Obsession (9780061887079) Read online

  And then, oh Master, that day of days, that wondrous day when you came to claim me. Maja’s atelier worked day and night to complete my dress—layers of white tulle embroidered with diamanté and crystal stars, the strapless décolleté fitting so snugly I could hardly breathe, or was it the excitement of knowing that soon I would be forever yours?

  The alcoves in the balconies around the ballroom were packed with astonished members of Janus Club as they leaned forward to witness my entrance seated on a unicorn (how in god’s name did Maja find one? Only she could come up with something like this). Nadine and Rowena, veils of spangled gauze floating around the lush beauty of their bodies, naked save for jeweled thongs, Nadine’s dark tresses entwined with pearls, Rowena’s corn-silk hair sprinkled with jet and diamanté as they led the procession, beating tambourines on which floated silver and gold streamers interwoven with bells.

  And there you stood in the magic circle, holding out your arms, as I leaped from the unicorn to stand by your side. Ceremoniously you opened a black lacquered coffer painted with fan-tailed doves and white blossoms, taking from it a ring—big as a lump of sugar, blue as my eyes, and placed it on the middle finger of my left hand, saying:

  “Bee—this ring is a star sapphire called The Star of Destiny; it has three crossing rays favored on the gem signifying The Triple Goddess of Fate.” From behind me someone (Maja?) was placing a mask fashioned from wings of a dove and marabou feathers over my eyes but all I heard was your voice saying:

  “Akeru gods are supernatural lions guarding the gates of sunset and sunrise and between them runs the dark passage of the underworld through which the sun must pass each night. Akeru gods are two-faced Sphinx, a sort of animal Janus supporting between its heads the sun disc on the horizon. They are the lions of Yesterday and Today, their two-headed push-me-pull-you form is the symbol of Time and as I am taking you through a dark passage into light I have named our paradise Akeru and you shall be its Queen. It is deeded in your name with a fortune to support it and yourself forever.”

  Although my eyes were covered by a blindfold I swear I heard jaws drop as you revealed the generosity of this gift.

  “Come Bee, it is time to set forth on our journey.”

  As you led me away to—I knew not where—snow sifted gently down on my face as you whispered, “Bee, my queen…”

  The time traveled by plane was long and tedious, and I was sometimes fearful during the journey as you sat silent by my side not holding my hand or speaking.

  At last we arrived. I could hear the sound of water which I thought came from a brook, but when you removed the mask I found myself standing by a fountain centered in the courtyard of a house high in the mountains, overlooking valleys of green hills and, beyond, the sea. And lo and behold! I couldn’t believe my eyes—there below us in the valley was the unicorn grazing on meadow flowers. Warm air caressed with the scent of night jasmine as the sky darkened, taking my hand you led me through a gate cascading with bougainvillea toward the house until we came to a double door crafted with mother-of-pearl inlaid in ebony. I stood marveling at the intricacy of a mosaic of a double-tailed siren inlaid in the wood, and, embossed above this—Akeru—

  “The double-tailed siren is the sea goddess, whose pose refers to the female mystery—see the crest I’ve designed for you—a crown and bee—there, between her double-tail.”

  Opening the doors you led me into the house through rooms splashed with color.

  “Your colors, Bee, those which suit you best.”

  Emerald green, pale dove-gray, persimmon, the yellow of lemons, chartreuse, here and there pillows of magenta silk, and on mirrored tables, crystal bowls of apricot and mauve roses, pots of speckled gloxinias gathered from the gardens, porcelain bowls holding scented potpourri, until we came to our bed chamber.

  Its simplicity startled compared to the extravagant rooms we had just passed through. Walls papered with silver tea paper, floors lacquered white as patent leather, and centered in the room—a bed canopied with gauzes floated by breezes coming through the white shuttered doors opening onto an enclosed garden, where a table had been set for supper, candles lit (by whose hand?). But instead of partaking of the repast, you made love to me for the first time in my own house, so tenderly, so violently, that I fell asleep unafraid in your arms (I’ll remember that night forever).

  At dawn I was awakened by the sounds of fantailed doves making love with tender monotonous cooings in the enclosed garden. But believe me Master, it was no fun as I reached out for you to find I was alone. Panicked I ran through the empty house, on out into the gardens where a woman dressed in black approached, her demeanor somber.

  “Mr. Talbot had business to attend to and left early this morning. May I suggest shopping—there are fine shops near Montecito in Santa Barbara or a drive perhaps by the sea? The car is at your disposal.”

  It was that day I learned The Rule most difficult to accept. That your visits may be infrequent, and future visits will be decided by how I comport myself by expressing no signs of dissatisfaction or jealousy. Believe me, Master, you shall have no reason to doubt my behavior, which (sooner than you might think) will confirm I am deserving of—dare I suggest?—more frequent visits. It matters not, for when you do arrive—such as at your last visit—you will be enchanted that I have filled a bowl with warm, sugared cream ready to circle my breasts, exciting them to swell into the size you most favor for biting. Knowing they were fair bursting to be treated less gently you held back until I couldn’t stand it a moment longer and had to beg before you gave surcease with the mercy of your teeth. You never deny me. How can I not crave more? How can I not wonder how long must I be made to wait this time? You mentioned some trip with Wife, but when? And for how long?

  Bee

  My Beloved Talbot,

  Do you know how happy you have made me? I thereby reiterate again and swear honestly and truly to keep The Rules, confirm once again you own me exclusively, Master, to instruct in any manner of your choice. Also honestly and truly tell you—no man (or woman) has ever thrilled or excited me as you.

  Royally you treat me and I am grateful to you with all my heart. No Queen has ever been given a more extravagant gift—a house designed and built for her by Talbot Bingham, described in Architectural Digest as “one who may be noted in history as controversial, yet perhaps America’s most important architect.” (I added this clipping to my Florentine gold-tooled scrapbook—a parting gift from Maja.) Not to mention the lavish presents of money put in trust, which gives me independence to never again have fears for the future.

  Sometimes musing over days at Janus Club before we met, I must confess there is one girl there—a seductive, insinuating creature—Rowena, her erotic allure is such that she is quite as fascinating to many women as she is to men. I was drawn to her plumpness, which is that of a partridge; every time she settled into a cushion, as if nesting on unhatched eggs, I would fancy I was one, about to be hatched and find her sweet bottom to nuzzle into. We were all attracted to her (even the aloof Nadine), and, of course, she had a waiting list from members of Janus Club who paid dearly for her attentions. Though busy, she still took time off to give demonstrations. I was flattered when I was one chosen, for she is a magician with hand and tongue, never rough or hostile in her attitude, as some of the goddesses who secretly only prefer sex with men. Her manners never brusque or rude, always mindful of another’s pleasure as well as her own. There never was a time I did not eagerly collaborate should she ask my assistance in stretching a new arrival’s tulip, always taking into consideration the poor girl’s fears if the client demanded it stretched too severely to better accommodate his cock. Instead, if the girl felt apprehensive, Rowena would suggest another, more experienced to deal with what can sometimes be an unnecessarily painful ritual.

  It was Rowena who gave me—as farewell present the night I left Maja’s—our collection of colored balls, connected by a string, instructing me to select the size to anticipate your mood o
f the moment, suggesting I pick fresh mint from our garden, warm oil slightly before bruising the leaves in it with mortar and pestle, adding a pinch of cayenne pepper, to release the fragrance. Dip the balls into this before giving me the pleasure of gently inserting them, one at a time, into your sweet bottom as my tongue circles your cock. The mint and cayenne gives a nippy tang you will enjoy. She cautioned not to let the string vanish up into you. But should that ever happen, there are intriguing ways of retrieving, so never fear. When first we played this game you moaned, begging I be more aggressive as I pushed them up into you with my tongue, and oh! with what relish I complied. I hope you do not think less of me—now that you know in all fairness it was Rowena and not me who should be given credit for introducing us to this pleasure. I’m only thankful, Master, that you were never attracted to her and therefore it was your Queen Bee who first initiated this playful game instead of another.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this—might make you think I’m trying to make you jealous—but how could that be when you know I think about your cock all the time? And right now I am so keyed up it’s all I can do to stop getting to my clit. But high on the list of The Rules you have strictly forbidden this minor diversion, even when I haven’t seen you for weeks, and there would be a “small chastisement” should I disobey (although how you would find out is hard to fathom). Perhaps not, uncannily intuitive as you are.

  Still I’m curious as to what it might be? I tremble. Deprivation of your cock necessitated by longer time than usual spent with Wife? Or, upon return, denial for an indefinite time of the bliss your mouth gives as it explores my body? Insistence I accompany you to Janus Club to select one of Maja’s new favorites, even insist perhaps it be the dreaded Nadine (who I know you still fancy), for another sojourn with her on the Talcilla, this time to islands in Greece—a place you have never taken me—until satiated by leisurely discovery of her lovely body, you return, expecting me to be cheerful, exhibiting no sign of discontent?

  No matter—I welcome any challenge. Nadine or any other would last fleetingly as the life of a butterfly at the paradise Akeru that you have given me. None have the love of beauty, the imagination, the fantasy to hold and nourish that combination of macho tenderness and feminine sensitivity I treasure in you. No. Not one. I’d bet my life on it.

  And only your chosen one—me—has strength to accept that there is more, much more than a streak of cruelty in you despite your kindness and generosity, which is boundless. I experience it often. Surely you know it takes all my control to listen to tales of “Wife” and “Partner,” when you point out photographs in newspapers or display pictures you carry in your wallet. I pretend not to care, because this perverse pleasure is included in The Rules (don’t think it makes it easier to note that the house you built for me is far more magnificent than the one you built for her). Don’t think it makes up for trips, disappearing to places you are secretive about, Greece in summer with Wife on the yacht Talcilla, named for your partnership; Aspen; the long trip to Bali discovering with her instead of me the magic of gamelan music, even though I suspect your passion for music is a way of expressing emotion which is impersonal—it matters not, for each time it is I who wait—my body swathed in invisible veils, a chastity belt, knowing the key to open it dangles on your key chain while you are fucking her instead of me.

  I’m sorry, Talbot, to have brought this up. Forget it, please. It breaks The Rules we have mutually agreed on. But please, please—hurry home and forgive my indiscretions.

  Exclusively yours now and forever,

  Bee

  Seething I read over—“don’t think it makes it easier to note that the house you built for me is far more magnificent than any you have built for her.” Felled—struck by a boxing glove, but instead of being KO’d, I opened another—

  Master,

  I broke a Rule. You’d discover it anyway and I’ll never lie to you. Thinking of you and Wife in London staying away longer than you indicated was too much. But as I touched my clit, in my heart it was your hand instead of mine—a badge of merit you might grant me as you consider whatever chastisement is in store. Whatever it may be the release was worth it.

  Dare I suggest to be placed fully dressed over our favorite ottoman (the one tufted with puffs of saffron-colored velvet), my bottom covered for a muffled first smacking warmup. That done, placed over your knees, skirt lifted, begging you to not restrain yourself in giving my flesh the serious whacking I deserve. An ebony smooth-backed hairbrush—most appropriate. The Mason-Pearson are considered finest, and it would be no trouble, while you are in London, to pick one up of a heft that pleases you at Harrods. You might take Wife to lunch at Claridges, and, after, she could go with you to select it. Her taste I hear is impeccable (see how angry I am). I am not suggesting this would be the light spanking occasionally administered by your hand with the reward of a luscious afterglow of warmed cocoa butter. No—a Mason-Pearson is a more serious matter. But no twigs, please. Too switchy and really painful. I had enough of that as a child from mean nuns at the orphanages, until I was old enough to have the wit and beauty which gave me power to run away.

  When are you coming back? I’m getting itchy. Make it soon. I don’t want to be chastised twice.

  Bee

  I tied the grosgrain ribbon from the letters around my neck and pulled. It crackled into my skin, choking me, as rocking back and forth I screamed at the cat who had wandered in from nowhere—what does it matter—what does it matter, as I ripped open another letter.