Obsession (9780061887079)

by Vanderbilt, Gloria

  My hand shakes as I reach to take the glass Priscilla is about to extend. Instead I open my purse and take out an envelope, handing it to her.

  “What’s this?” she asks.

  “A letter—”

  “Of what interest to me?” she says dismissively.

  I remain silent.

  “Why it’s Talbot’s writing.”

  “You’re welcome to read it.”

  I put out my hand to take the letter back and stand up, but she’s got a real grip on it.

  “I have to go. If you want to read it, it will have to be now.”

  She takes the letter out of the envelope—

  “Out loud,” I say.

  The two of us sit for what seems like hours, but perhaps it’s only a blink…trembling, she begins…

  My Dove, Sweet Bee,

  An envelope will be delivered to you by a stranger and inside will be a ticket for a magic show. It comes as a great relief as you have waited so long, scented and coiffed exactly as I wish, your hair braided loosely and held by tortoiseshell combs, tendrils falling gently as antennas of mythical creatures around the pale beauty of your face, lightly tinted by a maquillage that allows its luminosity to shine through—and the sapphire blue eye shadow flecked with silver, please—your mouth made ready for kissing by a sweep of candy salve. I mentioned to Rowena to pull the laces on the bodice I brought from Neverneverland extra tight so that your breasts will poof up deliciously, longing to be released to my tender mercies—and, of course, you are wearing my preferred leather emerald-studded collar, but as I your Master have the chain and haven’t come, the strain of waiting in vain for me so many nights makes you question your mental integrity. The magic show will be a most welcome diversion and one you richly deserve. Nevertheless you must leave notes for me everywhere explaining where you are just in case I come for you.

  Though the magician performing at the magic show may be rather pedestrian—producing the usual rabbits and nosegays out of ostensibly thin air—you will, I guarantee, enjoy yourself immensely, in spite of the collar you are wearing, which is itching, even irritating, your neck. On balance, your mood will be good and you will smile and be eager to cooperate when the magician picks you from the audience to help him perform his trick. I have ordered him to whisper to you on stage, “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” and don’t be put off by the heavy white makeup he is wearing, which might make you apprehensive; once it’s removed, he can be trusted. As you enter the casket he will mutter, “Cooey-gooey conga” and a lot of other gibberish as you feel the casket spin like a wheel until suddenly you will find yourself deposited back on the stage, but no one is applauding, because you are clearly in another place than the one you were in before you entered the casket, and, as you look out into the audience, you find it too to be not as it was before. You may be surprised to find standing beside you not the magician—but me. You will long to ask how I made everything happen, including the new audience—what my connection is to this magic show, do I know that it is me myself? But you will remain silent because you want to have your pussy licked so badly you think you are about to faint with longing, and don’t want to risk irritating me with idle questions.

  “Heel,” you’ll hear a voice say, overjoyed to discover it is mine; you will happily get on your hands and knees as I tell you, “Now do what you’re supposed to do”—turning my back I’ll bend forward over a chair, rest my arms on the seat cushion, as your hand slaps my bottom until spots of pink appear, which you’ll lick and soothe until the heaven of your face finds its way tight up against my tulip, your tongue at last doing what it is supposed to do, seeking deeper up inside me.

  Nadine will appear from nowhere to reward you with a special treat, circling your nipples with her finger, expanding pleasure by taking a breast into the lovely wideness of her mouth while squeezing the nipple of the other with her fingers into a tiny bud of pain as your pussy honey creams with anticipation.

  But suddenly we will be interrupted by Maja, of all people. How like her not to miss an opportunity to appear center-stage when festivities are about to peak. Startlingly dressed in a vermillion robe and cape similar to that of a cardinal or archbishop, twirling jeweled fingers in arabesques around her head, she will produce a galaxy of bursting stars, from which a naked girl will appear. The audience, clearly delighted, will applaud. At once I will notice the chain circling her waist is the very one I had made for you in Florence by Bucellati, a chain of such delicacy it is invisible, on which hangs the golden key bearing my name. How the hell did she get it? Certainly not from you? The girl will diffidently stand back as Maja brings her forward to introduce her as Phoebe. I observe a somewhat awkward maiden with eyes, feline, opalescent as green grapes and such exquisite features no wonder Maja considers her a prize. Her hair, a startling shade of amber, cascades, a waterfall of silk, down her back as I remove the invisible chain and attach it onto the leather collar around her neck, which for some reason displeases you. Phoebe’s mons has enormous appeal as Maja has wisely left it unshaven and it presents itself a tuft of amber softness. How thoughtful of Maja to imprint your crest of bee and crown placed on her flesh, precisely at top of the V where the mossy tuft begins.

  Here Priscilla is unable to continue….

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Priscilla shouts.

  “As you wish.” I stand reaching for the letter, ready to leave.

  Abruptly she changes her mind, sits down…. starts….

  But never fear my Queen—Phoebe will be but a passing fancy—but come, come now—no more sentimentalities. I ease Phoebe into the chair, contemplate her beauty, as tentatively she leans forward to take my cock into her mouth.

  “No, no, that will never do,” I interrupt. “I can’t hear you—speak up.”

  She wants to kill me…but instead a coughing fit ensues.

  Opening my purse, urging her to calm down, I offer a soothing lozenge readily at hand, leaning across to pat her knee, saying, “There, there, dear.”

  “Shut up,” she says, rudely brushing away my hand, but mesmerized by curiosity delves back into the letter and proceeds in an acceptable manner.

  “Louder,” I say.

  As I stand thus, jealous of her interest in me you kneel, exploring my balls with your glorious tongue. You know I prefer giving prolonged pleasure before possession, but your expertise excites me and, unable to restrain myself, I thrust my cock, aggressively moving back and forth, into Phoebe without further ado. This makes it difficult for you to keep your tongue in place, and, as the audience finally becomes aware of the degree of difficulty, they do in fact applaud for you. But does this please you? Instead you begin to cry, your tears lubricating the outer rim of my tulip, and, always solicitous of you, dear Bee, not wishing to distress you further, I extricate myself from Phoebe, ensconce you in her place, spread your legs over the arms of the chair, swallowing the hot honey (even hotter than your tears) that is streaming from your pussy. How delightfully receptive you are. When finally you can hold back no longer, beginning to scream, your orgasm begins, the audience, now completely on your side, erupts in applause, and, as they do, Nadine, Phoebe, and Maja vanish, leaving you, Queen Bee, triumphant to find the invisible chain with golden key dangling once more around your waist.

  Are your fears at rest? I hope so. I am perhaps overly sensitive to your moods, for lately you’ve exhibited signs of a jealousy which surprise me. Put my mind at rest, please, invite Phoebe to join us at Akeru for an indefinite stay as I shall be coming there next week. By complying you will prove how misguided I have been in misinterpreting your actions perhaps intended as provocative preludes to our revels? Phoebe deserves to be educated in the art of enjoyment, for I suspect that she, like my wife, Priscilla, is sadly lacking in the ability to accept pleasure, which accounts no doubt for her lack of expertise at the magic show. It sometimes crosses my mind to ask you to invite Priscilla to visit Akeru so that you could administer to her the same attentions I expec
t you to extend to Phoebe. How I would welcome any change this would make in her and how I would cherish you, dear Bee, even more than I do now for even a small transformation you might enable her to achieve so that she could in some measure experience the pleasures we enjoy. But I digress—Phoebe is another matter…she’s an interesting girl. I suspect she moves on strange planes as you do, Bee, and perhaps blessed with your chameleon skills of transformation? But needs encouragement, as you once did, to become confident, trust impulses, free to discover pleasures of erotic techniques she can’t even imagine. But of course only invite her if you approve, my darling. There shall be no more Dominiques to disrupt our paradise.

  Perhaps on second thought it’s best we wait and see how she responds after this first visit before suggesting she reside longer; let’s see how capable she is of applying herself with ease, grateful for the opportunity you are offering (you know how sulks unnerve me). But I sense in her eagerness to please. We shall see. Also her mons must not be waxed although you know I prefer yours to be—Phoebe’s is another matter.

  Until soon—my darling,

  Talbot

  “Get out get out get out!” Priscilla threw the letter at me and, screaming, ran from the room. I left it lying on the floor where it landed—a copy, of course—the original treasured next to my bed at Akeru, next to a photograph of Talbot. Then, having seen and done to my satisfaction all that I wanted to see and do, I said a pleasant good-bye to Phoebe as I passed her in the hall and marched out of Mrs. Talbot Bingham’s Sutton Place house in New York City into my car, on to the airport, and off I jetted—home to Akeru.

  BEE WAKES FROM THIS DREAM, remembering it in alarming detail. But in the afternoon falls into a deep sleep and, when she wakes, has no memory of it…

  THROUGH COMPETENT SOURCES I have discovered that Maja’s Janus Club is a five-story mansion on a quiet street in Brooklyn. Determined not to be found out to be an impostor, I arrive wearing sunglasses, confidently presenting myself as Bee. There appears to be a lot of bustle going on, but as I enter, someone runs to greet me, surprised. Obviously it is the flamboyant Maja who although distracted is delighted by my arrival, chatting on about the fête and Nadine who she says has been giving trouble lately and I’ve arrived just in time to take her down a peg or two. I tell Maja I miss Talbot, and, restless, left Akeru in charge of Rowena and staff for an indefinite time. As we talk it is clear to me she has no suspicion that my real identity is Priscilla, so I take off my sunglasses and look her in the eye as, smilingly, she looks back.

  “Well, Bee, you haven’t changed. Seeing you brings back happy times, and this is a most fortuitous visit—just in time for our annual Masked Fête tomorrow night. Come see how we are transforming the ballroom into a magic circle of a silver-and-crystal grotto.”

  Knowing nothing of the layout of the house, I hesitate: “I’ll need something to wear—a dress, a mask; I forgot this is the time of year for the annual fête.”

  “Check with the atelier—they’ll make up something for you in a jiff.”

  “No, let me first take a tour around to see if anything has changed since I left that night when Talbot came to claim me.”

  “Little has changed,” Maja reassures me. “Our Janus Club is still best in the land—our goddesses make life their art. It’s not easy to find ones up to your class or Nadine’s, but I do have a new arrival ready to be presented in time for the fête—quite acceptable—Phoebe—she’s learning fast. I’ve even found someone to replace Rowena, since you spirited her away from me. She’s teaching a class right now in the Blue and Silver Room—as you’re passing by take a look in. But oh Bee, we still all miss Talbot—so much—it’s a credit to you that you kept The Rules he imposed to the letter and what a success you’ve made of Akeru! I congratulate you. And it appears you took my advice and preserved the deepest part of yourself intact—you did, didn’t you?”

  I turn away from her so she cannot see my tears.

  “Never doubt he was genuinely admiring of you. Such a curious mixture, wasn’t he—and, if you don’t mind a bit of pop psychology from your ole Mamacita, I’ve come to the conclusion—a genius, yes—and to the world, a demigod, but as a man his desire to win honor, power, wealth, fame, and love of women came from lack of believing he had achieved enough of these satisfactions, and, like any other unsatisfied man, he turned away from reality and transferred his interests, and his libido too, into wishful constructions of a life of fantasy. But I must run, Bee,” and she hurries off to attend to the fête.

  I cautiously find my way around the house, imagining Talbot walking up the grand staircase, along these corridors, past rooms with doors closed. What has gone on here? What is going on there now? The front of each door is a painted trompe l’oeil, rendered so skillfully the figures appeared real. I reach out to touch the naked flesh, stunned to see each face resembles mine. Am I really here or am I too a dream?

  As I turn to go down the staircase, someone in a great rush almost runs into me and seeing me, stops, exclaiming:

  “Bee! What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

  Stalling, to gather my wits I reply, “I got restless, missing Talbot—so I came back.”

  “Oh Bee, I’ve missed you—I’m on my way for a fitting but—come let’s talk.” And she pulls me to sit with her in an alcove on the staircase.

  “Oh that lovely man—I’m sorry for your loss, Bee. No one like him, before or since, so generous to all of us, unlike any client I ever knew. I used to be so jealous of you, convinced it was me he should have chosen—I had the kind of moxie to cope with The Rules he required. I thought you much too romantic in the long pull to be ever able to hang in there. Anyone could see you were falling in love with him—I wasn’t—which makes all the difference.” Laughing, she rambled on.

  “Remember, during the second half of the Yab-Yum when we each had a turn to display our skills at provoking his cock—I wasn’t so sure—I thought he favored me. It’s fair to say, Bee, even Maja puts me first in that skill. I’m eager to go for whatever it takes. Only when Talbot, turning me over, removed the balsa stick, replacing it with his cock, roughly, causing me to cry out—I didn’t take to that one bit—so unlike him to cruelly comment I could never qualify as Maîtresse unless I be molded by the more severe golden rod.

  “But later, Bee, when your turn came—to my professional eye, you were much more interested in finding just the right size of a golden rod than in catering to his cock. I congratulate the time you took, considering the varying tapered sizes presented in the ebony box, intuitively selecting the one to please him. How inventive to suck it before inserting in you, leaving it there for a goodly time, sitting cross-legged to let him, without touching you, contemplate your beauty, and, after a time instructing you to remove it, bid me (not you, Bee) to pour aphrodisiac from the clay cruet into my hands, place a drop on my finger, lightly circle the tip of his cock, as you sat silently observing the pleasure I was giving him. But he never took his eyes off you Bee—don’t think I didn’t notice that! When the sweet musk scent filled the room he motioned me to give back the golden rod, knowing you would insert it with greater skill, but as he bent over the divan my tongue found its way to the secret crevices of his balls increasing his pleasure by taking his cock in my mouth as you rolled the rod gently around and up, higher into him with just the right edge. I learned a lot from you that evening, Bee. And he—enjoyed it mightily.”

  I am fainting, and taking her hand to steady myself, I blurt out, “Oh Nadine—I have to go now—no mask—have nothing to wear,” and, about to ask directions to find the atelier, luckily I catch myself in time, for if I did she would discover I was an impostor. Flustered, astonished to hear myself say as she runs away from me down the stairs—

  “It will be fun working with you again Nadine.”

  I look around the halls and finally come upon the atelier where activity swirls in preparation for the fête. It stops when they see me standing in the doorway.

&n
bsp; “Bee!” they all cry. “We missed you. Welcome home.”

  Later I learned that Maja encouraged members of the Janus Club to bring wives to her annual fête. I wondered if Talbot had ever in the beginning of our marriage even considered taking me? No doubt Maja knew from her discussions with him when he had enlisted her talents to find him a Maîtresse that I—his wife—was incapable of reciprocating passion in ways he required—knew I would not enjoy or condone the pleasures Janus provided. And, of course that was true. But now?

  Priscilla couldn’t believe it was her voice saying to Maja:

  “Do you think Priscilla would have enjoyed coming with Talbot to Janus Club?”

  “Hardly,” Maja laughed. “I never met Mrs. Bingham, of course, but from everything I could gather she’s a real uptight prude—totally unsuitable for Talbot. His genius had the creativity and the money to make Akeru and The Rules a reality. Not many of us can have our dreams come true in the way he did. Yes, his passions were excessive and obsessive indeed. He achieved everything he wanted, but I can’t help but question sometimes—was it ever enough?”

  “You mean—he didn’t find what he was looking for at Akeru—The Rules?”

  “Perhaps—perhaps…”

  “How many wives do you expect at the fête?” I stand in the atelier as Maja supervises the fitting for my costume.

  “Quite a few actually, the ones that do come are highly competitive. They have an uncanny way of zooming in on goddesses their husbands are, or have been, bewitched by. It’s amusing to see how some suggest they retire with such a goddess to one of our private rooms, which, as you well know, are conducive to exploring all manner of pleasures. The favorite room still—you remember the one Talbot always requested—magenta satin walls, carpeted with red plush roses of velvet silk. Even I’m sometimes surprised when my goddesses tell me they’ve learned a thing or two from Wife, which is as it should be.”