Labyrinth

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  Perhaps before I begin the heart of my tale, I should fill you in on how this happened and how it works.

  Dominick and I began in an all night diner where I was waiting tables and he popped in for a cup of coffee. You could tell it had been a long bad day. Long, because it was nearly midnight when he walked in; bad, because of the drawn look on his weary face. I didn’t know then, but I would soon learn, that this man has very few bad days. The world just seems to shine on him, although for reasons I still don’t know, it hadn’t that day.

  I wasn’t the kind to pry; I had too much on my own mind to care about the lives of the diner’s customers. But I did my job like a trooper and kept that smile on my face as sweet as ever. As long as I did that, it pleased my boss and I got my tips, and since I needed every red cent I could scare up, that was all I really cared about. Because a lot of things are best left unsaid, I kept my observations about the customers to myself, even though I was rarely wrong in my assessments. And I wasn’t wrong about Dominick and his irritated mood.

  But by the time I poured the man his second cup of coffee, he’d come around. In fact, he’d turned on me completely, staring me down with a look that finally made me so self-conscious that I really had to ask. “What, did I forget to zip my skirt or something?”

  He smiled real broad, his white teeth gleaming from that beautiful black face.

  “No, ma’am. But has anyone ever mentioned how profoundly beautiful you are?”

  I looked at him dumbfounded, shook my head, then started laughing out loud. Finally, I sighed and turned back toward the kitchen with the coffee pot, having every intention of ignoring the comment.

  “I know you don’t believe it,” his big sonorous voice leapt out at me, “but it happens to be true. You’re just down on your luck. I bet you’re so in debt that you can see no way out of the sinkhole, no way you’ll ever make something of yourself. So you scrape by in this sweatshop hoping some day, someone’s going to walk through the door who will be your ticket to a new life.”

  Long before he finished his little lecture, I’d stopped in my tracks. But I didn’t turn around until he’d finished speaking.

  Next thing I knew, I was back in front of the counter looking into his soulful brown eyes. “Excuse me, sir? I don’t believe that I was asking for commentary,” I said with as much sass as my sarcastic nature could muster—and it was a lot in those days. Being sarcastic, wry and mocking was my signature mood. At twenty-three, given what I’d been through in my short life, having a chip on my shoulder came naturally.

  “How about if I take you home tonight?” he asked.

  “You’re hitting on me!” I blurted out way too loud. I might have awakened Bud, the cook who was snoozing in the kitchen. But since there wasn’t another soul in the diner, who would care how loud I was?

  “I’m making you an offer,” he stated simply.

  “An offer?” I kept going with this ridiculous conversation just because I was curious, and I suppose because the man was getting under my skin; oozing his way along my flesh with the eyes and attitude, and a sexual ease about him that suddenly made me want to jump his bones. He was just damn beautiful. A brown-skinned, broad-shouldered black man, with a strong, elegant face, intense determination and a glint of playful lust in his deep-set eyes. I had the uncanny feeling that he’d stared right into me, walked around, picked up pieces of my mind and memorized them verbatim, then took pictures of my fantasies he’d use to hook me later. I didn’t know all that then, only time would suggest as much, but I did suspect he was up to no good. I had no reason to trust anyone, let alone a stranger I’d just met, and yet in that one meaningful stare, he almost assured my complete acquiescence.

  “I think you might like to get to know me,” he replied to my question.

  I laughed. “Maybe I would,” I said. “But you’re going to have to keep talking to have me convinced.”

  “All right, how about this? Beautiful women are my passion. I love them, I take care of them, and I fuck them like an animal—” that glint in his eye gave me goosebumps, and he thought to add, “After we make love, of course.”

  My god, he was good. He took my breath away. I’d spent so much time flipping guys off who dared give me a lame pick-up line, that this man, with one of lamest lines I’d ever heard, really pulled me up short. It wasn’t the words, but his stripped to the bone sincerity that stunned me.

  We went eye-to-eye for another interminable minute, then he slipped his hand in his suit pocket, pulled out a crisp white business card and slid it toward me on the counter.

  “I’m easy to find.” Another sip of coffee and he was gone.

  If I thought that would be the end of it, I was wrong. It would take another several visits over the next month to embed the man in my spirit so strongly, that when he finally stopped coming by for a late night cup of coffee, I was sadly distressed. By then, I’d created an elaborate fantasy around him rescuing me from an increasingly difficult situation. Mostly, I dreamed of holding on, rebounding so I’d never need his help, then running into him a year or so later with a new story to tell him and a much more impressive life. We would come together on equal terms. But there were the other fantasies too, ones as perverse as they were stimulating, based on a desperate but scheming Lana, seducing the man until he was practically begging me into his life. At least this sort of rescue would come from mutual need and allow me a little dignity.

  However, for all the romantic plots I hatched in my feverish brain, with all their twists and turns, none came close to the scenario that finally played out.

  As much as I scrimped and saved, shopped for bargains at thrift stores and ate little but what my boss allowed me to eat at work, I was fast drowning in debt. The meager job I coveted at a publishing house fell through—after they’d dangled it before me for months—and there were no others available to a girl who at the time had no decent clothes for a proper job interview. (All the good stuff I’d owned when I was in school had been stolen by an ex-boyfriend nearly two years before. He’d reeked havoc on my life in more than one way, but that’s another story) Life was a mess. No longer was I the scrappy genius of my college days with the wit and charm to get anything I dared aspire to have. The smile was gone, the light in my eyes flickering out and my prospects had dwindled into nothing—I know this sounds melodramatic, but it is a fair assessment of my life and my attitude. Even the cocky sarcasm that had seen me through the previous two years had lost its sharp edge. The only thing that pleased me were my fantasies of the black man.

  Nearly two months had passed since I’d seen him and any hope that he’d return to the diner seemed like no more than a pipe dream. My life was one big cliché. But when you’re living a cliché, you don’t see it for what it is, or how to scrape your way out. The only way out I could envision was a miracle, a god-send, a savior.

  With no other options available, I took the man’s dog-eared business card from my apron pocket, looked it over one more time, and finally made my decision.

  When I rang the bell of Dominick’s tenth floor penthouse I waited like a nervous penitent before a judge. I must have looked like the cleaning lady in my ragtag clothes, and yet, when the handsome man finally opened the door, he was genuinely pleased to see me—at least once he realized who was standing outside his door.

  When he let me in, I was no wide-eyed country girl laying her eyes on real wealth for the first time. I’d seen plenty of luxury apartments and fancy homes like his in my days at Cornell. But I did feel like a real loser, considering what I’d done with my life since I graduated into the real world. I like to think it was my boyfriend who screwed me over and screwed up my future, but I’ve gotten beyond that nonsense now, and place the fault squarely where it belongs, with me. To go into all the psychological reasons for my previous failures would be both tedious and unnecessary for this narrative. Let’s just say that once I landed in the black man’s fancy digs, I was determined not to return to my worn-out life as a smiling
waitress.

  And, in fact, I never returned to my own apartment, or the diner.

  I recall gazing around the high-tech, high-styled apartment completely agog. The colors were bold, the lines sleek—surfaces of glass, stainless steel, stone and polished wood were a treat for the eye. I almost felt as if I’d entered into a fantastic real life sculpture and would have studied it for hours, but that was not the point. I fought to bring myself back to the purpose of my visit, though with all my fantasies spilling out around me, I didn’t know where to turn or what to say. I might have known that Dominick would have everything figured out before I even opened my mouth. In fact, my charming and very horny host made the next twenty-four hours easy. Hardly an hour had gone by before he had me in his bed and making love—just a few simple and very appealing lines was all it took, and, as you already know, I was a sucker for his charm.

  On the other hand, in bed was exactly where I would make my case. My red hair came out of its bun and floated around my face. My green eyes burned with desire. All this I’d practiced nightly for nearly two months and it came out so incendiary that I knew I had him won almost before we started. My body did the rest.

  Dominick wanted every piece of me. My mouth was easy, the blowjobs deep-throated, my pussy a natural for his cock, milking the tumescent organ as the crashing orgasms rolled through me. When it came to my ass, I expressed my first reluctance, claiming fatigue; after all, it was nearly midnight by the time he broached the subject of my ass.

  The charm that so captivated me took a decidedly dominant tone. “You just need a little warm-up, Lana,” he said. Then he proceeded to spank my behind with surprising vigor. The shock was palpable, but so too was my mounting desire. I could scarcely believe what was happening, but I was doing nothing to stop it despite my misgivings and my fear.

  I mean, this was a first date! But it soon became clear that he’d have my ass as easily as he’d taken my mouth and my vagina. Once he raised the heat on my ass, his strong and steady hands flipped me over as if I were a weightless doll and propped my ass up high. I buried my head in his silk sheets and grabbed them in my hands, holding on tightly as he greased his cock and then my ass, and finally plunged into the only virgin territory I had left.

  The impalement hurt. My cries and moans were fierce and real, but he held on for the finish he desired, saying with great certainty: “Time you were fucked properly,” like fucking my ass was the only proper way to fuck. “You’ll get used to it. Nice tight hole like yours can satisfy a lot of men.”

  I remember those last words now, but I probably chose to forget them shortly after he made that pronouncement. Either that or I thought it was just a generic statement, with the assumption that I’d have plenty of other lovers in my lifetime who would enjoy what he enjoyed then. Only later, I learned that he had something else quite different in mind for me.

  Later, when I lay in his arms, he held me close and stroked my long red hair admiringly.

  “Yes, this hair… You wonder why I call you beautiful, Lana. You are exquisite. All I need to do is clean you up a little and you’ll make a first class woman. I already know you have the smarts.”

  “If you know that, you must be psychic,” I said.

  “I am. Plus your boss says you have a degree in English from Cornell. You have to be smart to have earned that.”

  He’s actually quizzed my boss about me! Flattering as that was, the very thought was unsettling. “So, what else do you know about me?”

  “Nothing, except that you’re one hell of a lover. It’s not easy taking a man like me in the ass on a first date. I’m impressed.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I probably babbled something stupid that we both quickly forgot. We were asleep minutes later and slept well into the following morning.

  My only thought on waking was how I was going to segue from a night of savage copulation to the reason why I was on his doorstep in the first place. I was too self-absorbed trying to come up with the right story to figure out that my sexy lover already knew why I was there.

  When I realized that Dominick was already up and gone, I slipped into a blue silk robe that I assumed he left out for me to wear and went in search of him through rooms I’d never seen. I peered into the living room, kitchen and dining room before I finally found him in the atrium: showered, dressed and ready for the day, sipping his coffee and reading the morning paper. I need to mention that atrium before I continue. It stunned me silent for several minutes while I stared into the amazing space. Rising two stories above me, the towering structure of glass and steel lifted toward the blue sky like a cathedral. And yet, being filled with a jungle of tropical plants and singing birds it was just as earthy as it was uplifting. I may have seen the opulence of the rich first hand, but I’d never seen anything like this in a private home.

  After standing in the doorway some minutes, trying to decide to enter, Dominick finally looked up from his paper and motioned me in, a smile of welcome on his face.

  “You look rested,” he said.

  “I think I am,” was about all I could say.

  He stared at me from head to toe, then asked, not ordered, but asked: “Lana, please, will you take off the robe?”

  I was flustered, first thinking that I’d done something wrong by wearing it in the first place.

  “I’m sorry. I thought it was for me to wear. I mean, you left it out—”

  “I did. For you. However, if you’ll indulge me, sometimes my mind forgets too easily the treasures I’ve just enjoyed. I’d like another look.”

  I’m sure I blushed, though the next few minutes went by in a blur as I shrugged the blue silk off my shoulders and let it sink to the dark slate floor. As if I were dazed and dreaming and in a fog of drugged madness, my body seemed to slink back into the dreamy eroticism of the night before. In the heat of the atrium, a layer of perspiration was already gathering on my skin, while rising up from my body was the fragrance of sex that still clung to my flesh. He told me to come closer and I made those small steps carefully, finally feeling his fingers reach out and dance delicately along my thigh. He looked up at me, his face the picture of awe, while the riveting moment moved by at a snail’s pace.

  When, quite suddenly, he grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair and tossed it to the floor in front of my feet, saying, “Kneel for me, Lana,” I didn’t hesitate to follow the instruction. Though it was completely out of character for me to be so subservient, it seemed like a natural thing to do in my present state of mind.

  He acted quickly, taking my breasts in his hands and kneading them, slapping them, bringing a heat to the flesh that had my whole body throbbing and my groin grinding on air. I can’t say how obvious my sexual response was to his calculating eye, but I knew that the hard way he was treating me was turning my body on fire. I could barely breathe in the rarified air, so I gasped heavily while he continued to abuse me. Sex and pain had never been secret playmates in my fantasies, nor real life. In fact, I hated the condescending slaps of a man’s hand on my ass. But as Dominick lit into my bared breasts, palms slapping the delicate skin again and again, I recalled how the spanking the night before had done exactly as he’d desired, putting me in the right frame of mind to take his cock into my ass. When, in the atrium, he ordered me to clamp my hands behind my back, again I found myself obeying—no clue why I’d be submitting without raising a single protest.

  It was not because I wanted him to rescue me from the misery of my life. I’ve been over that notion a hundred times if I’ve considered it once. Yes, I was looking for handouts when I decided to pay the man a visit. But there was something far more powerful than survival at work. This amazing man had a way of taking what he desired and giving me back what I needed—almost as if we were playing out ancient themes, or rituals from a past life in this present one; as if we’d been brought together by fate to fulfill a destiny not yet realized.

  I know, I know how foolishly romantic that sounds. But it was the only explanation I
could come up with at the time. Where had my penchant for irony, scorn and sarcasm gone? On arriving in ‘Planet Dominick’ all that bitterness had disappeared. I still don’t know how the man does what he does to women, though I’ve been subject to his artful domination ever since that first day.

  I am not, however, so naïve to think that there was destiny or fate at play in the atrium that morning. But there was lust and longing and a hidden agenda that would take a few more days in that penthouse for me to learn.

  I knelt before him, my body bared like an offering, while he sat regally over me with a critical eye appraising my assets.

  “Close your eyes,” he’d said at last.

  I closed my eyes.

  He touched me carefully now, once again running his fingers lightly over my heated skin. I still struggled to breathe, but there was no thought of bolting from this peculiar scene. When he reached down and began to play with my sex, the orgasm rose up fast in me and I could have come within seconds. But just as I was about to erupt, he gave a sharp command.

  “Don’t come, Lana.”

  What was this? I wondered silently. His fingers kept working, making the task of following his order more difficult with every second that passed. I knew I needed to obey; a strange place in me had been opened wide, a place unfamiliar but curiously welcoming. Powerful thoughts of submission took charge. This was not the Lana I knew, but it was one that felt fully alive. Again, destiny, fate and other silly subjects like that flitted through my mind, the only answers that I’d have.

  He kept me on edge for an interminable time, toying ever so carefully with the raw and needy feelings in my hungry sex.

  “You want to come,” he said.

  “Yes,” I gasped hopefully.

  “Yes, I can see that. And you can barely hold on. The fire’s so strong, the desire so potent, the need so great…”

  I nodded, my whole face wincing as I struggled to play his game.

  Suddenly, he rammed his fist into my sex and rattled off, another straightforward order, “Come now, Lana.”