Vow of Silence

by Roxy Harte

  “Tsk, tsk. This will not do, Mrs. Von Buren.” I push her panties down over the curve of her cheeks. “Such a nice backside, Mrs. Von Buren. I think it would be much nicer a bright, rosy shade of pink though, don’t you?”

  “Eh, eh.” I take her answer to mean yes.

  I oblige, alternating smacks on her rounded bottom until she is a rosy pink.

  Her thighs are shaking as I clip six clothespins around her vulva, each attached to the other by a string so that when I pull, not only will the first pop off, but they will all flip off in a chain reaction. I will wait until she is close to orgasm, and as I watch her hands opening and shutting, trying to relax into the pain, I have no doubt that I will help her find explosive pleasure in the throes of her pain.

  I stroke her inner thigh, imagining the pale skin more golden. Not her, Lin. I try to imagine her here and consider binding her tomorrow night. I so want to give her a taste of my world before our relationship progresses any further. I can imagine how beautiful she would be displayed in rope and end up lusting for her so deeply I ache.

  Chapter Two

  George

  It is a rare occasion I attempt to go out on anything that resembles a real date and as I dressed and prepared for the evening I was plagued by doubts. Even though I enjoyed every moment I was with Lin in the past, to renew our relationship seems futile. She is just so completely vanilla. But when she meets me at the restaurant she radiates a singular beauty so extraordinary I cannot help but grin when I see her, and folding her in my embrace seems most natural. She molds to me so perfectly and for a moment I am lost in the memories her fragrance brings. “I’ve missed you, Lin.”

  She steps back, still smiling, blushing also. “And I you, George.”

  I’d forgotten the perfection of her beauty.

  Of course I’m not so shallow as to be blinded by loveliness only skin deep.

  I’m certain her intelligence plays into the attraction, and her creative nature, which borders on genius, cannot be denied. Yet I could get lost in her eyes, her lush mouth.

  Love poems of old burst forth in my mind.

  Lord Byron’s She Walks in Beauty

  She walks in beauty, like the night—of cloudless climes and starry skies. And all that’s best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes. Thus mellowed to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies.

  And Robert Browning’s Life in Love

  Escape me? Never— Beloved! While I am I, and you are you, so long as the world contains us both, me the loving and you the loth, while the one eludes, must the other pursue. My life is a fault at last, I fear—It seems too much like a fate, indeed! Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed— But what if I fail of my purpose here?

  “Our table’s ready,” I say, wondering how I managed to keep myself from contacting her.

  We follow the maître d’ and I sit across the table from her. Looking into her eyes, I notice just how beautiful her irises are, a vibrant amethyst, exotic even without the striking setting of her almond-shaped lids. I could stare into their depths forever. I could begin to believe in love.

  The look she tosses me offers such promise of depravity, but then she bats her eyes and her countenance changes as if it never was and my mind is seeing only what it wishes, and I am left with only her coy innocence to torture me.

  I shudder needily, hiding my reaction to her behind the lift of my wineglass. I sip, listening as stories pour from between her lips.

  “I never believed I would be extended such an honor,” she says. “I will be going with the sculptures to each country and there will be a formal affair at each.”

  I am paying attention, honestly I am, as intently as if I am to be quizzed later, but I am also listening to what she doesn’t say. To the things only her body can tell me. I am a master of body language and her actions are so telling. With a flip of her hair, she exposes her neck then tilts her head to the side, both signaling that she is willing to be vulnerable. She opens her eyes wider, licks her lips, leans nearer…she’s obviously open and available to a sexual encounter. I reach across the table to stroke her wrist, sexual tension sparking between us as my fingertips trace her sensitive flesh. She drops her face, flushed, embarrassed slightly. I have no doubt her pussy clenched and waves of need raced through her veins.

  She giggles. “I have talked so much, hardly letting you get a word in edgewise. Please, George, tell me what you have been up to. It has been so long. What are you thinking right now?”

  I tilt my head, understanding she doesn’t really want to know the lurid thoughts racing through my mind. I smile, continuing to softly stroke the inside of her wrist. “Why did you call me, Lin?”

  “I’ve missed you,” she admits, but looks uncomfortable.

  “But that isn’t all of it, is it? What do you really want to know, Lin?”

  Shrugging, she studies me for a moment before asking, “Why did you leave your medical practice to—?” She waves her hand to keep from saying the words.

  This was the note our last date ended on. I made a mistake coming here tonight.

  I force myself to not look away from her or allow her to see the depth of emotion her question wells inside me. I do not tell her the truth, though my words are not a lie when I answer, “I needed something else at the time.”

  She gives me a questioning glance, pulling back the hand I have been teasing so intently. She folds both hands in her lap. “And now? Is having your own medical practice something you wish to pursue again?”

  Every single one of my emotional walls goes up, protection against the storm raging inside me. She doesn’t need to know the details of my past, though if she wanted to investigate the truth I am sure there is enough dirt on me still floating through cyberspace that all she would have to do is Google me. Please don’t pursue this, Lin. “My dear, I am content embracing my hedonism.”

  She presses her lips together, her eyes trained on the napkin in her lap. “I did not want to ruin this evening with so sore a subject.”

  “Then do not ruin this evening.”

  She lifts her gaze to meet mine. “Have you hurt people?”

  “Hurt?” The look on her face makes me think she believes I am a monster and I hate that. We’ve spent so much time together, surely she knows me by now. I assure her, “I’ve never maimed anyone.”

  “I know about the accusations and the trial.”

  She Googled me.

  Her eyes fill with tears and I think it is because there is doubt in her mind. She lowers her voice to the softest whisper. “Please, George, help me to understand why I am sitting here when everything I know about you tells me I should run. I do not believe you molested a young girl and ruined your career doing so, but I do believe you are filled with a darkness.”

  “I would agree that I am filled with darkness, but I would also say that all humans have a shadow side. That has nothing to do with your real concern.” I start laughing, startling her. “How are you even sitting here? You met me believing I molested a child and now you think I’ve broken people on a rack.”

  She laughs too. “I must be insane. Maybe I need a psychiatrist? I like you very much, George. I would like to continue to believe you are a good man.”

  “Let me assure you, I did not molest a child.”

  “Not so much a child, George. I have seen photos of her. She was a teenager, and she was beautiful.”

  “Still a child, emotionally and legally,” I insist. “And even though it took some time, I was eventually cleared of any wrongdoing.”

  “So you could have gone back to your practice? You still could?” she asks ardently.

  “I don’t want to. I’m not the same man I was then.” My answer doesn’t please her and I fear our date is over as I take a long sip of wine. Next time I’ll listen to my gut. Tonight should have never happened. Setting my glass on the table, I feel her gaze on me and force myself to meet her eyes. I expect to be met with scorn or disappointment but the emotion
I see is curiosity. I lean forward and whisper the words I’ve wanted to say but have held in check. “Perhaps in seeking me out you wish to explore your own fantasies. Do you think about it, Lin? Do you think about what it would be like to do very naughty things with me?”

  She blushes scarlet but doesn’t duck away. Very quietly she answers, “Sometimes.”

  “Perhaps, before you judge me too harshly, you could allow me to show you a peek into my darker world?”

  I almost laugh when she pales.

  “Nothing too sinister. We could go to Lewd Larry’s.”

  Her lip curls distastefully as she asks, “The nightclub you work at?”

  “Yes.” I don’t divulge I am now its owner.

  “I don’t believe that would be appropriate.”

  Hearing the scorn in her voice is like a slap in the face. I need to get out of this restaurant. I need to get away from this woman. “Perhaps I should take you home?”

  “Isn’t there a way for me to have a peek into your dark world in a more private location? Your home?”

  I’m so shocked by her question, I’m glad I’m still seated. “You want me to take you to my house?”

  “Yes, George.”

  “For a sneak peek at my kink?”

  She giggles. “You make me feel like an immature schoolgirl. I just want to see who you are when you aren’t the man I know. Do you wear a costume? Do you carry a flogger?”

  I almost laugh out loud, but I manage to contain myself. “I won’t play dress-up for you, Lin.”

  She looks crestfallen.

  “But if you desire it I will show you my home…and my playspace.”

  “Your p-playspace?” Her eyes widen. “Is that where you—”

  “I’ve decorated my basement with kink in mind.”

  * * * * *

  “After you.” Standing in the grand foyer of my home, I hold the door that leads to the lower level open for Lin. Even in her four-inch heels I have to look down at her. Sometimes I forget just how tiny she is, but now, taking her in, I gaze upon her appreciatively, noting every detail of her small waist, small breasts, and long, thin limbs.

  For a moment my mind wanders and her blue silk sleeveless blouse disappears, her tight black dress slacks as well, and she is standing before me nude as she was the last time we were together. She’d asked me into her apartment for a nightcap and we’d finished the evening with a massage.

  I love her body. Her nipples are so dark, the contrast between very dark and the sallow gold of her breasts striking. She is thin to the point of seeming frail, but she is strong. Her frailty is an illusion seen in the angular count of each visible rib and the jutting bones of her pelvis. I’ve seen her strength. Her body is softened only by the gentle curve of her belly, the dark cave of her beautiful navel and delicate round of her small breasts. The soft, fine hair of her pubis is as silky as the hair on her head. And though I haven’t seen her in months, the vision of her naked is as clear in my mind as if the date was yesterday. She turns me on more than any woman I have ever been intimate with.

  “I’m nervous,” she says, looking up at me.

  I laugh tightly, knowing a stall when I see one.

  “Perhaps you could show me the rest of your home before I face the kinky areas?” She drops her face, her hair falling before her like a veil, but she lifts her eyes in a very knowing, flirtful tease and licks her lip nervously. I lift her chin, making her meet my gaze. Stroking her cheek, I long to kiss her and just like that sexual electricity sizzles between us.

  I take her hand, prepared to give her the grand tour. “This is the foyer.”

  The walls are stucco and the floor exotic hardwood. There are numerous pieces of priceless art that make her eyes widen appreciatively. A solid, round wood table anchors the center of the room. Above us there is a round domed skylight, which by day showers light onto the potted sago palm centered on the table.

  I lead her room by room, announcing as we walk through, “Living room…dining room…kitchen…wine cellar…media room…and we’re back.”

  Standing in the foyer, she faces a hall I didn’t take her down. It is a long hall, which is windowed floor-to-ceiling the complete length of one side and overlooks an in-ground pool and garden area that separates the living and sleeping areas. I flip the switch for the exterior lights, illuminating the hallway from outside. I gesture. “The master bedroom and guest rooms are down there.”

  She gasps, and I understand her awe. The gardens are the most enticing part of the house, but I don’t take her around the outside. The view from the hallway seems sufficient—for now.

  “Should we proceed to the lower level?”

  She lays her palm on my chest. “I’m just not certain I can do this.”

  “Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen,” I assure her, opening the door to the stairwell. “If you just want to peek at what lies downstairs, that’s all we’ll do.”

  Nervously she takes a step forward and I take it as a good sign.

  The stairwell is innocuous—bare, beige walls, luxuriously carpeted steps. There is absolutely nothing to terrify her on the way down.

  The steps lead to an open area, also very benign, same luxurious carpet, same beige walls. A master-crafted wooden bar that anchors one wall and a stone fireplace are inviting. Two softly upholstered chairs face each other over a low chessboard.

  I look at Lin and watch surprise, then relief spread over her face.

  “You are teasing me, George. I was scared out of my mind for nothing.”

  Her smile is beauteous and I almost hate to ruin it. Knowing I might as well get it over with, I leave her standing to flip a switch inside a connecting room. She starts to follow me until she sees it is a padded cell. Predictably the smile is wiped from her face.

  I explain, “It’s an actual room from Agnews.”

  “The condemned asylum?” she asks shrilly.

  “Yes.” I walk to another doorway and turn on its lights, revealing a fully equipped hospital room. The next resembles a dentist’s office. And finally I flip the switch for the last room. Lights do not illuminate this room; instead flames shoot out of wall-mounted sconces. “This is the largest room, a replica dungeon from the medieval age.”

  “Oh my.”

  “All of the ironwork and implements of torture are wholly authentic.” I run my hand tenderly over a well-preserved wooden rack, pointing out the fully functional gears. “I completely restored this to working order myself.”

  “George?”

  I glance sideways to see she has turned white as a sheet and has backed away.

  “I’ll wait for you upstairs.”

  I watch her run up the staircase but don’t follow immediately. I can’t. Her fear is a strong perfume. I want her desperately. That’s when it dawns on me why I am so attracted to her. Her fear is virginal, pure and fresh. Normally when I play it is with people fully ensconced in the lifestyle. I can make them react but there isn’t really fear.

  She isn’t ready for the type of experience I want to give her. She’s intrigued, but curiosity isn’t enough.

  I should be the one running from her. I could lose myself in my lust as I never have before. She could bring out the very worst in me.

  When I do follow, after I’ve turned off each light and allowed my boiling blood to cool, I find her waiting in the foyer. I close the door abruptly and it slams harder than I’d planned. She jumps. Her eyes widen and suddenly she is crying. She buries her face in her hands and I feel like a total and complete ass. I say her name softly but nothing else follows. Awkwardly I go to her and make a horrid effort of comforting her. She looks into my face, her eyes damp, her full lips parted. I see all of her doubts and fears and need caught in her expression. Insecurity. Innocence. God, I want her.

  I tip her chin to look into her amazing eyes. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

  “You intrigue me, George.”

  I look at her doubtfully.

 
; “When I didn’t see you for so long… I was trying to forget you, but I would lie in bed at night thinking about what you might be doing with other women. I imagined you tying them up, spanking them. I feared I might want you to do those things to me. I forced myself to not call you—but then I needed an escort to the dinner—and there was no one I would rather go with.”

  We stand so near I can feel her trembling. I stroke her cheek to calm her.

  “I was wrong to present you with an ultimatum so early in our previous courtship. I just couldn’t see a future with you…and I couldn’t afford to fall any more deeply in love with you.”

  She keeps leaving me gaping at her. Her nose is red and her mascara leaves a black trail over her cheek. ″I see now, I did make the right decision then. I should not have called you, George.″

  I lead her outside into the gardens. The fresh night air immediately helps me feel better. I hope it works for her. The trickle of water from hidden fountains, the scent of recent blooms and the soft song of crickets combine to make poolside a very relaxing place.

  She seems to calm. “I never imagined rooms of torture.”

  “I can understand why you would believe that is what you saw.”

  She frowns deeply. “How else can you explain it?”

  “I can’t. BDSM must be experienced.”

  She shakes her head, and I know any further effort to help her understand will be wasted. When she sits in a cushioned chair I join her and angle my seat to face hers. A chorus of crickets and Pacific tree frogs fills the silence.

  “There is a special magic here,” I tell her softly. “I find the gardens very healing.”

  She lays her head back against the cushion and covers her eyes with her hands. Her shoulders shake and for a moment I think she is crying, but she isn’t, she is laughing. “Is it any wonder my mind is like a roller coaster? One minute you are showing me the most horrible things and the next you bring me to this perfect place. I do not know what to think or what to feel. I love you, but the fear of what you might do to me is too great.”