Fanchon's Book(33)

"Fanchon?"

"Mmm?"

"Please don't. I-I'm so messy from the long trip."

"Uh-huh. Bath time?"

"Soon… "

I heard the clink of her glass and smiled at my own sagacity. She was aroused now and gulping her drink; that poignant moment of self-reproach had flitted by, its prickly anxiety smoothed by the attrition of my softly persevering caresses. We were back on our own private one-way street, thank heaven, and I wasn't about to let up and give her the chance to get remorseful about its direction again. My lips continued wandering.

"Fanchon, you shouldn't."

"Umm… "

"Wait till I've had my bath. I must smell awful." I lifted my head and sniffed wryly. "Oh sure. Awful. So hurry you and finish your drink. Because I'm going to keep kissing you until-"

"You'd better not. Or maybe you don't believe me, huh? Here, I'll show you." She jutted her middle up brusquely. "Look at me. No, not up here. Look at my hand. See what it's doing?" Her fingers dipped inside the folds of flesh. "There. Now you'll know why you should have waited."

And then, right under my horrified eyes, she brought her moist hand up and smeared it, over my face. I shuddered but made no effort to pull out of reach; the crude gesture stunned me and suddenly it was too late: she was poking her fingers into my mouth and I felt the weak dragging sensation in my loins and knew I was getting hot and all I could do was lick the lewd hand and suck those insolently probing fingers-and when they pinched my tongue and held it and tugged my head down between her up rearing thighs, I whispered faintly and sank into the suffocating quagmire and gasped at the shocking realization (no, not the taste or the smell!) that she had indeed enslaved me. Because I loved it.

And because she was telling me so. Suck It, you bitch. I don't have to be clean for a slave-bitch. Oh yes, you're my slave, sure enough. Who but a slave would suck like that?"

Obscene. Her language, her manner; even the pubescent bush seemed more coarse, somehow, and I found only evil in the slimy mucosity of her pulp-fleshed cleft. But such an exciting evil! The evil of slavery-and wasn't it a weird thrill?




Chapter 11

Because I loved it. Could there be any other reason why I was burying my face in the sex-redolent muck and sucking her like this? Her thighs clamped around my neck; I bore the yoke bravely, knowing that a good slave was too valuable a property to injure permanently; my owner would never really harm me. We trusted each other. We belonged together. Like individual melodies entwined, punctus contra punctum, in one gloriously pulsating fugue.

Ah, how we pulsated!

My own body-un touched-was just as passionate as the one I was kissing. More so, perhaps, and it no longer seemed a phenomenon to me: I understood everything now. Like that time in front of the mirror, the stupendous orgasm brought on solely by my act of absolute submission, yes, my understanding was complete and I didn't have to grasp at shadowy straws of rationalization. I knew. And the very knowledge kept me at a quivery fever-pitch of enravishment.

Maybe I had always known. Certainly I must have had an inkling of it as far back as the night of furtive prowling and peeping just for an eyeful of the extraordinary new girl in my house. But not until a few minutes ago had I opened my heart in avowal: if you've turned me into a slave, then I'm a happy slave. Spoken from a throbbing heart-and at last I was letting the light of its revelation illuminate the fuzzy-dim corners of my mind.

So I sucked. Because I loved it. The flesh, yes (because it was her flesh), but more than the flesh I loved the compulsive self-abasement, the feeling, purely emotional, of being a slave to that flesh. In past years I had never regarded sex as anything but a physical act. An enjoyable act, inevitably-since I was always a creature of sensuality-but an act geared primarily to tactile-sensation, the touching and rubbing of meat upon meat: a coldly pragmatic opinion that I had come to accept as fact. And now I knew better. The truly transcendental ecstasy came not from doing but from being.