by Hayley White
Ever nodded slightly. Her eyes had long since replanted themselves on her wine glass, which was almost empty.
“Your behavior tonight has been exemplary,” he said more softly. “Better than I’d expected.”
“I’m pleased,” Ever murmured, revealing hardly a glimmer of her true feelings about the night’s occurrences.
He studied her as she sipped the last of her wine and tamped out the cigarette he’d permitted her. Her hands trembled slightly.
“I want you to sleep in the collar and manacles tonight,” he said and there was a slight pause.
“Do you expect me to refuse?” Ever asked in a stronger voice.
“No,” Stroud said. “You may not sleep well, in any case, but I want you to get used to wearing restraints. It won’t be an unusual request.”
Ever nodded passively.
“You probably won’t want to bathe at this point.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“That’s fine. Are you finished?” he asked, referring to her glass which she placed promptly on the table.
“Yes, thank you.”
Stroud placed his empty glass on the table beside hers and stood up. He lowered the thermostat, switched out the downstairs lights and bid Ever to precede him up the stairs.
Stroud’s bedroom was L-shaped with an enormous brass bed dressed in beige linens and a black comforter. To the right as they entered was a door leading into a fully appointed bathroom with a spacious, independent shower stall enclosed in clear glass overlooking a large oval shaped Jacuzzi style tub and dual hand basins molded into a white marble topped vanity unit.
He allowed her access to the overnight bag she’d brought and gave her time to brush her teeth. When she emerged from the bathroom, Stroud was standing beside the bed. He’d drawn down the covers on the side closest to the bathroom.
“I don’t know what your habits are but tonight you’ll sleep nude,” he said as Ever took a seat on the crisp, clean sheet. He surprised her by attaching her collar to the end of a sturdy yet fine linked chrome chain, the other end of which was locked onto the brass headboard. “The chain will keep you confined to the bedroom but there’s enough length to permit you access to the bathroom, should you need to go during the night.”
Ever lay back as Stroud pulled the covers over her. She watched in pent silence as Stroud switched off the overhead light before crossing to undress by the open closet on the other side of the bed. She could not see him well by just the night light from the bathroom but in silhouette he appeared to be trim and well formed.
He came to bed in a pair of pajama pants and bent to kiss her before he lay down.
“Good night, sweet Ever. Sleep well.”
Chapter Six
Ever had no idea what time it was when she first came to consciousness next morning, but light filtered brightly through the diaphanous curtains over the bedroom windows.
Stroud was up and dressed in a pair of taupe twill trousers and a tan shirt that draped most becomingly over his square shoulders.
“If you’re ready to get up now, brunch will be ready in about an hour.”
Ever felt whacked but she knew she’d never be able to get back to sleep, so she nodded and sat up. Stroud unlocked the chain and removed the collar and manacles.
“You may bathe. There’s a robe in the bathroom. Come down when you’re ready.”
It was a relief to have the collar and manacles off at last – yet, somehow disappointing.
The bedroom was pleasant and cheerful in the morning light. Not as strange or intimidating as it had seemed last night.
A towel had been laid out on the tiled ledge surrounding the bathtub. Stroud didn’t know her preferences, but the placement of the towel implied a subtle command that she was to bathe, rather than shower.
As the water gushed into the tub, Ever could not resist the inclination to inspect herself in the mirror over the vanity unit. Despite his assertions regarding the effects of the whipping, Ever was never-the-less amazed by the results, still so evident across her back and buttocks. The welting had subsided, it was true, but the remaining marks would certainly take several days to fade.
She was both shocked and comforted by this imprint and climbed gingerly into the bath with a sense of silent and private obedience to the will imposed upon her last night, the present imposition, and those yet to come. She submerged herself in the hot water with the first awareness of the condition of slavery he had forewarned her about and she felt cleansed as much by relief as by the applications of soap and water.
When she’d finished bathing, Ever donned the pale blue terry toweling robe Stroud had indicated, which was a bit large, since it was apparently his. She was about to go, then paused to make up the bed, before she went downstairs.
Since there was no other dining area in the house, breakfast was served in the kitchen. Stroud had prepared fresh cantaloupe, creamed eggs, skinless sausages, wheat toast and coffee.
Radiant winter sun warmed the scene through wood slatted mini blinds over the bayed windows. Stroud waited on her hand and foot, clearing the table when they’d done and delivering cigarettes and ashtray to accompany their second cup of coffee.
“Can I help with the dishes?” Ever asked.
“No. Why don’t you go on in there? Relax, while I finish up,” Stroud suggested, so Ever withdrew into the cozy sitting room off the kitchen. When Stroud came in, not twenty minutes later, he was only mildly surprised to discover Ever curled up in the corner of the couch, fast asleep.
***
Ever suffered an instant of disorientation when her eyes blinked open, nearly an hour later. Stroud was in an easy chair across the room, reading.
Ever sighed softly and remained still, savoring the moment – her first opportunity to observe Stroud without his knowledge. Her body coursed with small charges of excitement as she mentally recounted the events of the previous night. Stroud’s penetrating questions. Undressing before his appraising gaze. She tried to picture him standing behind her, the whip in hand. The sex and the lecture that followed. In his bed... where he’d slept so soundly while she lay wakeful, quaking with exhaustion and adrenalin rushes – so conscious of her nudity, the collar, cuffs, and chain...
The adrenalin was coursing again and her heart fluttered as Stroud’s eyes flicked up from the book, interrupting her reverie.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Sorry?”
“Falling asleep like that.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said.
His words relieved her of the inclination to assume a more attentive pose. “What are you reading?”
“Perhaps you’d like to hear some of it.”
“How delightful,” Ever replied, nestling deeper into the robe.
“Is there a chill in the room?”
Ever smiled. “For me, there is always a chill in the room.”
“Maybe you’d enjoy a fire?”
“I’d more than enjoy a fire.”
The kindling had been laid in advance. Stroud struck a match and within moments a lively warming blaze rose up. Stroud resumed his seat, flicked back a few pages of the book and began to read aloud.
It wasn’t the beginning of the story but it didn’t matter. The words painted vivid pictures of an erotic scene between a supremely dominant man and the woman who would undoubtedly surrender to him.
Ever stared into the dancing flames, Stroud’s voice flowing through her. A mellow, comforting sound, as sensual as the scene he was relating. The story played in tandem to the desire already manifesting itself within her and she unconsciously curled deeper into the folds of the robe, luxuriating in the sensations coursing through her.
When the scene reached its crescendo, Stroud paused.
Ever sighed. “That’s pretty powerful.”
“Do you think so?”
“Heady stuff. Descriptive. I am forever trying to relay that kind of power and imagery-”
“You?” Stroud ask
ed. “You’re a writer?”
“Oh...” Ever stuttered, feeling caught out. “Let’s say, I write.”
“What do you write?”
“Stuff like that,” she said. “Well, not really like that. Not as good and my approach is different.”
“In what way?”
“Relationships in my scenarios are rarely consensual.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“I don’t know. It’s easier for me.”
“And more stimulating?” Stroud suggested.
“Maybe. I never analyzed it.”
“Are you published?”
“Oh no.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not good enough.”
“I’d be very interested in seeing your work,” Stroud said, apparently intrigued by this insight into Ever’s private world.
“I never show my work to anyone.”
“Why not?”
“I guess it’s too personal,” Ever said then, as though to elude another question, she sat up suddenly. “May I put another log on the fire?”
Stroud smiled slightly. “Go ahead.”
He watched her as Ever fuelled and stoked the fire to renewed life with guileless proficiency. She lingered near the warmth, hugging her knees, gazing into the flames as Stroud gazed at her. He still could not quite believe he’d managed to get her here. Yet, here she was, seated on his floor, dressed in his robe. Her presence was a miracle, her internal energy like a flame kindled within his own breast. The heat in his loins was undeniable but it did not begin to encompass the depth of his growing desire for her.
“Come here...”
Ever got up slowly and stood before him. He loosened the tie of the robe and pushed it off her shoulders. His eyes played over her and sparks of excitement pulsed through her as he gently stroked her breasts, allowing his hands to slide down over her hips. She gasped slightly as he once again tugged the inner labia into view and she caught a whiff of her own desire, which excited her more.
“Turn around.”
Ever pivoted slowly, her breath coming in short, shallow, tugs. Stroud’s fingertips played lightly over her back and buttocks, tracing the lines of his handiwork. Her eyes closed and she hung on, feeling as though she must do something to expel this fury of passion within her.
She was only vaguely aware that Stroud had risen from the chair. She was afraid he intended to do something to her. Afraid he would not.
All at once, he gripped her shoulders and swung her around. His hand forced her down and she found herself bent over, gripping the padded armrests of the chair where he’d sat moments before. Her eyes dropped to the jacket of the book he’d left on the cushion. Polished brown leather binding with the words ‘The Storm’ inlaid in gold on the cover.
The title was emblazoned in her mind when her eyes snapped shut as Stroud grasped her hips from behind and swiftly penetrated her. Ever cried out, knowing it could have been much worse had she not been so ready for him. The abruptness of his assault seemed to indicate that he had known.
Since her surgery eleven months ago, sexual intercourse had become a delicate procedure. Her body had been changed and, for Ever, it was like taking a stranger to bed. Despite reassurances from her doctor, she still did not trust the healing process, feeling sure she could be damaged, the surgeon’s work undone, by allowing a man inside her.
Even from the first, Ever had enjoyed and demanded energetic, sustained sex from her partners, and she had never feared pain. Lately, though, she’d felt like a porcelain doll that could be shattered in an instant by one wrong move.
There had been a couple of short, unsatisfactory affairs with strangers since her split with Mark and, in the desperation that seizes separated couples, she and Mark had met on several occasions for quick, fevered interludes. The sex between them had always been good and it was perfectly natural to wish it back. At best, she’d been an unreliable and fragile partner during her illness prior to surgery and now she was fixed. It was only natural...
But in each of these meetings Mark had been the instigator. He would turn up unexpectedly and she would let him in. For five minutes they would talk of nothing, then he’d fuck her and leave. His reasons were never clear. She assumed he was dateless and horny. For her part, she was just uncertain the marriage was over. She’d thought these brief engagements were indications of a reconciliation and was emotionally incapable of analyzing the anger and desolation that washed into the wake of these usurious encounters.
She knew better now, of course, but she had forgiven – Mark and herself. That was one emotional wound too small to nurse for long, but the physical fear persevered. The strangeness. The question as to whether sex would ever be the same again.
Now here was Stroud, pressing against these newly self-imposed limitations. Taking her like some virgin bride who must be taught the realities of a betrothed woman – no negotiation, no deferments. A man wants what he wants. The woman shall accede. No matter to him that a woman is fragile, sensitive. A man shall take what is rightfully his and it’s not in his nature to question the way in which God created him or instilled his drives.
Amused with herself, Ever allowed these outmoded ideas to compound her excitement. She didn’t concern herself with possible destruction but only with incontestable surrender to the will of the man inside her. A man who had already driven her desires beyond any boundaries she’d ever perceived on her horizons. She was wet and receptive and, had he chosen to cease and withdraw at that moment, her screams of fury and frustration would have shattered every window in the house.
She braced herself against the arms of the chair, forcefully yielding to Stroud’s thrusts, secure in the knowledge of woman’s ultimate power over the conquering male – her sexual endurance. Stroud would come long before she would have to concede defeat.
She played the scene Stroud had read over in her mind. Then a couple of scenarios of her own. Still he plowed her, with the same understated precision he had demonstrated the night before. She focused on the feel of his controlling hands. The soft crackling of the fire, the heat of which radiated out to caress her bare thigh. The silence of the house, which accentuated her aloneness, her vulnerability in the presence of this Stroud. The intimacy of this act, performed in what would normally be considered a public room. The quiet assurance of Stroud’s dominance, her complicity as his hands flexed her into a deeper bow.
All at once her knees buckled but Stroud’s grasp kept her from toppling. She thought he would come then but he didn’t. And Ever marveled, as she had so many times before, at man’s courage in perpetrating this extraordinary invasion, and how the female body could not only tolerate, but take such pleasure from it.
Her legs gave way again. This time Stroud allowed her to drop, dropping with her as he persevered with even greater force and deliberation. Ever’s fingers dug into the carpet, her rhythmic soprano whimpers descending the scale into low throaty groans that encouraged rather than dissuaded continued assault.
At last Stroud succumbed to completion, thrusting so deeply into her that Ever cried out in pain and longing.
***
That afternoon Stroud took Ever out to a local shopping plaza. Ever was entranced by the grandeur of the huge central court, which was encircled by a terrace of second story shops and illuminated by a wash of bright natural light from sky lights high above.
Ever was somewhat passive at first, conscious of her behavior. By drawing her attention to items that interested him, Stroud was able to elicit candid opinions that reflected her tastes in clothing, jewelry and books. He was eager to learn her and view the world through her eyes.
They stopped at every store window and, when Ever demonstrated even a passing interest, Stroud encouraged her through the door to browse in more detail. In a shop specializing in designer lingerie, Stroud sat on a velvet cushioned chair while Ever explored the racks.
As she had at the exhibition, Ever inventoried everything, her cool objectivity reveal
ing little of her true feelings. When she returned for a second look at a pair of yellow silk lounging pajamas, Stroud unobtrusively approached. “Do you like them?”
“They’re rather fun,” she remarked, allowing the silky sleeve to slip from her investigative fingers. “What’s next?”
Further along the promenade, Ever took the initiative, leading the way into another clothing store. Hardwood floors, ceiling fans, wooden packing crates set around to create a tropical Central American atmosphere – a complete digression from the sensual whispering of satin and silk in the lingerie shop. Here it was khaki and denim accented with brass buttons and webbed belts. Clothing more suited to a safari on the African savannas than the boudoir. As before, Ever inspected everything, but this time her enthusiasm was more easily read.
Ever. Woman of contrasts. She preferred teddy bears designed along traditional lines, shoes and belts of genuine leather, garnets over diamonds, and fiction over non-fiction. She liked picture books of horses and Stroud noticed her linger over a book of paintings by van Gogh.
“You’re interested in art?” he asked.
“Hard not to be,” Ever replied, stroking the open page as though to taste the muted hues. “I was a washout in art history at school but something must have stuck. Lately, I’ve become more interested in learning to distinguish between the works of the classical artists.”
“Do you have any favorites?”
“I think it was Dali that first piqued my interest as a child. Those melting clocks, you know, the barren landscapes. But, I suppose, it’s subject matter that concerns me most.”
“And what subjects do you prefer?”
“I love exercises in perspective. Street scenes, city-scapes, interiors. Although, I like landscapes, especially if there’s play on light and shadow. It may be unsophisticated to say so, but I prefer realism. Pictures with depth. There’s a painting in a museum in Sydney depicting a thin stream of silver water gushing into a deep gorge. Huge thing. Rather dark. I can’t tell you the title or the artist, but I spent many a Sunday afternoon staring at that painting... But I’m raving.”
“Not at all,” Stroud said with a smile. “I hope your replies to all my questions will be as informative.”