liking this sense of being under his control. I feel as if my personality is splitting into two, the way his must have done, and the idea of being both real and a fantasy figure makes me feel giddy and lightheaded.

NEMESIS: And still you push me, Gwendolynne. You’re a very daring and stimulating woman. If I describe my cock to you, I’ll expect you to pay a fair price … do you understand that?

My heartbeat races again, and I press myself down against the mattress. I’m saturating my pyjamas
and
the sheet now, but I couldn’t care less.

LIBRARYGIRL: Yes. I do. I understand. That’s fair.

NEMESIS: Very well then.

He pauses and I imagine him looking down at his own body, formulating the words to describe it. I wonder if he’s like a lot of men – prone to skewed assessments and exaggeration when it comes to his precious equipment.

NEMESIS: I’d classify myself as ‘presentable’. Not humungous, but I’m happy with what I’ve got and the way it works. And I love the way it feels when I touch myself and think about you. The way it feels now …

The vision of Daniel in the washroom floats before me with aching clarity, then somehow gets jumbled with the man in the leather mask. I see Daniel in a leather mask, naked on a bed, working himself furiously, writhing on the very same white silk sheets Nemesis raved about in his letter. And Daniel is more than presentable.

But one thing doesn’t compute. I’m having trouble combining typing with the grinding, gouging urge to touch myself. How the devil is Nemesis managing?

LIBRARYGIRL: How can you type and toss yourself off at the same time?

NEMESIS: LOL.

LIBRARYGIRL: No, seriously. I’m having trouble here, so you must be as well.

NEMESIS: Perhaps I’m using voice-activated software. Have you considered that?

LIBRARYGIRL: You mean like VOIP? Voice chat? Is that what you want?

The cursor blinks and blinks. Suddenly I don’t want that. Hearing his voice will dissolve the suspense. If it’s Daniel, or someone else I’ve had a face-to-face with in the library, I’ll know them, and this weird game will be over. And not knowing, even if I have my suspicions, is somehow freeing. I know I can say anything to Nemesis while I don’t know
who
he is, whereas if I
did
know I’d clam up. The magic might disappear, and I might not even
want
to play any more.

NEMESIS: Perhaps, some day … but not yet. I rather like these little pauses when I can’t touch myself. It cranks up the anticipation, and makes the touches all the more pleasurable when they do occur.

For a moment, I almost stop thinking about sex, and sense the intimation of something deeper, more profound. A different communication. Synchronous thinking …

LIBRARYGIRL: Yes! That’s how I feel!

NEMESIS: Good. I thought you’d understand. But now it’s time for you to pay that price I mentioned. You hadn’t forgotten it, had you?

LIBRARYGIRL: No. Go ahead. Do your worst.

Again, I hear that strange, soft, anonymous laughter in my head. It’s a voice but not a voice, yet so real that it’s like the stroke of a feather across the tip of my aching clitoris. My pussy flutters and I squash myself down again while I wait for Nemesis’s ‘price’.

NEMESIS: Remove your pyjama bottoms. I want to know that your pussy is exposed. Available to me if I were there with you. I like that. I like the idea of it being constantly at my disposal, always touchable. At my command.

I can’t breathe. My head feels as if it’s lighter than air. It’s a sort of faintness, but not faintness, as if I’ve drunk the whole bottle of wine without any ill effects and only the dreamy, liberating, intoxicating ones. My sex throbs hard, acknowledging its master.

NEMESIS: Gwendolynne? Are you ready to obey me?

LIBRARYGIRL: Yes, I’m doing it now.

NEMESIS: Good girl. Your sex belongs to me. Bare it for me.

I
am
in too deep now! Shoving the laptop aside, I wriggle
out
of my pyjama trousers. The crotch is soaked and I can feel dampness beneath me on the sheet. My pussy is flowing for its master. I look down at the flossy little patch of tawny hair, then close my eyes as if I can send the image of it across the ether to Nemesis.

I know he’s waiting to hear from me but I feel rude and wanton. I want to play. The area between my legs is my toy as well as his. I haul up my knees and part my thighs wide so I can see more. See the glistening, peachy redness, my lips and my clit and the inner cleft, awash with juice.

Here it is! See it! It’s yours
, I call to him silently, stretching wider. Constrained not to touch his possession until he gives me leave, I reach beneath my pyjama jacket and touch my nipples instead.

Mistake. Stroking my breasts only does diabolical things to my clit. It swells, throbs, engorges. Tears squeeze out of the corners of my eyes and I pinch my nipples to punish myself. Moaning aloud, making noises I can’t remember ever making before, I turn to the side and see the screen.

NEMESIS: Gwendolynne?

In acute discomfort, I twist around and start typing.

LIBRARYGIRL: Sorry. I … I got too excited. My pussy is bare now.

NEMESIS: Did you touch it? You know that I’ve not yet given you permission. I shall be disappointed in you if you’ve anticipated my instructions.

I gasp. I’m drowning in desire, aching to come, but the idea of disappointing Nemesis crushes me.

LIBRARYGIRL: No! I didn’t touch my pussy. I wanted to … I’m aching to … I don’t think I can last much longer … but I
didn’t
do it.

My body arches of its own accord, tormented by denial. I scream silently for permission as I feel more juice sliding
down
my cleft, coating the delicate tissues there and flowing into the groove of my bottom.

NEMESIS: But you did do something.

I could swear that he’s watching me, but I don’t have a webcam. Perhaps he just knows me better than I know myself?

LIBRARYGIRL: I played with my nipples. Next best thing.

He smiles. In my mind. I just see a mouth, strong and sculpted, but also lush. White teeth glinting. Absolute joy. I see a naked man leaning over my body, beautiful tousled dark hair hanging over my thighs and belly. It’s Daniel because he’s the only naked man I’ve seen recently. His lips are pursed.

NEMESIS: Perhaps in some ways the same. Still a transgression. One day, perhaps, I’ll make you come without touching your clit. I’ll toy with your nipples until you’re beside yourself. I’ll touch everything but your pussy … and then when you’re halfway off your head with frustration I’ll blow on your clit … and then you’ll come.

Right! That’s it! I’ve had enough!

Or nowhere, nowhere near enough. I clamp my hand to my pussy and dive in with my middle finger. It takes just two rough strokes and I’m coming like an express train, momentarily blind, deaf and dumb, unable to think of anything but the white heaven between my legs. I flail wildly and the side of my hand strikes the edge of the laptop screen. There’s a twinge of pain, but it’s a thousand miles away and can’t touch me.

Seconds or maybe minutes later, I’m still gasping. My chest heaves like a bellows and my pussy still feels as if it’s in another place entirely. I fight to focus, and blink to see the laptop screen. Amazingly I haven’t shattered it in my transports of ecstasy, and in the chat window words glare at me accusingly.

NEMESIS: What are you doing, Gwendolynne?

They repeat and repeat.

NEMESIS: What are you doing, Gwendolynne?

NEMESIS: What are you doing, Gwendolynne?

5 Forfeit

IT’S THE NEXT
day and it’s as if I’ve got a hangover. But not from booze. I didn’t drink all that much wine. No, it’s a new phenomenon – a sex hangover. I’ve got the same sort of vaguely uneasy, blurry, guilty sort of feeling that I always get after I’ve got completely wasted. Coupled with the same spaced-out sensation of unreality.