My Body-His Read online

  “Ah … um … is there a phone I could use?” I said, meekly. “Is there another room I could hang out in? This party’s not my scene and ... I don’t ... have my car.”

  Still he didn’t speak. He stepped forward out of the shadows and took three long strides to stand in front of me.

  “Go downstairs,” he said, “and bring us back two Coronas.”

  “Oh but …” I said, but the look on his face stopped me.

  Then he spoke but I wished he would stop. “So alone you are … it radiates from you. You’re bored. You had hoped tonight would offer some excitement … some diversion.” The stranger spoke in a deep but quiet voice. “But mindless, meaningless sex,” he continued, “does not interest you. You’re disappointed with life and sad. You think if your life continues in this way you’ll die of dissatisfaction.”

  “Stop it!” I said. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me. Whose house is this? Where’s the phone?” But I didn’t move. I felt pinned by his penetrating stare.

  He went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “You are so beautiful, but you don’t know it. You want something … need something desperately and you don’t know what it is. I know what it is and I can give it to you … if I decide it’s you.”

  I needed to get past him to the door and run out of that crazy house. Nevertheless, I didn’t move. I just stood there riveted as though nailed to the floor. I couldn’t breathe. I knew I needed to get out, that he was dangerous. MOVE, I yelled in my head, MOVE!

  “You’re scaring me,” I said. I couldn’t move. I wanted to cover myself because I felt so exposed … naked in front of him, but I just stared at him with my arms hanging at my sides. He seemed infused, empowered by my silence.

  Finally he spoke again. “Take off your panties and bring them to me ... or you can leave,” he said, holding out his hand for my underwear.

  I shuddered when I realized I wasn’t leaving. The intrigue clouded my sense of reason. I could see clearly on his face that he knew I wasn’t going anywhere. In an attempt to regain my composure, I moved toward the door and then stopped. I looked back and diverted my attention to the painting to escape his gaze. The artful garden scene was colorful but felt subdued. Deeper inside the picture stood a white gazebo with ivy growing on it that reminded me of the front of the house.

  “Do you own this house?” I asked, turning back to face him. He continued to hold out his hand, offering no response.

  I studied the painting more carefully and noticed a girl in the gazebo. I couldn’t make out her features, because the flicker of the candles made it difficult to see, but I thought she might be naked. The painting gave me an eerie feeling. Although the gazebo stood surrounded by what looked like a field of flowers, I felt sad for the girl.

  The man brought my attention back to him with his deep voice. “Take off your panties and bring them to me … or you can leave,” he repeated, moving toward the door.

  I struggled between my rational mind and my arousal. I could feel my panties moisten just being in his presence. I had never experienced such a strong reaction to a man. Desire won out as I slipped off my underwear from beneath my skirt and around my sandals. I walked toward him and placed them in his outstretched palm. As I blushed, wondering if he could smell my desire, his masculine scent overwhelmed my senses. I could smell lust mixed with sandalwood as he deliberately and confidently stepped up to me and neatly rolled the waist of my brown skirt, raising the hem so that it just covered my butt.

  His touch sent a pleasurable frisson through my body as I observed his face up close. His hair was straight and sandy brown, and his bangs were tousled over his wide forehead. Although his angular nose and deep-set eyes made him look more menacing than handsome, when he smiled as he did then, his gray eyes sparkled, giving him a boyish appeal. A curtain of darkness quickly came down over his features, his forehead furrowed and his smile vanished.

  “Go downstairs and get us two Coronas and grab one of the packs of smokes lying around. Lights … no menthol.”

  I turned to leave and as I walked by, he slapped my butt with his open hand. It startled me but also set my juices flowing. What the hell am I doing? I thought.

  I went downstairs, frightened that someone would come up in the opposite direction and see my exposed buttocks. I passed the large couch opposite the kitchen and snaked around the corner. The idea that everyone could tell I was practically naked caused the wetness between my legs to increase. I avoided making eye contact as I entered the kitchen. Pulling the refrigerator open, I finger-locked two Corona longnecks and opened them with the church key hanging from a hook magnet on the door. I spotted lime wedges on a plate and chose two.

  Cigarettes presented more of a problem. I spotted a pack on the counter next to the stove but they were menthol. I didn’t want to go into the main room where the naked and the clothed voyeurs filled the couches and the floor around them. I checked the long coffee table just outside the kitchen. Nothing. I moved farther into the backroom and spotted a pack of Marlboro Lights on the opposite side. Shit! I thought.

  I tiptoed over two men and a woman who were in the throes of a ménage à trois. One of the men reached up my thigh, almost touching my wetness, which sent me bouncing like a gazelle to the corner table. Carefully balancing the beer bottles and lime in one hand, I leaned forward to grab the cigarettes. A guy grasped my wrist and I yelped, sure he had caught me stealing his smokes.

  “Where’d you get the Coronas?” he said, pulling me down.

  “The refrigerator,” I barked, “let go of me!” Regaining my balance, I somehow managed to escape spilling any of the beer. I danced my way back through the contortions of people on the floor. “Oh my god,” I mumbled under my breath. I breathed a sigh of relief as I made my way to the front of the house and began to ascend the stairs.

  A man behind me grabbed my arm. “You’re not allowed up there,” he said.

  “Let me go,” I growled, trying to wrench my arm from his grip. “Do you own this house?” I snatched my wrist away from him.

  “No,” he said, standing his ground. “Them’s the rules and you need to follow them like the rest of us.”

  “Oh buzz off,” I said, turning back around and running up the stairs. I shoved the smokes under my chin and twisted the handle quickly to rejoin my new acquaintance before the man by the stairs could attempt to enforce the house rules.

  “That took longer than I expected,” the artist said in a stern voice as I entered.

  I shut the door. “Don’t make me do that again,” I said. I laughed, shaking my head to rid myself of the thought.

  “Let me see what you brought,” he said, turning on the stool in front of the easel to face me.

  “I got what you asked for. I even brought you lime for the beer,” I said, smiling.

  “Here’s your first lesson, so listen closely—when I give you an order, you must follow it to the letter … nothing more … nothing less. Understood?”

  “Huh?” I said but I knew what he meant.

  “I’ll let it slide this one time,” he said, taking both the beers and the lime from my right hand. He squeezed the lime into the neck of the bottles. I handed him the cigarettes and he handed me one of the beers.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking a sip.

  He took a swig and placed his beer on the windowsill. Then he reached for my beer and placed it alongside his. Without warning, he spun me around, pulling me back onto his lap. Roughly spreading my thighs, he gently touched the wetness there. “I was right about you. You need this …. You need me.”

  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 ....

  CHAPTER TWO

  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.”