I work and wait in the library. Nancy writes her list and waits outside the door until the hall clock strikes 3:30. At that moment, she'll open the door and walk to my desk.
I look up when she stops in front of my desk. She is wearing jeans and a tee shirt. She is staring over my head while holding her hands behind her back. Her pretty face reveals her tension, about average for this day and time.
I offer her a key on a long beaded chain. She accepts it and drapes the chain around her neck, so the key rests on her tee shirt between her breasts. Her hand returns to its place behind her back, then she turns and leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
We will not speak for the next two hours.
Nancy thinks I get a lot of work done on Saturday afternoon. In fact, I am as tense and distracted as she is. I'll get nothing more done today, although I'll be busy when she returns in two hours.
In the meantime, she has gone to change for our appointment at four and to get the room ready. I need only be there on time. At 3:55 I walk upstairs to wait outside the door. The key hangs from its chain on a cup hook at my eye level.
*****
I close the library door quietly and go to our bedroom at a fast walk. My clothes, soiled from a day spent cleaning, go into the hamper. I take my sackcloth garments from the bottom drawer.
I'm not sure where the need that this ritual soothes came from; perhaps an old movie, although I don't know which one. Perhaps it was John LeCarre's books about George Smiley. In any case, I have an image of an enormous, dimly lit room and two people. One of them sits and listens, nodding occasionally, making no sound while the other whispers secrets. The scene ends when the listener gets up and leaves; the talker waits, then follows.
Our, my, ritual developed after many arguments that led to more thoughtful conversations and experiments. I don't think about it much; I'm just happy to have it.
I see an anxious woman in the mirror. She's in her thirties, with brown hair and eyes, wearing sackcloth. It's ordinary burlap, really, the fourth attempt to get that unwieldy material to hold a shape. No makeup or watch, just a golden bangle on my left wrist, a modest golden necklace, and the key on its beaded chain.
I hurry along the hall to the room, turning the key in the lock and crack the door open before hanging the chain on its cup hook. The lock snaps when I close the door behind me; I'll be here until Richard joins me.
The room is square, furnished with a wardrobe to the right of the door, a sideboard to the left, and a couch draped in burlap along the left wall. Dim, hidden lights came on when the door opened; I turn on the sconces along the right wall.
Dark grey carpet covers the floor. Three walls are covered in grey-flocked wallpaper and the ceiling is pale grey. The left wall, behind the couch, is mirrored. There are no windows. The room is soundproofed.
My first task is to put the cloth draping the couch in the sideboard's bottom drawer. The doors at its ends yield oddly designed low stools. The larger stool has a U-shaped top with an upholstered disk centered on each arm. A large, clear glass bowl rests under it. The smaller stool has an H-shaped frame with its own pair of upholstered disks, more widely spaced than those on the larger stool. I place the larger, U-shaped stool eight feet from the couch and center the smaller stool between it and the couch.
The wardrobe and sideboard are antiques, dark colored solid wood. The stools and couch were made to order, finished to match the larger pieces and upholstered in heavy, dark grey cloth.
My last tasks are to take a metal pie tin and a box of wooden matches from the top drawer of the sideboard and a tray of implements from its middle drawer. The pie tin and matches go on the floor, conveniently near the smaller stool. The tray of implements rests in a frame on the back of the couch. When I am satisfied that everything is in order, I take my place between the wall sconces, my shoes touching the baseboard, my sackcloth clothing brushing the grey, flocked wallpaper, and wait.
*****
I turn the key and the doorknob on the stroke of four. Nancy is standing between the sconces on the wall to my right. She is holding herself erect, with her head up and eyes cast down. Her feet are shoulder width apart and her fingers are laced behind her neck.
She is wearing a two piece brown suit, tailored to look like business wear but made of burlap. Her blouse, complete with ruffles down the front and a bow at the neck, is burlap. Her stockings are also burlap, as are the tops of her low-heeled shoes. Although they are not visible, I know that her underwear is made of the same coarse material.
My place is the only upholstered seat on the couch, in its middle. The seat is deep enough to support the full length of my thighs and high enough for my feet to rest comfortably on the floor. Its low back rises to my shoulder blades. The couch's wooden structure is visible on both sides of the seat.
Steel rods span the spaces to my left and right from front to back. An oval massage table face rest is at the far end of the frame that pivots on the rod to my left. The near end of the frame supports shallow, U-shaped mounts, like those on World War II antiaircraft guns. The pivoting frame to my right is fitted only with upholstered disks like those on the stools. A tray of implements is mounted conveniently on the seat back.
Everything is as it should be. I watch Nancy for a few moments, then I nod.
*****
Richard is here. He closed the door and looked around the room, stopping to examine me on the way. I pull my elbows back, pushing my breasts and nipples into their rough burlap cups. Now he is sitting down, checking the tray of implements. He looks at me again, and nods. The deep breath I draw at his signal rubs my skin against my sackcloth garments.
Now I must walk to the smaller, H-shaped stool. Richard watches every step. When I am in place, I kneel on the upholstered disks. They force my knees far apart, rubbing my outer thighs and ass against my rough garments.
I move my list from its pocket to the pie tin by my right knee and stretch my arms above my head. My wrists are crossed. My hands are open, relaxed, facing Richard.
Richard watches me, studying my face, checking my knees and hands. He nods.
My hands drop to my jacket, unbutton it, and slip it off. I fold it neatly and place it on the floor to my left. I stretch my hands overhead once more, pausing long enough to signal a rest. I release the skirt's button and open its zipper, raise it over my head, fold it, and place it on the jacket. The blouse follows, and the slip. The necklace and bangle are next; I am dressed only in burlap underwear.
This time, while my arms are stretched overhead, I shift my weight to my left knee and bring my right leg in front of the stool. I place its shoe next to the pile of garments, release the stocking's tabs, roll it down, and put it on the shoe. My right and left legs exchange places, with a suitable pause, and I remove my left shoe and stocking.
The next time my arms drop from their overhead stretch, they twist behind my back to pull the bra strap down and release its hooks. The burlap scours my breasts and nipples as I slip it down my arms to place it on the blouse.
Finally, I remove my panty and garter belt. The belt will be easy, but I must get the panty off first. Shifting my weight to my left knee once more, I bring my knees together, drop the panty to them, and slip my right leg from its hole. My right knee goes back to its place, takes my weight, and my left leg rises to free the panty. I add it, neatly, to the pile, release the garter belt's hooks and finish the pile, and stretch my arms overhead once more.
*****
There is nothing coy about the way Nancy strips but it is arousing. Her formal, demure posture, stretching her arms overhead to give me repeated views of her beauty, opening her hands to appear relaxed, giving no sign of the scratchy discomfort her burlap clothing must cause, and her final nudity combine for a powerful effect.
Now, we wait. I examine her carefully, noting her disarrayed hair, her erect nipples, and the glint of moisture at her vulva. Her breathing is deep but controlled. When it has returned to normal for a few moments, I nod once more.
*****
I am naked, exposed to Richard and the mirror. There is no one else in the room and no one behind the mirror. There are no cameras. But I am watching, my own toughest critic. He nods.
I get to my feet and back away from the couch, toward the larger stool, carefully, without looking. When I feel its front legs with my heels, I squat, resting the points of my pelvis on the upholstered disks. Now I must relax. Nothing else can happen until I void my bladder and, perhaps, my bowel. My wrists are crossed overhead, my spine and head erect, my eyes cast down. I wait.
*****
Nancy's squat opens her legs and reveals her cunt to me. Her neatly trimmed belly hair displays her brown-edged pink lips beautifully. Her vulva shines in the dim light. A golden spurt splashes loudly in the glass bowl.
*****
There, it's started. I've let go, my piss is streaming, squirting, steaming into the bowl, splashing and foaming. My posture is good. My flow dwindles, drips. I wait.
*****
She's obviously drunk enough water today! The second part is over; she's naked and empty of waste.
*****
There's something in my bowel. Can I relax enough to get it out?
*****
She's waiting. Perhaps she's not empty?
*****
Yes, it's coming. Relax. Relax. It's dangling...
*****
There it is, a turd hanging between her legs. Now it's over, it's fallen into the bowl. Her head and arms are up, her posture is good, but her shoulders have sagged. Give her a moment.
*****
Relief! The second part is over. He's letting me rest. He nods.
I stand, awkwardly but smoothly, and return to kneel on the shorter stool. When I am ready, I move the pie tin and matches in front of me, strike a match, and light my list. Everything I worried about this week, everything I blamed myself for, vanishes in acrid smoke. When the list has turned to ash I crush it between my thumb and fingers.
*****
Her list is long this week, several pages from her pocket notebook. It's burned to ash now. She's waiting for it to cool. That's no ordinary destruction of the ash, she's really glad to see it go.
She's back in position. Her breathing is agitated, though. I'll have to be firm. That's enough time.
*****
He nods. I drop my arms to lace my fingers behind my neck and stand. I step back and walk around the pile of garments. I step into the couch frame and kneel on the upholstered disks to his right. His hands are resting on the seat by his hips.
I lean forward, dropping my hands to support myself on the seat cushion beside his thigh, move them to the far side of the cushion, and then to the rod. I lower my shoulders into their supports and rest my face on the ring. The rods pivot as I get my balance. I catch my heels under the couch's front and rear structural members and lace my fingers behind my neck.
My groin is resting on his lap; he is erect. No one will come through the door! It's locked, and Richard has the key. I wait.
*****
I massage her back gently with my left hand, leaving it in the small of her back when I finish. Now my right hand soothes her thighs and ass, coming to rest on her left cheek. My first spank strikes her right cheek.
*****
It's begun. There's no pattern, I can't anticipate the next blow, my cheeks are warm. Harder now, harder...
*****
Her cheeks are pink and warm. Time for more effort. She's breathing harder. She's moaning, keeping position. Keep going, pause now. Her breath is settling. Another series. Red cheeks and panting, still holding position, moving on my lap now. Well warmed up and my hand is sore. Yes, she's ready; she's dripping on my leg.
******
He's paused again. Oh! The tray is moving.
*****
The flogger, the miniature sorority paddle, the strop, or the rubber strap? The strap, I think. She seems to want something intense.
*****
It's the rubber strap! This could go on for a long time...
*****
Careful now, let her absorb each stroke. Be sure to get both cheeks evenly and don't neglect her legs!
Good position still, she's crying, moaning, there's a groan...
*****
On, and on... A long, distant scream.
*****
It's coming, she's really wound up now, there, she's over the top! Gently now, let her come back.
*****
Here it is, all in my pussy, tighter, tighter... AHHHhhhh...
*****
Just rubbing your back, gently, soothing. Coming back now, stirring.
*****
Ohhhhh... Good, everything's good.
*****
I think she's ready. Yes, she's lifting herself from the shoulder rest, moving her weight back onto her knees. She's standing. No; keep your hands down, don't help!
*****
I'm standing right in front of him; he must be able to smell me! Of course he can, he has been for quite a while. Check position...
*****
My, she smells good! Just a moment, OK...
*****
He nods. I turn away from him and kneel on the short stool for the last time, spreading my legs and bending to rest my shoulders and head on the floor, my hands and forearms forming a triangle on the floor to support him, showing him my dripping sex and filthy asshole.
*****
My turn. Wait a bit. Stand up, unzip, kneel between her legs. You've been ready for a while, haven't you?
*****
He's there, he's in, oh, god!
*****
Take your time, there's no rush.
*****
Oh, Oh, Ohh, OHhhh, OHHHh!
*****
All right! Just a moment now, alright.
*****
He's out, I'm dripping.
*****
Alright, get back on the couch.
*****
He's on the couch again. Rest a moment.
*****
Here she comes, she's kneeling up, putting her hands behind her neck. Standing. Turning. Kneeling between my leg. Good position...
*****
Check position; knees spread, fingers laced, elbows back, spine and head straight, eyes down. I'm dripping...
He nods.
*****
Here comes her mouth. Oh, nice!
*****
Got the head, lick and swirl, take the rest, suck and lick, let it go, lick the hair...
*****
That's enough, save some for later. I pull my hips back in the seat.
*****
That's all he wants. Kneel up. Stand up. Step back. Check position. Eyes down.
*****
It's over. She looks happy. Time to go.
*****
He's standing now, touching my nipple, god that feels good!
He's gone, the door's open.
*****
I took a shower and changed for dinner.
*****
I cleaned the bowl in the bathroom across the hall, cleaned everything else and put it away, covered the couch, turned out the sconces, and closed the door behind me.
*****
Nancy came into the library soon after 5:30. She looks beautiful in the clothes I'd left out for her.
"Hi! Ready for dinner?" I asked.
*****
The End
Copyright (c) 2004 Lon Grover. All rights reserved. hatguy1966@yahoo.com.