by Hayley White
That had to be Brooke. The cruelty of the gesture. No stranger would do that.
Or was it Stroud reminding her of his command that she keep silent? Equally cruel if Stroud had done it. Equally so.
The hand between her legs probed deeper, making her whimper before it withdrew, and Ever’s vagina contracted as he commenced a slow, seductive circling of the outer tissue.
No. That was Stroud. Had to be. His way of briefly reprimanding her before reassuring her that everything was alright. She was controlled, yes, totally, but she was safe. He expected her to accept the control and respond only to the command of his hand.
Ever jerked her head in an attempt to dislodge the hand over her mouth. She thought Stroud would allow her this freedom, but the hand didn’t move. Ever moaned in frustration and suddenly the second hand stabbed into her vagina again. The message was unmistakable and, this time when it withdrew, Ever relinquished the strain in her legs as a signal she was willing to cooperate.
The stroking continued as before and Ever was hardly able to acknowledge how close she was to orgasm before it hit. The hand over her mouth remained firmly in place, muffling her moans as she bucked within her restraints, sucking breath through flared nostrils.
Ever’s brow glistened with sweat as the hand finally lifted away from her mouth and moved to her throat. She was still gasping as it quietly traveled to her chest. Then her breast. It covered the mound, then gathered it up and held it, as though taking possession.
Again she was penetrated, the fingers reaching into her with even more determination than before. She bolted with every thrust, falling slack as the hand released her and the stroking began again.
Ever squirmed, but evasion was impossible and her resistance broke as she ascended toward the second climax. She sensed it would be even more violent than the first as her back arched against the dampened sheet.
There were lips pressed against her nipple, the flick of a tongue, then teeth. She gave a shout as she reached the apex and roller coasted down through the next wave of contractions. The upper hand had seized her other breast. There was pressure against her left side as he leaned over and pressed his mouth against hers.
Stroking, more stroking and no. She could not. She could not do it again.
“Again,” the word was murmured in her ear, but she could not identify the voice.
Two mouths commanding her: one opening her mouth so wide she thought her jaw might dislocate; the other repeating that impossible word, “Again.”
Sweat now lubricated the friction between her body and those beside her. Her sweat and the first hint of the pungent, musky odors secreted by men.
“Again,” came the third command, and with it the third orgasm, since by now she was no more than a mindless puppet, dancing on invisible strings as strong as stressed steel.
After this there was respite, but only a few seconds. The man on her left was just relinquishing her lips when the other rolled on top of her. This was the least of the surprises. For some time she’d been aware of their anxious erections, impatient and struggling for notice in the cramped quarters within which, up to now, they’d been confined. These conquerors had taken the time and effort to subdue Ever, to render her pliable, and now she knew the passions they’d engendered must be quelled.
Even now she was no closer to putting the make on her seducers. They matched each other in technique and power, fucking her with all the zeal of the splendid animals they were. First one, then the other. Back and forth.
When they flipped her and she succumbed to the first rape of her ass, she thought: NOW! For sure this was Brooke! But she lapsed again into doubt when the other sodomized her with equal enthusiasm. Back and forth.
Ever’s passions ebbed and flowed with each ensuing onslaught. At first she burned with a fire she believed nothing could extinguish. Then she dropped into unimpassioned neutrality, becoming an insentient receptacle for their mindless rutting. When they again rolled her on her back and raised her legs, her fear rekindled in the face of overwhelming exhaustion. She could not, could not take any more. The fear reignited the passion, and the understanding that they would not show mercy or relent just because she wanted them to. That fear flared into the desire to be completely overruled by the force of their selfish, combined wills – and she soared into the realms of ecstasy experienced by the woman who realizes her power over man – and she mentally dared them, DARED THEM to attempt to overtake her!
By the time they’d finished with her, Ever was neither relieved nor disappointed by their departure from the sullied bed. They’d transported her to a new plane of experience where she floated on clouds of pure sensation until a voice broke in from the other side of reality.
“Is she alright?”
“Yes. I think so,” Stroud said.
“She looks wrung. And she’s so pale.”
“Brooke...”
Ever called in such a hoarse whisper he was unsure he’d heard it.
“Brooke...”
“Yes?” he replied.
“Brooke?”
Her voice was so faint that he leaned right down, close to her face, to be sure he didn’t miss what she wanted to say. “What?” he asked softly.
With the speed and agility of the jungle gecko, Ever lifted her head and licked Brooke’s face from chin to forehead.
Stroud laughed aloud as Brooke jerked back with an exclamation of disgust.
“I guess she’s alright,” Stroud said.
“I guess so,” Brooke agreed, drying his slobbered face with the towel he’d been using to wipe down. “Alright enough for a good spanking.”
Ever yelped as Brooke twisted her over on her stomach for a series of hard smacks with his bare hand. By then he and Stroud were both laughing and Ever rolled away with an angry snort when Brooke finally released her.
“Well, so much for afterglow,” she grumbled.
“So much for afterglow,” Brooke concurred and the laughter of all three of them blended like music.
Chapter Twenty Four
Despite what she’d said, and a lingering ache in her shoulders, the afterglow of Ever’s experience with Stroud and Brooke lasted for several days. The memory of it drenched her in frequent waves of delight and amazement.
She was thinking about this and about how much her life had changed as she stood at the sink in Stroud’s kitchen, scrubbing leftover creamed egg from the bottom of a stainless steel saucepan. She worked at the task with concentration, thoroughness and serene patience.
The mundane chores of daily living that had become so difficult during those last days at her apartment were no longer the exhausting burden they had been. Now they were just part of the delicate network of details that made up the ongoing pleasure of her current life. She knew her happiness had never been so complete.
She was glad to have seen Brooke again. Gladder than she would have guessed. Brooke, such an enigma. She was suddenly reminded of their conversation two days ago when Stroud was out on business. He’d arrived in the afternoon to find Ever alone on the patio, reading.
He seemed oddly nonplused by Stroud’s absence. Such a rarity, Brooke caught for words, but the intent of his visit apparently changed in view of this unexpected opportunity to interview Ever privately. His inhibition vanished and his first question could hardly have surprised her more.
“Are you in love with Stroud?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“You come from different worlds. How did you meet?”
“Hasn’t Stroud told you?”
“No.”
“You should ask him about it.”
“I’m asking you,” Brooke said, perhaps to test her.
“Ask Stroud,” Ever said.
Brooke smiled. “What brings a woman into such a lifestyle?”
“What brings a man?” Ever countered.
“It’s very natural for a man to want to dominate,” he said.
“Perhaps it’s natural for a woman to want to submit.
”
Brooke laughed. “Not the women I’ve known!”
“Not all women are conscious of the condition,” Ever said, so softly that Brooke had to quiet down to hear her. “Even beyond consciousness there must be acknowledgement. Beyond acknowledgement, ultimately, decision.”
Their eyes locked.
“It’s difficult to just fall into it,” she said with the same quiet intensity. “Men like Stroud don’t come along every day.”
“Or men like me.”
“Or men like you,” and here her eyes dropped away again.
“Has Stroud asked you to marry him?”
“No.”
“Do you expect he will?”
“It’s not my part to expect things from Stroud,” she said evenly.
“Do you want him to?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“I would have thought you’d want that. Don’t all women?”
“Not necessarily.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Your view of women is limited,” Ever said in such a way that he could not take offense without looking the fool.
He leaned his chin in his hand. “So, tell me, Mistress Ever. What should my view of women be?”
“Realistic,” Ever said simply. “Neither idealize nor dehumanize them. And don’t lump them all together. The woman of our times is extremely diverse. Men must adapt accordingly.
“That isn’t to say that certain traits you see in women will ever seem to you anything other than entirely female. Women are not men. We are your natural counterpart. Human, basically the same biologically and even physically. The differences between men and women are very simple and straightforward but the similarities far outweigh them.
“Women are strong, men are weak. Men are fastidious, women are slobs. Men raise children while women bring home the bacon. These may sound like reversals but each is a rule unto itself, just as the more common variations of these comparisons. It’s not male or female, it’s essentially human. A combination of the two. Don’t make rules. Accept what’s given when it comes.”
“Where do you and Stroud fit into all of this?”
“Human need,” Ever said. “Interchange.”
“And me?” he asked, almost sadly, Ever thought.
“You come into it for Stroud’s reasons, which become your reasons, which become my reasons.”
“Your reasons?”
“Of course. I’ve got to deal with your games. What reasons could I have?”
It was a shocking thing to say but Brooke just said, “What are your reasons?”
“I don’t know, exactly.”
“How do you feel about me?”
“I love you,” she said simply.
“But not ‘in love’?” he teased, to cover his shock.
“Maybe that,” Ever said with the same simplicity.
“What have I done to make you love me?” Brooke asked, now almost sarcastic.
“You’ve been present,” Ever said.
“Is that all?”
“You’ve given me pleasure.”
“Have I?”
“You didn’t know that?” and now her eyes touched him.
“I’ve never been sure,” Brooke said. “I’m never sure.”
Ever looked away. “I think you know by now you will not always get from me what you expect. I don’t fake for anyone. There’s beauty in every encounter.”
Brooke was studying her, smiling softly. “You’re a remarkable woman.”
“Thank you. It’s very nice to hear that.”
“Doesn’t Stroud tell you?”
“Of course, in a million ways. A man’s attention makes a woman beautiful.”
“And the whipping?”
“A man’s attention, like I said. Besides, whipping is very therapeutic, if done properly.”
“And Stroud does?”
“Stroud knows how to be master. Knows what he wants.”
“And what he wants, you want.”
“Seems to be.”
“You’re very frank,” Brooke remarked after a pause.
“I try to be.”
“When you’re with Stroud you’re...”
“Different? You said so before.”
“Why?”
“The nature of our relationship, I suppose.”
“Have you and Stroud talked about me?”
Ever faltered. “I suppose we have...”
“What was said?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”
“That sounds like an excuse.”
“Perhaps it is.”
“Will you tell him about this conversation?”
“Probably not. What about you? Will you tell him?”
Brooke shrugged. “Probably not.”
“How did you meet Stroud?”
“My aunt has an art gallery down on the shore. He arranged a showing there.”
“When was that?”
“About two years ago. He’s been sort of ‘cultivating’ me,” he said with a captivating smile.
“In what ways?” Ever asked, straight faced.
“Oh,” Brooke said, his smile quieting. “In all ways.”
Cultivating. If ever such a thing could be possible with a wild card like Brooke.
Ever smiled now, just thinking about the prospect. The saucepan sparkled as she set it in the drainer, a luster that compared to the shine that had been put on her whole outlook.
Then, oddly, the smile froze on her face and she chilled with a sudden premonition as she turned slowly from the sink. Stroud stood in the doorway, his features drawn, his normally impeccable posture slumped.
“Something horrible has happened.”
***
Two and a half hours later he was gone. Ever stood over the tepid dishwater she’d neglected to drain when the news broke. Who would have thought so much could happen so quickly? A succession of phone calls; the rooting out of luggage and passport; bags packed, one suitcase, one carry on; passage booked – a single one way ticket to – Paris.
Ever could get taxis to work and Caroline would certainly help out... Yes, she knew where the keys to everything were... No, she should not try to accompany him to the airport; he’d get a cab... He’d call as soon as he could... Yes, she’d be alright, oh so adult about it all... A quick kiss goodbye…
Ever reached a hand into the greasy water and twisted the stopper to drain the sink. She turned and braced herself against the sideboard, trying to comprehend the vast emptiness of the house without Stroud and get her head around the circumstances that had snatched him away from her.
There had been a fire. A gallery Stroud opened under the protective umbrella of The Foundation. The gallery director had been hospitalized. Someone close to Stroud. The situation was very serious.
He had to go. Of course, he did. Ever could manage things here and in a few hours he’d be... in Paris.
In a sort of trance, Ever crossed to the refrigerator. She took out the carafe, a crystal, stemmed glass from the cupboard, and carried a full glass of wine to a chair at the kitchen table. Her cigarettes there. A clean ashtray.
She’d be alright. He’d be alright. He’d be met at the airport – by someone named Nicole.
***
At three a.m. Ever answered the phone at Stroud’s bedside. He was at the airport in Paris, calling to let her know he arrived safely. Things were uncertain. He’d call when he had a number to forward his messages.
After he hung up Ever lay in the stillest part of the night, hugging his pillow against her.
Chapter Twenty Five
About a week after Stroud’s departure, Brooke turned up. His arrival was a welcome reprieve from the silence of the house, but even still their encounters were marked by an underlying tension.
Ever offered to make coffee and they sat in the white sitting room like two strangers in a strange land, separated by yards on the L-shaped couch.
“Stroud asked
me to look in on you,” Brooke said. “I’ve come by a couple of times but I never catch you in.”
“I work nights,” Ever said.
“What have you been doing?”
“Wine and cheese at ‘Catch the Mood’.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Better than the other,” he said, in reference to her old job.
“Much better.”
“What time do you get off?”
Ever was reminded of the last time Brooke asked her that question. “Around midnight.”
“What days?”
“Tuesday through Saturday.”
Brooke nodded.
Just then the phone rang.
“Excuse me.” Ever got up and went into Stroud’s study.
“Hello?” Brooke heard her say, and then, “Stroud,” and her voice took on a warmth that was tempered by the respect always present when she spoke to him.
Brooke experienced a small stab of jealousy as he made a conscious effort to tune out the private conversation.
“How is everything?” Stroud asked, his voice clear and strong on the line.
“Just fine,” Ever reported, reaching over to switch on the desk lamp.
“No plumbing, electrical or structural disasters?”
Ever laughed softly. “No.”
“Has anyone called?”
“A couple of telemarketers.”
“Any named ‘Ever’?”
“Smart-aleck.”
Stroud chuckled. “Well, I’ve contacted just about everyone, but if a call comes through and it seems important, you can refer them on.”
Ever reached for a pencil. “What’s the number?”
Stroud read it off to her, including the necessary international codes.
“Where are you calling from?”
“Nicole’s. She’s offered to put me up.”
“Good of her,” Ever said, aware of a quick, inexplicable pang of jealousy.
“It beats hotel accommodations and she lives near the gallery, which is convenient.”
“That’s good,” Ever managed to say. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, things are a mess, of course, but we’re gradually picking up the pieces.”
“And Laurens?”
“Still in hospital but they seem to think he’ll pull through. What have you been up to?”