My Body-His Read online

  My Body-His

  by

  Blakely Bennett

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Fanny Press on Smashwords

  My Body-His

  Copyright © 2013 by Blakely Bennett

  Fanny Press

  PO Box 70515

  Seattle, WA 98127

  For more information go to: www.fannypress.com

  blakelybennett.fannypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Sabrina Sun

  My Body-His

  Copyright © 2013 by Blakely Bennett

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-523-9 (Trade Paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-522-2 (eBook)

  Produced in the United States of America

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  * * * * *

  For Dana

  My husband, lover, and best friend.

  Thank you for your encouragement

  and for being my biggest fan.

  * * * * *

  Acknowledgments

  This novel would never have been written had it not been for my husband’s support of my dream to be a writer. Not only did he implore me to try again to get My Body-His published, but he offered me suggestions and advice all along the way.

  A huge thank you to Catherine Treadgold and Fanny Press for believing in my writing and bringing her editing expertise to My Body-His.

  Thanks to the people who read parts of the story and provided invaluable feedback, including the Seattle Writers’ Group and R., who inadvertently gave me, “Get Lost Creep.”

  Thank you to T., who was the first person other than my husband to read the story all the way through. His enthusiasm motivated me to keep at it.

  Fellow author S. Twigg and I were editing buddies for a while and I owe him a shout-out for his support.

  Thank you David D. and Shana R. for reading and encouraging me.

  A big hug and kiss to Mauricio P. for his brilliant suggestion to lose “Luke” in the title of the first book. I knew the second he said it that he was right.

  To all people who were willing to talk to me about living the BDSM lifestyle, thank you for your openness and your help in ultimately crafting MBH.

  A final and huge thanks to you, my reader.

  CHAPTER ONE

  As on any other hot, sunny day in Florida, I returned from work to my apartment, which was located a mile from the beach and served as both my refuge and my cage. A lonely weekend stretched out before me. My two best friends had other things to do. Sandy had recently moved in with her boyfriend, Jason, so I hadn’t seen much of her lately, and Parker had flown out of town to visit her sister.

  If something didn’t awaken me soon, I would surely die of apathy. I craved excitement, anything to get my adrenaline pumping so I would know I still existed inside this trapped, mundane life of mine. One of my outlets, other than running, was reading. However, whenever I returned from the other world of predestined love to my prosaic existence, I was even more aware of the stark contrast between those stories and my life. I had given up reading romance novels a few months earlier, knowing such bliss would never be mine. No man had ever swept me off my feet or made my pulse race like those in the stories I had read. My mother worried I would end up alone and, honestly, so did I. Sandy had found “the one” for her but for me love didn’t seem to be in the cards.

  I don’t mean to imply I’d remained a virgin; I’d had boyfriends and lovers. Scott, my running buddy, occasionally offered his services, but for me earth-shattering orgasms existed exclusively in the realm of fiction. Maybe I lived too much in my head to experience heart palpitating attraction to another.

  I had my dream wedding all planned out in my mind and my dream man as well, although I couldn’t easily identify him in a magazine. Sandy felt I was way too picky and Parker thought I should be more selective. In my fantasies, I wore an ivory wedding dress with a long train and matching veil and carried a daisy and baby’s breath bouquet. I walked through a lush garden toward my man, who was dressed in a black tux.

  Definitely too many romance novels for me, I thought.

  Every now and again I would pick up a bridal magazine. It was like my own personal porn. I would hide the magazines from my friends, covertly looking through their pages until I grew depressed and threw all the copies away. Bridal magazines were as bad as romance novels, so I decided to shun them both.

  Shaking my head to rid myself of dismal thoughts, I grabbed my running clothes. I needed the physical experience of running so fast I could barely catch my breath. I needed the release.

  I jogged over to Hollywood beach, working up to my usual pace. After my legs finally warmed up, I felt someone approach me from behind.

  “How would you feel about going to a party with me tonight?” Scott asked as he fell in beside me.

  “Uh … I don’t know,” I said, briefly glancing in his direction. Normally we’d just hang out at his place if we were both in the mood.

  “Come on … it’ll be fun,” he said, huffing to match my stride. “They don’t let single men in alone, so I sort of need you to go.”

  “Oh … ummm. Are you sure you want to go down this road?” I raised my eyebrows. “I mean ….”

  “We can just hang out there, have a few drinks.” He touched my shoulder so I would slow down. “Look, it’s cool if you don’t want to go or if you have something else to do.”

  “Why no single guys?” I said, slowing my pace to a slight jog.

  “I figure they want a good balance between men and women,” he said, averting his eyes and shifting his body in a way that indicated he was hiding something.

  I brushed off my concern as I thought it over for a moment longer. I couldn’t stomach another Friday night alone in my apartment. “Sure, why not,” I said. “I need to run home—”

  “Cool,” he said, coming to a complete stop. “Meet me at my place around 9:30.” He smiled, revealing his sexy dimples, and then headed in the opposite direction.

  I picked up the pace again, more excited than I’d been in a long time.

  * * * *

  By 9:15 p.m. that evening, I stood ready in front of the mirror. The beige, fitted spaghetti-strap top complemented the brown skirt. Tan sandals completed the outfit. I lined my bright, yellow-green eyes with brown eyeliner to make their color stand out. My wavy brown hair hung loosely, flowing over my shoulders and down to the middle of my back.

  I avoided looking directly into my eyes because sometimes I could see my own desperation too close to the surface. I also wished my nose were a bit straighter. It didn’t look large or disfigured, just slightly crooked. Parker always said I had a warped sense of my looks. Taking one last quick peek, I felt satisfied and grabbed my purse to head out the front door.

  On my way back to Scott’s place I remembered the first time he had run up beside me and struck up a conversation. He wasn’t at all hard to look at.
He had a runner’s body—strong cut legs and a nice round butt—short-cropped curly black hair and bright green eyes. I wished I had his thick black eyelashes. He dimpled when he smiled and tilted his head in a way I found irresistible. Even though he didn’t have my number and I didn’t have his, our arrangement worked out fine.

  As I parked in a guest spot, I could see Scott waiting by his car near the front of the building in a light blue Izod shirt and dark jeans. We drove in silence and in less than twenty minutes, we were parking on the lawn of a towering house surrounded by large banyan trees. Vines climbed the lattice on the front of the house, darkly and ominously cloaking the home. The windows were barely visible. The large wooden door might have adorned a castle on a set for a horror movie.

  As I got out of the car, I had a feeling of foreboding but passed it off as nervousness. After all, I knew no one there other than Scott and hadn’t been to a party in a while.

  As we entered the dimly lit house, I noticed candles burning from wall sconces and candelabras. A chill ran up my spine that I should also have heeded as a second warning but again ignored. I noticed a staircase on the right, just past the foyer. On the left there was a sitting area with mismatched couches and chairs that reminded me of a frat house. The front of the house seemed devoid of human life other than Scott and me, but I could hear voices and music coming from deeper inside. The smell of candle wax combined with a faint sweetness reminded me of pie baking in the oven.

  We walked along a tiled hallway that led to the back of the house. On my right was the kitchen, lined by a long counter bar. Across from the entrance to the kitchen was a large sectional couch crowded with people cozily talking and drinking. I looked around at the huge back room, where several couches and chairs surrounded a pool table off to the left. A wall of sliding glass doors covered with thick brown drapes lined the back wall, with one section pulled back to reveal an opening. “Use Somebody,” by Kings of Leon, blared from speakers surrounding the room.

  I could see people milling about outside. The three who emerged wore all black and reminded me of Marilyn Manson fans because of their androgyny. On the couches were people I guessed to be about my age of thirty-five or slightly younger. They were dressed more sedately than their Goth counterparts. I turned to seek the comfort of Scott’s presence but he had disappeared. Suddenly I felt very alone.

  I walked over to the bar and filled a glass with the ladle from a clear punch bowl. I took a sip but quickly spit it back into the cup. I tried to find a garbage can to throw it away but couldn’t locate one in the kitchen.

  “Stay away from the punch,” Scott said as he sidled up beside me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  “Yeah,” I began, “figured that out for myself.” I leaned into him, glad not to be alone. “Where’s the garbage can?”

  “Outside,” he called over his shoulder as he strode away.

  Abandoned again, I slipped through the hole in the wall of curtains and stepped onto a wooden multi-layered deck. The music followed me outside and switched to a song that escapes me now. An L-shaped pool wrapped around the side of the house and as I stepped forward a few steps, I could see that it ended in a whirlpool. I found the garbage can and, while disposing of the cup of punch, caught a glimpse of a naked woman slipping into the swirling water.

  What the hell am I doing here? I thought.

  I quickly turned around and claimed the closest lounge chair. The wooden deck started at the sliding doors and surrounded the pool. People milled about, talking and laughing. To the left of the open door stood two kegs. Several people circled the large aluminum barrels and drank beer out of red plastic cups with Japanese characters on the side. That made me wonder about who might own the place.

  I couldn’t tell the exact number of people because the crowd seemed to be in constant motion, but there must have been at least fifty or sixty. Two men and a woman sat on the lounge chair next to mine. The woman had the same dress as the rest of her Goth clan but the men both wore long shorts with button-down shirts.

  Frat boys meet dangerous, dark-clad girl, I thought.

  Moments later, I smelled the distinct odor of cannabis. There was no mistaking it, even if it had been years. Taking in the scene around the pool, I felt a soft touch on my shoulder. I turned to find one of the guys—rather cute—leaning over and offering me a joint.

  “No thanks,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Don’t drink, don’t smoke … what do you do?” he said, cleverly mimicking Adam Ant’s accent.

  “I drink occasionally, but the punch tasted like hell so I threw it out.”

  “Bad stuff. It usually leaves a handful of people hugging the toilet by the end of the night. Would you like me to get you a beer?” he offered.

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  “My name is Hank,” he said, extending his hand across the gap between the chairs.

  “Jane,” I said, shaking his hand. “Have you been to one of these parties before? Do you know who owns this place?”

  “Hang on a sec and let me get us a couple of beers. I’ll be right back.”

  I watched his long, strong legs walk him adroitly over to the kegs. He had a bright smile that he shared with the other people around the barrels. His wavy brown hair, striking blue eyes and cherub-shaped face convinced me of his youth.

  I scanned the other partiers, trying to locate Scott.

  “Here ya go,” Hank said, bringing my attention back to him. He handed me a red plastic cup filled to the brim, with foam spilling over the side. “Mind if I sit with you?”

  I leaned over to take a sip from the overfilled cup and shifted my legs around to give him room. “Sure, have a seat.” Although I found him cute, I had no designs on him. Mostly I just didn’t want to be alone and I thought he might be able to satisfy some of my curiosity. “So the house … the Japanese letters—”

  “Yeah. No one seems to know who owns it. There’s a party here once a month or so. I’ve asked a lot of the people who attend these events, but I’ve always gotten the same response.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know what the letters mean.”

  “I see.” I noticed that several guests had shed pieces of clothing. I saw the naked girl from the hot tub strolling past with a towel wrapped around her waist. Her breasts sashayed freely from side to side as she walked. A group of men to the left of us wore only boxers.

  While Hank sat watching me, he asked, “Are you here with someone?”

  “Sort of, but I think I’m on my own,” I said, trying not to make eye contact.

  “You look surprised,” he said.

  “What kind of party is this?”

  “A ‘house’ party,” he said.

  “And that means … what exactly?” I leaned forward to whisper, “Is this like a huge orgy ready to happen?”

  “No, not really. Some group sex, probably, but mostly it’s just couples hooking up for the night or swapping partners. Most of the guests just watch the more adventurous.”

  “Oh,” I said, completely distracted. “Where the hell is he,” I said abruptly.

  “Who? The guy you came with? We can just talk if you’d like.”

  I pulled out my cellphone to call Sandy. No signal.

  “Can I borrow your cell?” I asked Hank.

  “Never have been able to a get signal at this place, inside or out,” he said.

  “Look, you seem like a nice enough guy but this isn’t my scene.” I jumped up. “Have a good time and thanks for the beer,” I said. Without looking back, I walked through the hole in the wall of sliding glass, searching for Scott.

  In my absence, many people inside had disrobed and were already in varying states of copulating. I cast a quick glance around but didn’t spot Scott. Just past the kitchen, I noticed a bowl of condoms. Had that been there before? I hurried toward the front door, wondering what to do.

  Why hadn’t I driven my own car? Stupid … stupid … stupid! Breathe. Okay, relax. Go upstairs and find a phone. Call Sandy
and ask her to come get you. You can apologize profusely for taking her away from her boyfriend while she’s driving you safely home.

  I hurriedly walked toward the foyer and mounted the first step, noticing the eerie quiet that pervaded that end of the house. Did using a bedroom not occur to these people? At the top of the stairs, I opened the first door on the right, which ended up being a bathroom. I knocked lightly on the next door, thinking maybe someone had snuck upstairs. Wanting to avoid more naked bodies being intimate, I listened carefully. Hearing nothing, I cautiously opened the door.

  A canopy king-size bed occupied the left wall of a very large bedroom. The masculine space had thick, dark wood furniture that looked aged. Light emanating from the far right dimly illuminated the area. I focused my attention on the candle sitting in the large window at the back of the room. Next to it, I noticed an easel and canvas. The paint glistened and the smell of turpentine faintly filled the air. My curiosity became overwhelming and I felt compelled to move closer to the picture. A chill ran up my back and I immediately turned around. Out of the shadows near the door, a figure stepped forward.

  “Oh,” I said, bringing my right hand to my chest. “I didn’t realize someone would be in here. I’m sorry.”

  He stared back at me. I felt my body blush as the warmth spread out to my limbs.

  “I’m sorry … I’ll leave,” I said, but I didn’t move from where I stood next to the painting.

  Still he said nothing. He looked like a statue—except for his eyes. His eyes held the intensity of an animal about to pounce on his prey. I felt anxious and embarrassed at my intrusion into his bedroom but also intrigued by his powerful demeanor. I trembled, somewhat frightened by his male presence, but also aroused.