“Are you this “out there” at work?” I asked her when the waitress left.
“Oh, god, not on your life,” she exclaimed. She traced the top of her brandy glass with her finger, and then bit her lip as if the next surprise was difficult to spit out. “If we could find a place to do it, right here, would you?” she finally asked.
“And where would you suggest?” I asked, perusing the busy bar.
“In the hallway by the ladies lounge?” she suggested.
“While the ladies are going in an out of the bathroom?” I queried.
“Or in the alley outside the door?” she tried again.
“It’s cold enough outside to freeze even your hot snatch. How about just in the men’s restroom?” I offered her a third choice.
“You think you could sneak me in there without being noticed?”
“Would it matter?” I asked.
Her smile in return was smug.
Once in the men’s room, we found the far stall empty, the big one to accommodate wheelchairs. There was even a seat on the toilet so Savannah could sit down while she unzipped my pants and began making her way about my rising penis with her tongue. She drew a line around the head, and continued down the shaft. Rolling my balls across her palm, she looked up at me with a deliciously naughty expression as though she had much more in mind. Standing up, she doffed the coat, turned around and with her hands on the stool, she let me have her from behind. I got off while massaging her ass, and got her off massaging her warm wet mound thereafter.
With Savannah’s coat back on, we walked out of the restroom with smiles on our faces, while several men entered with curious expressions on theirs.
I could counts on Savannah to be quirky, unexpected and sassy-minded when making love. She didn’t speak much of Guillaume in our rendezvous anymore. I wondered if there’d been some breach in their relationship, but I didn’t quite have the courage to ask.
***
I called her one Saturday morning two months after we began having sex.
“I’m going to be at the studio at noon. I’d like you there with me,” I informed her.
“I have an appointment, Michael,” she replied.
“Cancel it?”
“Just like that?”
“Yes, Savannah, cancel it. I want you here by noon.”
“But that’s impossible.”
“Not if you want what I have, and I’m sure you’ll want it.”
I hung up on her. I couldn’t stand the thought of her arguing with me. We’d never argued before, but I detected one about to happen. She’d put on the college professor persona, took a firm stand and showed signs of a much different woman than I was accustomed to. I figured it would happen eventually, though I was still surprised by the chill that greeted me. It was curious that I didn’t really care about her objection. I wanted her to yield to me, and I expected her to. Even so, until the moment she finally walked through my door at noon, I worried that she wouldn’t show.
“You know this is lousy timing?” she announced, annoyed with me, even as she put her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek.
“But you came,” I said.
“I got the feeling that it was a Guillaume sort of thing,” she said.
“No,” I shook my head. “It’s a Michael sort of thing.”
She actually looked more interested, even a little wary.
“The bed in the studio?” I began my instructions. “Strip naked and lie down for me, I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
“More pictures?” she asked.
“Only if you behave.”
Her eyes lit more happily than they had been, and I knew I’d have a willing submissive on the other side of the curtain in just a few minutes.
I have no idea how long I made her wait, naked and shivering on the bare striped tick. Three customers came into the studio before I had a chance to get back to her; and when I was finally alone, with a “Closed” sign on the door so there wouldn’t be any other interruptions, I was almost surprised to see her lying limp. She looked frightened and angry as she reclined in the cool room.
“I suppose you could have pulled a sheet over yourself,” I said.
“I didn’t know I had the liberty to do that, or that you’d be so long.”
I didn’t apologize, but simply moseyed about the studio getting my camera and a few other things ready for the shoot. I started with ropes.
“You’re going to tie me?” she asked innocently.
“A good next step, don’t you think?” I replied.
With her wrists in my hand, I wrapped the soft cotton rope around them, snug enough to be secure, and then fixed the end to the headboard of the rollaway. I repeated that process with her ankles, though those remained spread apart so her shaved pubic mound was easily visible. After taking several shots of her, noting the fearful expression on her face, I changed her position. This was going to be a very interactive shoot. My imagination engaged, I next bound her breasts, crisscrossing the rope between the two full orbs, making the flesh stand pertly at attention. With Savannah sitting upright on the bed, her arms behind her and the ankle ropes just dangling at her feet, I took an entire roll of 12 pictures, noting how her eyes followed me around the room as I walked, and then how her face remained in profile. She was haughty, yes, I think still put out that I demanded her on such short notice. But she remained submissive to me. She had to the way the bondage excited her. There were beads of perspiration on her brow. When I changed her position a third time, I placed her on her knees with her bound hands behind her, her shoulders pressed to the mattress, and her ankles tied together so my main view was of her sex. There before my eyes were the pink folds, the smooth skin, her tight anus and the inviting opening at the very depth where her female dew gathered waiting.
Her limbs ached having been forced into an uncomfortable position, though she didn’t complain. However, when I fingered her immobile body, she jerked. A tiny gasp came from her lips. I watched how she moved into my fingers eagerly, even when I tormented her by holding back.
“Please, Michael,” was her urgent appeal for more, said so sweetly, with an acquiescent tone. I was moved to give her just a little more before I teasingly backed off again. “Ah, yes more.”
More playfulness, she was urgent to come, though the satisfaction wouldn’t be coming from anything but my hand. The command over her was alarming. The way it made me feel brought out the worst kind of savage thoughts: a demon in my soul that I was only beginning to get acquainted with. Savannah wanted that.
“Michael, don’t stop,” she was frantic, about at her peak.
Before she was able to climax from my manipulation, I stopped fondling her. Changing positions several more times, I had the sweet blonde trussed up like an exotic bird, bound with ropes between her legs, more about her breasts and others securing her limbs awkwardly behind her. In her last pose, she was on her feet at the foot of the bed, legs wide, her arms strapped to a rail above her. This was my ultimate in submissive bondage. Exposed with a daring effrontery she’d be ready for anything I chose to give her. I imagined stripes mostly, from a lash, or better yet a cat o’nine tales, something rigorous that would leave marks. I liked the thought of marking her permanently as a way to claim her for my own; but then, I was still believing that half of her belonged to another man, even though he was rarely mentioned anymore.
While she still hung in the bonds, I pressed fingers into her vagina again and let them linger there. Pulling them out slowly, I caressed the erotic spot just inside her opening. She bucked hard to feel more than just the light massage.
“Michael, don’t toy with me, darling,” she gasped woefully.
That was exactly what I was going to do. I could sense in my own body how hers was at the apex, smoldering there in her suspended prison of ropes. A trickle of perspiration ran down her back. Her face looked strained, her eyes molten, as if some otherworldly presence in her was taking charge. She jerked hard again to find my
teasing fingers, and I let her suffer because that pleased me. And then, just because I wanted to see the look in her eyes when her body burst with the pleasure, I attentively played with the sensuous folds until she tightened suddenly and arched her back, her blond hair dangling down her back. Lost somewhere in the middle of her ecstatic release, I looked on admiring the expression on her lips.
“You don’t know how this has interrupted my day,” Savannah whispered to me as she was on her way out of the door. I had an appointment I couldn’t wait for and was in the outer entry room when she swept by me looking very relaxed but in a hurry.
“Your wrists?” I whispered back to her, while two clients conversed about a set of proofs on the front desk and I followed Savannah to the door.
She looked at her wrists, noting as I did, the indentations that remained in her skin.
“They will go away?” she wondered aloud.
“I’m sure eventually,” I replied shrugging. I had no idea how long she’d live with the results of our afternoon’s activity. I liked the look of those rope marks, and was sure that Savannah did too. She couldn’t take her eyes off them, as she moved to her car parked just outside my door.
***
“I’m going to be gone for two weeks, a conference in Spain,” Savannah told Michael a few days after their last photo session.
“And you’re not taking me with you?” Michael joked.
“If you want to comb through ancient castles, I suppose you could come.”
“Looking for relics?” he asked her.
“Relics? Why would you say that?” His question seemed odd.
“Isn’t that what experts on medieval history do?”
“I’m looking for writings perhaps, some ancient texts, that sort of thing. But more, I’m just interested in expanding my knowledge of Spain. I haven’t done much research there.”
“What does your research lead to?” he wondered.
“My fertile imagination,” she said, as he heard the laughter in her soft-spoken voice.
“I suppose I’ll just have to put off my sexually deviant behavior,” he said.
“Don’t worry I’ll come back inspired.” She was quiet for an instant. “Michael?” Her voice had become small.
“Yes?”
“There may be a rendezvous with Guillaume while I’m there,” she informed him. It was the first he’d heard of her absent lover in weeks. Hoping that he’d simply disappeared, the photographer was surprised to hear her mention him.
“I suppose you’re looking forward to that.”
“I guess I am. It’s funny how he has a way of haunting the dreary mediaeval moments of my life.”
“You’ve never said that before,” Michael said. He’d never known Savannah to be so obtuse. Not that she was always easy to understand.
“I haven’t?” She sounded surprised.
“No.” Michael was annoyed with her, in fact angry realizing that he still had competition for her affections.
“Are you upset?”
“I suppose I have no right to be since it was Guillaume who loaned you to me.”
“Exactly,” she agreed. “I’ll see you when I get back. Just wish me well. The work I do these two weeks should be all I need to finish the research I’m doing for my book.”
“Your book?” This was new to him.
“I told you about that, didn’t I?”
“You’ve never mentioned a book,” he said.
“Oh, there are probably lots of things you still don’t know about me,” she answered flippantly.
Michael felt as if he was losing her, as though she was disappearing into another of her worlds. This being one where he wasn’t welcome.
“Take care of yourself,” he said, knowing the conversation was about to end.
“You’re not going to whisper, ‘I love you’?” she asked.
“Is that what you like to hear?” he returned.
“Only if it’s sincere.”
“You know I love you, I guess this just came as a surprise. Do have a good trip.”
“I will, darling, and we’ll do something outrageous when I get back.
He noticed that while she wanted him to say ‘I love you’, she didn’t offer the sentiment in return.
Chapter Nine
The water lapped along the sand, a dirty froth from the salty brine and the seaweed that lay in brown clusters like something dropped by aliens on a night visit to the shore. Combing the beach for black-shelled muscles and tiny doodads the ocean regularly gives up, the beachcomber walked in from the shore to the old wooden porch, looking up occasionally as though they were waiting for someone in particular. After having found handfuls of little trinkets, all the collected treasure was dumped in a beach chair. Then sitting in the Kennedy rocker, sleep took away the afternoon and dreams replaced the real world . . .
Savannah was on the beach running naked, kicking up sand, falling in the water. The waves splashed over her sandy skin. With her legs spread towards the ocean the tide lapped like a lover’s tongue inside the exposed pink places, tickling surfaces everywhere the wet stuff could go. Her lover came to her, crouching down over her body to fondle her breasts and with firm fingers pinched each nipple until she opened her eyes to gaze into his face. But she couldn’t see his face. So like him to remain unseen because the sun blocked her clear vision as he glared into her eyes. Even holding up her hand to shield her eyes, she wasn’t able to distinguish his threatening features. He turned her over on her belly and pushed her legs wide apart, so the water tickled both nether doors and his hand could probe her. He shook her hard with fingers in her anus and her vagina, as if he was trying to shake loose something blocked inside. Her hands dug into the sand above her head, as if trying to find something to hold on to. But sand shifts, and this sand moved through her fingers until it was just her fists clenched tight against the assault. Her polished nails bit into her palms. Her pubis moved erratically against the wet earth, beating in time to her lover’s curious rhythm, throbbing for the finish, which seemed just a millisecond away. Burrowing deeper down to the core of her carnal world, she finally exploded free of restraint. Clutching again for something to hold on to, she found nothing, nothing but waves still lapping without, caressing her flushed skin; and waves of completion lapping within on the beach of her internal shore.
“You’re still a child when it comes to lust, my dear Savannah. Remember how I’ve taken you from the womb of desire and painted you into the woman you’re becoming. Don’t forget me, even if you move on to other men. I’ll never be far away.” Her lover left her pressed against the sand, which was warm where the sun beat down, and cool where the tide washed in and made it wet.
Though the pictures of Savannah mounted on the wall were scrutinized carefully, each one thoughtfully inspected with keen eyes, the typewriter remained unused this time. All things in good time was the immediate thought. And all was going as planned.
Chapter Ten
Savannah called me when she returned. She was at the university in the middle of catching up, she said. “I’m anxious to see you.”
“How was your meeting with Guillaume?” I asked. I was more curious about this than anything else.
“Humm,” I heard her quiet reply, a lot behind that reply that she’d never tell me. I didn’t like conversations like this one over the phone. But I was too curious to wait until I could look her in the eye and have a better understanding of what was happening inside her brain. “He’s always so with me, Michael. This time was a little strange.”
“Strange in what way?” I asked.
“Meeting him in castles in Spain. I suppose it was the unusual surroundings.”
“So did it inspire you?”
“Absolutely.”
“You have some time free today?” I asked.
“Not much. I have lunch with Mack.”
“Sex with Mack or lunch?” I asked.
“Please, don’t be jealous. I have no intention of screwing
that man again. It’s bad for my soul, and I know that. I don’t need to hear lectures from you or Guillaume. Mack needs a full report on Spanish castles, and then I have three student conferences. They’re lining up like sheep since I got back. I didn’t realize that my classes would fall apart with me gone.”
“So when would it be convenient?” I asked, not disguising my annoyance.
“I don’t know,” she said. I heard her shuffling papers in the background. Thinking she was distracted, I thought it best not to let the conversation peter out without making some commitment between us. “When’s your lunch with Mack over?”
“He’s meeting me at noon in my office with some take out,” she said.
“And your first conference?”
“Two.”
“That’s a long lunch.”
“It won’t be all lunch,” she reminded me. I was still thinking sex, she was still thinking castles in Spain.
“You’ll have time for me at one fifteen,” I finally said.
“No, I won’t,” she shot back
Hearing her raise her voice, I had gotten her attention.
“I will see you then, one way or another, maybe I’ll just be bringing you flowers.”
“That would be sweet, Michael, but wouldn’t it be better to wait, a late dinner?” she said softening slightly.
“We’ll do that too,” I said.
I knew she’d relent in the face of my insistence. I wasn’t about to let her get away with putting me off. I’d been put off for two weeks, two miserable weeks wondering what sex crimes she committed with the infamous Guillaume, and if she’d return with any love left to share with me.
I arrived at her office earlier than one fifteen. I didn’t think breaking in on her conversation with Mack Brundage would be all that much a problem. Besides, my instincts told me that the professor was as concerned with getting into Savannah’s underwear as he was debriefing her on her trip. Take-out for lunch in her office. This was typical for their relationship.
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