Fanchon's Book

Chapter 15

Wallow in self-pity? Hah! A luxury I could ill afford. But even when the last remaining dregs of my bitterness turned sweet in the honeyed intimacy of our all night tryst, there were still doubts to plague me. Doubts about myself, mostly. About what I had become. About what I might become.

No, I couldn't forget that my flesh had achieved its peak of sexual fulfillment in the very midst of the sickening outrage. Nor was my long-delayed climax any less consummate because of the gasping, shuddering, retching sensation. So the sensation must have been sexy too, although its unique and overwhelming impact-the sum of all its complexities-certainly defied analysis.

Anyway, it seemed apparent now that Kristi was detouring me gradually but firmly (and thus far with alarming success!) in a direction I didn't much care to take. What if the distressing detour turned out to be a cul-de-sac! Despite the "dungeon" episode my love for her never wavered, my desire showed no sign of erosion-and considering such immutable impassioned enslavement in the light of recent events, well, was there anything she couldn't lead me into? Wasn't it just a matter of conditioning? Dungeon after dungeon, perhaps, each more harrowing than the last and yet each with its own crowning climax, the orgasm, the carrot at the end of the stick; and every dungeon another malignant milestone in my conditioning course-until the strange craving became mine as much as hers? Oh yes, I could see our future together degenerating into just that, an eventual sharing of the dirt-and-degradation madness. A lifelong dungeon, practically. No wonder I felt uneasy about the power she held over me.

And that was my mood-uneasy-when Rosalba popped up again. Rosalba, my former maid, the deferential one, and still attracted to me as much as ever. I could tell. The moment I opened the door to let her in, I saw it in her eyes. I sensed it in the sincerity of her greeting, an effusive warmth that brought back sunny memories.

Actually, it was a pretty hectic moment and I scarcely had time to think. Kristi was out for the afternoon and Oliver had just phoned from his office to say that he had to leave the city on one of his sudden hush-hush political trips: could I pack a bag for him in a hurry?-a member of his staff would come by shortly to pick it up. So I was quite busy when Rosalba put in her surprise appearance.

It worked out nicely, however, when she volunteered to come up and help me with the packing. As a matter of fact, Rosalba insisted on taking over and doing most of the job herself. Meanwhile we had a lovely chat about old times and things, and she told me about her husband and how her marriage was going.

From what I gathered, it wasn't going well. The young man had already begun to take his new wife for granted (like all husbands?) and that was why she had left him. To teach him a lesson. Within a week or two, she was sure, he would realize what he was missing and probably come galloping after her like a lovesick stallion. And until then, well, here she was, hardly more than a bride but far from tearful about the separation; indeed she seemed happy to be on the loose, especially since it gave her the opportunity to see her good friend Madame Fanchon again.

We finished packing and got the bag downstairs just in time for the pickup. As the staff car drove away with it, I breathed a great big sigh of relief. Then, all at once, I felt a surge of something almost like wild elation: I too was separated from my husband-and wasn't it wonderful? Somehow, what with the telephone ringing and the suitcase chore to do and Rosalba dropping in so unexpectedly, the delicious import just hadn't penetrated. But now I could hardly wait for Kristi to come home and hear the good news. Oliver's secret government missions always lasted at least a few days, often stretching even a week or longer. Wouldn't my little sweetheart be thrilled at having the whole house to ourselves!

True, there was still Rosalba to reckon with; we hadn't discussed it, but I knew she had hopes of being asked to stay. And I did recall having invited her, but that seemed like ages ago-and I had no intention of letting her interfere with my pink-cloud bliss. Anyway, I couldn't make the decision now; I wanted to bathe and fix my hair and look beautiful for Kristi. After all, we had something to celebrate.

And again Rosalba volunteered her services. "A bath, Madame? Oh, please let me help:"

"My dear, you don't have to-"

"Madame? Please? For old times' sake?"

So willing. When she smiled so wistfully, how could I resist? Then too, I hadn't yet shaken off my "dungeon" uneasiness; perhaps it would restore some of my self-confidence to be pampered a little. To be attended by a servant who put me on a pedestal instead of grinding me into the dust.

Just like old times, then, and we both plunged back into the past. The indulgent mistress and the adoring maid, such a charming pageant! and sexy too after a while as Rosalba's coy glances and cunning caresses became an obvious courtship. Nor could I see any reason to dissuade her; I was already looking forward to sampling the bizarrerie of that vibrating tongue again. When she dried my body and dusted my skin with after-bath powder, I readily accepted the ministrations of her trespassing hands. And the more intimate incursion of her lips.

"Rosalba… " I patted the top of her head. She seemed to be happy down there; how could I be other than generous? "Would you like to stay for a day or two? Until you figure out what to do about your husband?"

"Umm, yes, Madame. Thank you."

She went on thanking me in her own inimitable manner and I felt it, the tongue, the hot fluttering tongue; nor did she stop when the bathroom door was pushed open. With her face buried between my thighs, Rosalba probably didn't even see it. But I did. Only for an instant, but that was plenty. Kristi stared coldly and then, with a shrug of indifference, swung around and vanished. Not a word. Just a look. But it was enough to give me a chill and I had to stifle the impulse to shove the kissing mouth away and go chasing after her. I stood firm, though, congratulating myself on my display of fortitude. Of independence. Such sangfroid! and it must have been because of the uneasy mood that had beset me. Oh sure, I wished she hadn't caught me in the act like that (how flagrant can a delicto get!) but I didn't regret it as much as I ordinarily might have. When I thought of the cellar and lying on my back and what she had done to"Madame?"

"Hmm?"

"Is-is there something wrong? You're not… uh… "

A tug at Rosalba's hair silenced her lips; her tongue-tip returned, making a slithery search for my spot of concentrated sensitivity, finding it, touching it with that titillating turbulence; no, her tongue had lost none of its technique. But she had cause for concern and so did I, damn the luck! the crucial spot was all but numb now and my body wasn't responding. I didn't feel the melting joy, the wave of warmth to welcome the onrushing orgasm, damn, damn, damn it to hell, the orgasm wasn't even oncoming, much less rushing.

I cursed Kristi's interruption and almost cursed Kristi herself; did she have a monopoly on all of me? Was her checkrein on my emotions so binding that I couldn't experience a purely physical reflex to a purely physical stimulus? Could she actually contravene the contact of that tickling tongue on my *oris? No, I wouldn't admit that. Not without a fight.

If need be, then, let my approach be clinical. The surroundings first, the cramped circumstances-standing awkwardly in the bathroom like this made it just too difficult; why not get comfortable? Why not stretch out on the bed and spread my legs and deliver my flesh to that nice vibrating pressure. The carnal reaction was bound to occur.

"Rosalba… "

"Mmm?"

"This is silly. Come. The bathroom is no place for-"

"Madame… oh, please"-clutching my thighs "don't go… "

And she thrust her face deep, mouthing frenetically, giving up any attempt at technical skill, gluing herself to my body; I heard her mumbling and I knew she was begging me not to move, begging with her mumbling lips and her clutching hands, begging me to stay right there in the bathroom. I couldn't understand her anxiety, but it was so, exactly so, that was the way she wanted to make love to me. Another strange obsession, perhaps? Or maybe it was just a different version of the same obsession, maybe it was still the dirt-and-degradation thing and the bathroom was Rosalba's dungeon; yes, that simplified it somewhat and I remembered the night in the hotel, that first night, the time when we played piggyback and I carried her to the bathroom and set her down on the toilet and-oh, but that was Kristi, not Rosalba, and I didn't want to think about Kristi, I wanted to think about Rosalba and how she was sucking me, the adoring maid sucking the indulgent mistress, only it was already too late and I could feel myself getting hot and it wasn't because of Rosalba and what she was doing, no, it was Kristi Kristi Kristi and just thinking about her was enough and I knew I had lost the fight and she owned me. Body and soul she owned me, and if she walked in and snapped her fingers right now I would do it-just like that night-I would fall to the floor and lift her foot and kiss it and put it down on my neck and prove to her that I was forever her slave, her humble slave, her passionate slave, and I would love her and love her and love her and.then it would happen. It was happening now. Orgasm. The crisis at last! and I labored mightily against Rosalba's helpful head but didn't fail to give credit where credit was due; nor did I feel cocky any more, good grief, no, I had all kinds of regrets. My foolish independence had dwindled to nil. I had been caught cheating-and there was no trumped-up fortitude stiffening my spine now, only a strength-sapping shiver of fear and foreboding. Caught. Caught in the act. How sorely would I be made to suffer for my indiscretion?