Fanchon's Book(40)

"Sarcastic? Was I?"

"Damn right you were. Pretty snotty, that's how you've been acting. Not like a loving slave, certainly."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"You ought to be. Plenty sorry. But don't tell me about it, just show me. Show me you want to be my slave again. Get down on your knees and show me."

"Here? Darling, you-you can't mean it."

"Here. Now. Under the table."

"But-but it's so risky. What if someone sees us?"

"Too bad about that. But no one will-unless you're clumsy about sneaking down there. After that, you'll be hidden. The tablecloth nearly reaches the floor."

"You want me to… uh, to suck you?"

"No. That's a favor you haven't earned yet. Just kiss my feet, that's all. As. an apology for your rudeness. One kiss on the toe of each shoe."

"Please, darling, couldn't we wait till-"

"Listen, you bitch, I've waited long enough. I know it's risky, but you're going to do it just the same. Because I'm telling you to. And because you're my slave."

My eyes begged for mercy, but I sat there motionless, stubborn, the stiff angle of my body almost defiant. It wasn't fair to make me play our private game in public. The thing she demanded was unreasonable, just too indiscreet, too dangerous; surely she would sense my well-founded conviction and relent at the last minute.

But I saw only stony intransigence in her intent visage, and I knew the worst. Fair or not, she wasn't about to back down. Nor could she even afford to I realized, now that our war of nerves had become 'so critical: the loss of face would turn conquest into farce. At this crucial point, a revoked command could only mean that her authority was no longer in effect. It would shrivel the very kernel of our still-ripening relationship.

And if I continued to disobey, what then? Wouldn't that be the deathblow?

A lance of terror pierced my heart and impaled my flesh to the chair. I couldn't move. Couldn't budge. And I wanted to now, I had to-but the shocking recognition of my near tragic mistake held me paralyzed. What stupidity! For the sake of self-righteous. prudence I might have lostShe snapped her fingers. "Fanchon?" The stone-rigid expression never wavered. But her voice went strangely soft, una corda, breathless with a kind of suspenseful complicity. "Just for the thrill of it?"

How I loved her at that moment! The lifeblood gushed; I took a swift survey of the room and then, warily-tremulous with fear and excitement-I slumped low in my seat and slid down to the floor and ducked my head as the tucked-up tablecloth let me pass and then fell neatly into place behind my crouched body. And what a thrill it was! Bizarre, grotesque, utterly enthralling; like some type of claustrophobia, more sexy than scary. Fear diminished as I recognized the safety of my complete concealment. Excitement expanded wildly in the constriction of the tent-like enclosure; I was surrounded by walls of fabric that would yield to the slightest push and yet I could no more escape than from a cage of steel. Because she had put me here, the little devil!-imagine, "just for the thrill of it"-such cunning coercion, irresistible, divulging a puerile penchant for danger and daring me to share her perversity; like children we were, both of us, naughty children making a mockery of the-grown-up world around us.

But I had strict orders to carry out. I crept to her, emotionally stirred but not quite relishing the physical task itself; oh, if only her feet were bare so that I might touch warm flesh instead of coldly impersonal leather-but in dressing for dinner she had donned appropriately formal pumps, pretty to look at but definitely not for kissing. Nevertheless I had no choice; I bent in resolute resignation and fulfilled my mission, dabbing my dry lips once to the tip of each shoe.