Fanchon's Book(47)

"Darling… "

And with her still-warm panties tucked in my purse, I traipsed off to the opera with friend husband. The tenor rasped, the soprano squealed roulades and cadenzas like a bel canto fire-siren and the visiting ambassador's insipid wife bored me with her inane bavardage, but I had my love to keep me entertained. Or at least the scent of my love. Oh yes, I found the opportunity to sniff. In the comparative darkness of our loge, I crumpled the precious garment in my hands and buried my nose in its redolence and bit the impudently allusive fabric to muffle my mirth while I wondered what the ambassador's dried-up old biddy would think if she knew. But I snickered with more lewdness than levity, and by the time I arrived home I was agog with anticipation. Panties were a deliciously piquant reminder, but they only gave me a hunger for the real thing.

I raced upstairs. But the real thing wasn't around. Not in her bedroom, not in mine; panic nudged me and I almost rambled on the steps scurrying back down to search the rest of the house. The rugs and furniture were spotless, just cleaned, evidently; I noticed it when I clicked on the bright lights. So the poor embarrassed little angel had taken my admonition seriously! Angry or not, she had certainly been working.

And when I finally located her, what a shock! She was still at it. In the cellar, of all the unlikely places, and not in the main basement area but away off in the storage room, a boarded-up alcove that reeked of musty antiquity. The crowded cubbyhole was positively grimy, thick with dust-the floor, the walls, trunks, suitcases, boxes, barrels, junk that had accumulated over the years-all filthy. I stood there aghast, clutching at my gown to avoid making contact with the sordid mess.

"Come in, Fanchon. I've been waiting for you." Waiting for me? Down here? I recognized the ring in her voice, crisp, commanding, impatient, and I knew it boded evil. Evil for me. She certainly looked evil with her hair dirty and disheveled and her bedraggled shift soiled and stained with sweat and her bare feet coated near-black. Like a wicked witch about to straddle her broom rather than sweep the floor with it.

"Darling, what are you doing here?"

"Can't you see, stupid? I'm obeying orders. You told me to clean the house, didn't you?"

"Oh, that's silly. And unfair, too. You know I was practically forced into it. Anyway, nobody ever cleans the storage room." I couldn't repress my revulsion. "Ugh! this place is like a dungeon. Come, dear, let's go upstairs and I'll help you bathe."

"A dungeon. Hmm… " She scowled darkly.

"Don't be angry, darling. Do come."

Slowly, still scowling, she shook her head. But the expression on her face puzzled me: there was something more,than anger in those green-glittering eye-slits, something more than rancor or resentment in the quiver of the lax-lipped mouth. Lust? No, it couldn't be. Not in this foul pigsty-and yet my body knew better and my flesh was already responding, growing limp and numb with a kind of aroused impotence, that old familiar weakness of loin and limb; heaven help me I thought, is it to be here?

"A dungeon, she murmured again. "Isn't that where they punished disrespectful slaves in olden times? Seems pretty suitable right now, I'd say. It's your dungeon, Fanchon. Unless you want to turn around and run. Do you?"

"N-no… "

"Then we'll stay. Until we finish our business. You owe me an apology, don't you? Well, let's have it."

"Oh. Of course, darling. I'm sorry about-"

"Not like that. Get down on your knees."

"But-but my gown. It's white. It-"