by Hayley White
“It’s not the only one she keeps. There’s a diary exclusively for the slave personality.”
“You are kidding.”
Stroud smiled. “That, she won’t let me see. I don’t even know what it looks like.”
And Brooke could see that it made no difference to him. He could read the book now, or wait years for a glimpse into those secretive pages. He was in love with her.
Brooke’s small smile was tainted with sudden melancholy. In occasional fantasies he’d wondered what it would be like if one day Ever were to become his. Now he would never know.
“She’s an amazing woman,” he said.
“Yes,” Stroud agreed softly.
Chapter Twenty Two
“Oh Ever,” Caroline exclaimed, fanning herself with pages from Ever’s manuscript. “This is so hot!”
“Think so?”
“Oh, yes! Who knew you were sitting in this little house, writing stuff like this on your days off? Quiet, studious Ever. Oh!” She pawed through the pages scattered over the floor. “I’ve got to read this part again...”
The two women were seated on the floor of Ever’s living room. It was Friday night and Ever had invited Caroline over for a drink after their shift at the restaurant.
Caroline was a tall, willowy redhead with long lustrous hair and flashing green eyes. It was Caroline who was assigned to show Ever the ropes during her first week on the job. Ever was interested to learn Caroline was a fine arts post graduate student and, in turn, she confided her own interest in writing. Caroline’s fiery personality attracted Ever and, despite the fourteen year difference in their ages, the two of them had hit it off.
“Oh, yes,” Caroline sighed, reaching a blind hand for her wine glass as she pored over the pages. “I can’t wait to see what this asshole will do next...”
An hour spent in trio with the wine bottle and Ever’s manuscript had quickly turned a casual relationship into budding intimacy.
Caroline held up the sheaf she’d just reread. “This character of yours is such a devil, and yet he’s...”
“Irresistible?” Ever offered.
“He is, isn’t he?” Caroline declared, her eyes glowing with dark delight. “You just wish he’d walk right through that door!”
Ever spluttered, fighting to keep wine from spraying as she burst out laughing. “I don’t know that I’d want to deal with a man quite like Garrison.”
“Oh, but that’s the fantasy!”
“Caroline, you’re not talking like a liberated woman of the twenty-first century.”
“Doesn’t liberation mean going after what you want?”
“It seems to me it should,” Ever concurred.
“Wouldn’t it be awful to think women’s lib has totally sublimated the female desire to be swept away and dominated by some Neanderthal brute?”
Ever laughed again, infecting Caroline with her amusement.
Ever said, “Well, I guess the jamming of supermarket book shelves with romance novels is testament to the fact that these unhealthy urges are still alive and kicking.”
“Sure they are!” Caroline clutched her breast in a melodramatic gesture. “‘Oh Mista Barrington!’” she breathed, affecting an awful southern accent. “‘Unhand me, you vile beast, lest you squeeze the very breath from me with your bruising embrace!’ Which means, of course, ‘Hold me tighter, you bastard, and pin me to the wall!’”
The women fell together, clutching themselves fit to wet their pants. The soft knock at the door was repeated before the women heard and recovered themselves.
“Who on earth could that be at this hour?” Caroline gasped as Ever got up to answer.
“Stroud! How nice,” Ever said, stepping aside to admit him.
“You have company,” he said, which he’d already concluded by the gales of laughter carrying across the yard to his patio door.
“Stroud, you know Caroline, from the restaurant.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Caroline, this is Stroud, master of this fine estate.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Stroud said.
“Pleased to meet you,” Caroline echoed, apparently intrigued by the unexpected visitor.
“I saw the light and just wanted to check on you,” Stroud explained.
“Would you like some wine?” Ever offered.
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t be intruding.”
“Thank you, but I have some calls to make.”
“Calls?” Caroline exclaimed. “It’s past midnight!”
“Which makes it nine A.M. in Paris,” Stroud replied.
“Oh,” Caroline said. “Well, still early, then. Time for one drink.”
Stroud smiled. “No. You seem to be involved.”
Caroline waved a sheaf of pages from Ever’s novel. “Did you know, this lady’s one hell of a writer?”
“I did know,” Stroud said.
“She ought to get herself published,” Caroline said.
“My sentiments exactly,” Stroud agreed.
“I have to finish it first,” Ever said.
“Well, you do it!” Caroline charged. “That’s an order!”
Stroud smiled, this time at Ever. “Hear that?”
“Alright! Alright you two,” Ever laughed.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Stroud said. “Caroline, nice to meet you.”
“And you,” Caroline said, obviously meaning it.
“Ever, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ever closed the door and returned to her seat on the floor. “More wine?”
“God, yes!” Caroline exclaimed. Then, as Ever poured, “Are you and he...?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, hon. He’s a real dream. Where did you find him?”
“Actually, he found me.”
“Really?”
“It’s rather an interesting story.”
“I’m all ears,” Caroline said, settling down, eyes aglow.
“I don’t really know if you’re ready for it.”
“How ready do I have to be?”
“Well, you did seem to enjoy my book...”
“Oh? Oh...”
***
So it was that Caroline stepped into the widening circle of Ever’s devotion. That spring and early summer was a blissful time. For Ever it was a period of personal growth and rejuvenation and before long she was relaxed enough to resume intimate relations with Stroud – although she did not see Brooke. Ever didn’t bring it up and neither did Stroud. Things had shifted into an entirely new rhythm as Ever settled into her new lifestyle, and Stroud adapted to the unbelievable joy of having her so near so much of the time.
And there was Caroline. As it turned out, she was more intrigued than shocked by the nature of Ever’s relationship with Stroud. Witty, vivacious Caroline, who became a frequent visitor and dinner companion on evenings out.
With the resumption of a stable home and work routine came the natural resumption of Ever’s writing. Encouraged by Stroud and Caroline, she dedicated herself to the task of entering the text of her novel into the computer. The weeks flowed in gentle harmony and, by the end of June, certain patterns had come into being.
***
Sunlight dappled through the slatted, vine bedecked arbor of Stroud’s back patio. Bright, buoyant classical music from the stereo inside played in counterpoint to the relaxed page turning of Stroud’s newspaper, the whisper of Caroline’s charcoal across rough sketch paper, and the punctuation of Ever’s intermittent edits to the dog-eared pages of her manuscript. These Saturday afternoon gatherings had become almost a ritual between three people, each apparently steeped in private concentration.
Stroud was dressed as usual in casual twill slacks and rolled shirt sleeves. Caroline was half reclined on a banana chair, clad in a floral bikini top and matching sarong. Ever was wearing the short black tunic Stroud had given her for Christmas, accessorized by her leather collar and manacles. Caroline was no longer distracted by t
he vestments of Ever’s slavery since by now she’d grown accustomed to seeing her in them.
Stroud glanced up from his paper to find Ever sitting, her chin cupped in her hand, staring into space.
“You’re not working.”
“I’m tired of working,” Ever replied.
“I thought you set yourself a deadline for the completion your novel.”
“I’m not in the mood for deadlines today.”
“What are you in the mood for?” Stroud asked.
“I don’t know, but not this.” Ever tossed her pencil down.
“Perhaps you’d be interested in knowing what I’m in the mood for,” Stroud said.
Something in his voice made Caroline look up.
“I don’t think so,” Ever replied.
“Then perhaps you’d better pick up your pencil and get back to work.”
“Perhaps, but I think not.”
“Is this a strike?”
“Call it what you will,” Ever said and suddenly there was a delicious tension in the air.
Caroline couldn’t resist the temptation to become involved. “Is that any way to talk to your master?”
Her tone was teasing, but suddenly the three of them found themselves poised on the edge of a new circumstance. Trust Caroline to be the one to tip the balance.
“You should be punished for that.”
Ever shot her a sideways glance.
“I must agree with you,” Stroud said and Ever’s eyes darted in his direction.
There was a frozen silence as Ever caught up to the other two.
“What? Now?”
“I think so.”
“But Caroline’s here.”
“I think Caroline wants to see you punished.”
“Ooo...” Caroline murmured.
“And what about me?” Ever protested.
“Oh, I think you’ll get what you want, too,” Stroud said, rising from his chair.
Since the patio was perfectly secluded, Stroud didn’t think twice about stripping Ever down to her black bikini panties and chaining her up to an eyebolt in the supporting beam of the arbor.
Caroline watched in narrow-eyed fascination as Ever squirmed under the strokes of the black duel-lashed whip. It was neither strange nor shocking for Caroline to find herself confronted by Ever’s near nudity. Over the past weeks, Ever had become a favorite subject for her work. But never before had she been treated to a scene of this intimacy between Ever and her master. Caroline’s hand automatically flipped to a clean sheet of paper. Her hand swept across the page, working with the speed necessary to capture the beauty and drama of the moment.
“Delightful,” she remarked, when Stroud broke off and resumed his seat, leaving Ever suspended in the dappled light.
“More coffee?” he offered.
“Thank you,” Caroline responded, putting the finishing touches to her sketch.
“Enjoying yourself?” Ever sniped.
Caroline smiled. “Puts a little spice in the day.” “I’ll spice you.”
“Not from there you won’t.”
“Take care, Caroline,” Stroud warned. “You could end up there beside her.”
“Ooo,” Caroline murmured. “There’s an entertaining proposal.”
“Just be careful what you wish for,” Stroud said resuming with his newspaper.
Caroline sat back with a smile and continued sketching.
***
During a lull at the restaurant that evening, Caroline approached Ever who stood alone at the service station, unwrapping a round of Camembert for the cheese board.
“Are you still sore?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Yes,” Ever replied softly. “Thanks to you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
There was an intense glow in Caroline’s eyes. “You know, I’m almost jealous of you.”
“Are you?”
“You’re very lucky to have a man like Stroud.”
“I think so.”
“I mean, doubly lucky. It’s all so...unconventional. Kind of exciting.”
Ever smiled. “Are you interested in that sort of relationship?”
“I... don’t know...”
***
Caroline dropped Ever off at home that night and, when she came into the kitchen, Stroud was sitting at the table with Caroline’s sketches spread before him. Ever made herself a cup of herbal tea and joined him. The majority of the portraits were studies of Stroud and Ever at the patio table.
“I’m not much of a judge but I think they’re good,” Ever remarked.
“Very good,” Stroud agreed. “But I wanted your opinion of something. Look at this,” he said, pulling out the sketch Caroline had done during Ever’s whipping.
Ever was portrayed in strong lines in the foreground with Stroud depicted in the background, behind her.
“Notice anything?”
Ever studied the picture. “This one’s more stylized. Powerful lines, good play on light and shadow. Quite dramatic.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, you’re depicted almost as a shadow figure with nowhere near the definition she gave me.”
“Look more closely.”
Ever concentrated on the detail of the rendering, realization gradually dawning. The conformation of the woman’s figure. The facial features. The hair.
“It isn’t me, is it?”
“No.”
They exchanged a glance.
“If not me, then who?” She posed the question, aware they were both thinking the same thing.
Chapter Twenty Three
Ever was blindfolded, her wrists manacled by chains to the brass headboard of Stroud’s bed. Apart from the small scene enacted before Caroline on the patio, there hadn’t been any intensive play between them in several weeks.
Yet, for the past two nights, she’d been locked in the tiny cell down the hall from Stroud’s room. He’d stripped her of everything but the collar and cuffs, but she’d been free within the confines of the room. In silence she wandered the perimeters of her cell, learning it from every angle. She spent time at the window, up on tip toe. From there she had an abbreviated moonlit view of the neighbor’s garden and one frail, stick-like sapling that was coming into bloom with the change of season.
She looked out and looked in, in at a small example of the woman in her novel. Unused, unrequired for now, unnerved. She lay awake under the faux fur cover, wondering – as her heroine wondered. Fearing as she feared. Allowing the question: Was this something beyond or within her control?
It had been the only thing he’d done until now. Now – chained, naked, displayed upon this vast expanse of taut white sheet. Blind and mute, waiting and wondering still. He came in so quietly that Ever wasn’t aware of his presence until he spoke.
“I know how much you enjoy the attentions of two masters, so I’ve invited someone in who is eager to see how thoroughly you can submit...”
Ever’s fluttering heart stopped beating momentarily before picking up rhythm again – double time. Stroud’s voice had come from the left side of the bed, but there were also sounds coming from the right.
Who is it? she nearly asked. Should have asked. But she was too startled to speak. In truth, too afraid. Of course, Stroud had commanded her to silence when he brought her in and bound her here, but surely this one essential question was permissible. Surely she was entitled to know.
It was only mid-afternoon, still broad daylight outside. Bright sunshine, birds chirping. Hardly the time of day one would expect the dark assaults of two sadists.
More sounds from both sides of the bed. Soft sounds. Secretive. Indistinguishable activities masked by the thumping of Ever’s heart.
It had to be Brooke. Stroud would never bring in a stranger without consulting her. He wouldn’t do that. Yet Brooke’s first visit had come as a surprise to her. And, in the end, hadn’t she given every indication that things with Br
ooke were not working out? She hadn’t seen him since the night he took her to the Knolls and, since her trip to the mountains with Stroud, she’d harbored suspicions that Stroud had expelled Brooke from the relationship. Was it possible he would actually seek out a replacement?
The idea of a stranger in the room with them now was almost too much to comprehend. A stranger whose eyes were appraising her, his thoughts charged with the anticipation of subordinating her to his will.
Is it Brooke? she wanted to shout, but all that escaped her constricted throat was a hot blast of dry, wordless air.
It’s alright, she told herself as the first of her tormentors took position on the right side of the bed. At once she recognized the fragrance of Stroud’s cologne and she realized she’d be able to tell. If Brooke came near, she would recognize him, also. His touch, his voice, his scent. Something would give him away.
But there was no dialogue as the second man lay down the other side of her and, in turning her head left and right, she was swamped in only greater confusion. There were hands on her, one right, one left, equal pressures pulling her thighs apart until her spread knees were ultimately clamped between the thighs of the men, one at each side. And she could not distinguish one from the other, even by scent, because they wore the same cologne!
All she knew was both men were nude and, by their dual maneuvers, they had pinned her as securely as a butterfly stuck to a collector’s display board.
One hand landed on her right breast, another touched the tender flesh of her exposed vagina. Unable to reach anything else, Ever gripped the cold struts of the headboard with a suppressed gasp.
Her right nipple jumped to attention under the manipulations of the hand on the left while her thighs jerked in response to the seducing touch of the hand coming from the right. Weird, strangled noises crowded her throat as questions and fears crowded her head.
The hand between her legs swiftly penetrated her, not with one gentle, exploratory finger seeking information as to her receptiveness, but with two intrusive crusaders intent on capturing territory known to be inadequately defended.
“Stroud?” she pleaded, desperate to end the suspense.
In a moment, the hand on her breast lifted off and clamped over her mouth, sealing in all subsequent pleas or questions.