Well, it was true. He confirmed with a nod and took another bite of
sandwich.
"Have you explored your sexuality, Oliver?" Whoa! His throat closed,
and he sat there chewing foolishly.
"I was married," he managed to get out.
"I didn't think you were a virgin. I mean, for instance, have you ever
been restrained?" She spoke quietly, but Oliver felt the tension
ratchet up a notch.
"Restrained?" Jacky left the kitchen and returned with a pair of
handcuffs which she placed on the table.
"Oh," Oliver said. "No."
"It takes a lot of character and trust," she said, matter of factly.
"Not many can do it. Would you like to see how they feel?" He hesitated
and felt something inside him start to slip, to accede to her. "Hold
out your hands," she said. Her eyes were large. He held up his arms
without taking his eyes from hers. She smiled and closed the handcuffs
around his wrists. "There," she said. "How do they feel?" She watched
him, still smiling.
"Not bad," he said.
"You like them, don't you?" He swallowed. "Come with me," she said.
"I'll show you something." He followed her into a large bedroom. She
opened a dresser drawer and took out a long belt. Oliver held his hands
near his waist feeling foolish and short of breath.
"Are you the sheriff?" he asked.
She laughed and came toward him. "Much better than that," she said. She
looped the belt through his arms and pulled him slowly across the room.
"Let me know if you are not O.K. about this." He heard it as a
challenge. She dragged a chair over without letting go of the belt.
"Put your hands over your head." He raised his arms, and she stepped up
on the chair. She passed one end of the belt through a heavy eye bolt
that was screwed into the ceiling and which he hadn't noticed. She
buckled the belt so that his arms were held above him.
"Much better," she repeated, stepping down and placing the chair back
against the wall. She studied him. "You look very nice, Oliver. Just a
moment." She went out to the kitchen and came back with their ale. She
drank some of hers and said, "Let me know if you are thirsty." He
nodded. She was happier. Her color was higher. Good looking, actually,
he thought.
She read his mind. "Yes--you are feeling new things now." She moved a
step closer. She arched her back and slowly rolled her shoulders. "Do
you like my body, Oliver?" He reddened and swallowed. "How sweet! You
blush," she said. "You are my captive. I can tease you now . . ." She
went to the dresser and took another swallow of ale. She tugged at the
bottom of her jersey, tightening it against her breasts. She moved
closer and swiveled slowly from side to side. "Mmmm," she said. "You do
like me!" Oliver's mouth opened and he began to breathe harder. He
nodded dumbly.
Jacky stepped back and looked him up and down. "Very nice," she said,
"but you have a lot to learn. Would you like to? Learn?"
"Yes," he said.
"Nothing leaves this room," Jacky said. "I don't even tell my
girlfriends about this." That was a relief, he registered in a far
corner of his mind. She brought over his glass and held it to his lips.
"Yes?" He nodded, not trusting his voice. She tipped the glass enough
for him to take a small sip of ale. "I am in control," she said,
looking down at him. She was close, almost touching. She smelled of
honeysuckle. "You will learn to please me, to care only for _my_
pleasure. You will suffer for me. When you are good, you will be
rewarded. But you must prove yourself." There was a practiced sound to
her words.
To his surprise, he wanted to prove himself. He wanted to please her.
"Well?"
"Yes," he promised.
"You will serve me without question. Then, you will be happy." She
freed him. "Come back Friday at six o'clock. Bring a heavy wooden ruler
that you have decorated. You are to buy it at an office supply store,
saying that it is for your mistress. You may go. Oh, and take the rest
of that steak sandwich with you." She went into a bathroom and closed
the door.
Oliver drove away shaking his head. What was that all about? He
couldn't deny the urge he had to surrender to her, to obey her. It
pulled at him like an undertow as he crossed the bridge. He walked down
to Deweys.
Mark was holding up one corner of the bar. "Hey Buddy, how's your love
life?" Intuitive bastard.
"What love life?" Oliver said and listened to Mark crow about Duke.
Mark could probably explain this sexual strangeness, but it was none of
his business. After a Guinness, Oliver felt more like himself, but as
he walked through the Old Port he passed an office supply store, closed
for the weekend, and he remembered the ruler. Decorate? Could you even
buy a wooden ruler any more? It was disturbing. Too much. He put the
experience in the back of his mind and resumed working on the box and
the mailing list program.
On Wednesday, he entered the office store and asked if they sold wooden
rulers. An elderly lady with exaggerated make-up showed him a blue box
in a far corner of the store. "We sell mostly plastic ones," she said.
"But some prefer these. They last." He bought an eighteen inch ruler
with an inlaid brass edge. "For my mistress," he said, "yuk, yuk." The
woman gave him change without replying.
He sprayed the ruler with black paint he had in the cellar. "I wouldn't
call it decorated," he said to Verdi the next day. The dovetail
template caught his eye. He took it down to the cellar and found a can
of Rustoleum.Using the template as a stencil, he sprayed a pattern of
triangles along both sides of the ruler. The reddish brown color on the
black background gave it a Navajo look. _If you're going to do
something, do it well,_ he reminded himself, pleased. That was another
of Owl's sayings; one that Oliver had made his own. Poor Owl. He had
not done something well the night he disappeared from his boat. Did he
have time to regret that he never won the Bermuda race? Was it a relief
or just a stupid accident? Oliver imagined dark water closing over Owl.
He shivered and put it out of his mind.
On Friday, Oliver nearly backed out. But the ruler glowed on his
kitchen table like a promise. "I don't know," he said. He took a
shower, put on clean clothes, and parked tentatively in Jacky's
driveway. He rang and waited. When she opened the door, he held the
ruler up in both palms. She looked at it and asked him in. Her eyes
were bright.
"Wine, Oliver." She pointed to glasses on the kitchen table. He poured
Washington State Chardonnay for each of them and held up one glass in a
silent toast. "Salud," she said. She turned the ruler over in her hand
thoughtfully. "Did you say it was for your mistress?"
"Yes," Oliver said. "The saleslady didn't say anything--probably
happens every five minutes."
"Good job," Jacky said, looking at the ruler.
"Kind of raw out," Oliver said.
"An indoor kind of night," she said. "Finish your wine." She spoke
gently but firmly. Oliver looked at her and felt the same urge to yield
that he had before. He was ready for her to tell him what to do. He
wanted her to. "Yes," she said as he put down his glass. She waited.
His eyes opened and a little thrill ran through him as he surrendered
to her. "Go in the bedroom and strip to your underwear. Kneel on the
floor with your hands on the bed."
She sipped her wine. He did as he was told and waited. There was a
beige shag carpet under his knees, a pale pink bedspread under his
arms. Jacky went into the bathroom and came out a few minutes later
wearing a red cotton nightshirt, open in front. She put the cuffs on
his wrists and placed a blue rubber ball in his right hand.
"Squeeze this," she said. "And if what I give you is too much, let it
go." She weighed the ruler in her hand and cracked him across the ass.
His body surged forward against the bed and he grunted. "It was a long
week," she said. "A long week." Crack. He grunted more loudly and
squeezed the ball. "Yes," she said, hitting him again, harder. To his
astonishment, he began getting an erection. She reached underneath him
and felt it. "You like it, too, don't you?" He grunted and then made a
louder noise of pain as she hit him. Each blow rammed his cock into the
mattress. He hung onto the ball as she hit him faster and faster,
stopping finally to get her breath.
"Very good," she said after a moment. Pain had spread across his body;
his mind reeled. "Stand up." This wasn't so easy. He lost his balance,
lurched against the bed, and stood with his feet wide apart. "Over
here." She hooked him to the eye bolt and slowly pulled down his
shorts. "You please me," she said. Oliver's senses were spinning. "You
present yourself well," she said. She put her hands on his chest,
feeling his nipples through his T-shirt. "Mmm," she said brushing her
fingers down his sides and trailing them over his hips. Her cleavage
was close to his mouth. Honeysuckle. She stepped back.
"Watch me," she said. She played with her body, rubbing her breasts
slowly and hitching up her nightshirt. She took a vibrator from the
dresser and stood directly in front of him. She brought herself toward
orgasm, looking into his eyes, making small noises. He began to whimper
in sympathy, encouraging her. A broad smile spread slowly across her
face. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and cried out.
"Oh," Oliver cried out with her. She came back to herself and took
several breaths.
"That--makes a girl feel better," she said. She held the vibrator in
front of his face. "Clean," she ordered. He touched it with his tongue.
She shook her head and put it firmly in his mouth, waiting and smiling
while he sucked on it. "Very good," she said, removing it. "You are
learning your place." She was pleased, light hearted. "You like this,"
she said. Oliver felt himself smiling. He nodded helplessly.
"You will come back next Friday for more training. You are to save
yourself for me." She cradled his balls with one hand. "Do you
understand?"
"Yes," he said.
"Yes, Mistress."
"Yes, Mistress."