Dance For Me Savannah

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  After classes in the morning, Savannah remained in her university office far longer than she normally stayed. She wasn’t particularly thrilled with going home to an empty life. Luckily, there was plenty to keep her busy, a half-dozen projects that she’d put aside, and of course, the book, the nagging, complicated book that she loved and hated at the same time. The trip to Spain had twisted her thinking so much it was difficult to concentrate on the historical aspects of her experience there. Feeling as though she’d been thrown to the wolves in that decadent atmosphere so rife with sexual danger, she couldn’t even consider her research until she could do so without thinking of the gnawing sexual wolves. Guillaume had been there all right, but it hadn’t been a pleasant meeting. He made demands she’d been reluctant to carry out. (She’d even wished that Michael had been there for support. For some reason she had much more courage with him than without his steady presence. Nothing ever seemed to faze the her as long as he was there.) Unlike Michael, Guillaume was more of a taskmaster than supportive. He scared her the way he could be so abidingly cruel and without compassion. He demanded nothing less than her complete obedience, all under the guise that she was the real initiator of her desire, he was just there as a facilitator. Savannah always thought the two demons went happily hand in hand, with Guillaume and Desire thick as thieves in their plot to bring out the beastly sexual woman knocking about her soul. They conspired against her.

  She’d been staying in a small village that was the site of the wondrous ruins of a legendary castle. It had been said that a young princess of passion had lived inside the walls, guarded by a parish priest to protect her virginity, and by a deadly dragon to protect her life. For years her only real contact with the world of the living was the priest who brought her a great basket of food every day, mountains of food, so much she couldn’t eat it all. He brought her conversation and the gentle warmth of his caress when he’d affectionately take her hand and gaze sweetly into her eyes letting her connect with humanity. The princess’s only contact with the dark was the dragon. He too came to her offering nourishment, but only after the sun set, just as the clouds created plush patterns of orange light in the evening sky. Taking her upon his back he rode her into the land of her passions where there were those that prized her body as a fountain of great knowledge and wisdom. There were dozens of lovers that made love to her just to receive great visions from her powerful loins. They were the gateway to realms unseen where the secrets of life were written in pages easily read. In the morning however, the princess’s dragon and the visions were hidden away again, and she looked forward to the kindly priest that brought her sweet breads and exotic fruit and freshly cured meat. The legend is told in many ways, but mostly it was said that the priest, smitten with love and believing that he had the only virtuous and pure woman left in the region, defied his vows and took her away from the castle, the two marrying. The visions were then lost forever. The princess no longer treading in the dark territory grew old quickly and died, having satisfied the priest’s hungry loins, but not herself.

  Savannah thought the legend quaint on first hearing, though in her own nighttime world she couldn’t remove the idea from her brain that she and this mythical princess were somehow connected.

  One night, sneaking out of her hotel room like a child running away from home on a dangerous mission, Savannah crept into the ruined castle. She met Guillaume there unexpectedly. He was out for a pleasant evening stroll, quite unlike Savannah’s impulsive outing. They stood face to face in the moonlight, and he didn’t have to speak for his demands to be heard. Without saying a word, she began to disrobe, her blouse falling off her shoulders, her skirt dropping easily at her feet. Only the thin panties at her crotch remained; but they too were pulled down so she stood naked in the darkness, just a streak of ethereal moonlight to illuminate their meeting.

  Guillaume’s hand was at her back, firmly pressing her down to the stone floor. The cold immediately climbed inside her body. Lying prostrate, as if she was facing an alter, she could hear his words clearly. And then, a chastisement rained down on her with blistering heat, its intensity striking her like blows from a whip. She was writhing from his berating words, the soft hairs at her crotch being tickled by the grasses that grew in around the stones. A cricket lighted on her and then jumped off. She shivered, but kept her face submissively pressed to the earth and granite, her skin above beginning to feel the real sensation of a leather-made implement lashing against her, as it wrapped its talons seductively about her skin. Feeling the warmth of it beginning to replace the chilling cold, she undulated more, an ecstasy of sensation about to burst inside. She heard and felt and understood that this abyss was her necessary path to fulfillment. In the darkness within the castle’s broken walls she made love to the earth at her core, Guillaume’s earth. As though there were a dozen lovers preying at her body, and animals devouring her, she felt the thrusts of sexual penetration. She was used for the explicit purpose of masculine lust and ejaculation, nothing more. Like the legendary princess come back to fulfill the legend, Savannah waited for the visions to appear. But with her lover tiptoeing into the eerie shadows, she awakened from the sexual stupor to reality. The 20th century Savannah scooted from the castle, fast putting on her clothes as she fled, afraid that at three a.m. there’d been eyes that witnessed a randy American woman getting off strangely in the middle of these hallowed Spanish ruins. Once fully conscious again, she discovered that Guillaume was nowhere to be found.

  Twice on other occasions during her trip, Savannah and her lover had met this way. Each excursion into nocturnal meanderings was as nastily conducted as this one, each was fraught with bizarre sexual manipulation. Savannah surrendered because she was driven, the compulsion born from Guillaume’s commands made her this bold, this vile, and willing to do dark deeds in the dead of night. To what purpose? Her own ecstasy was all she could figure. Unlike her medieval counterpart, there were no visions, at least none she understood, none that came to mind.

  The lamp in her office cast golden shadows about the room. She’d decorated the bare plastered walls with pictures of castles and churches mostly from Italy, all photographed with a sepia filter that made them look ancient—exactly the way she felt about them. She wanted to believe she was stepping back in time when she walked into her office. On the brightest days when the sunlight streamed through the windows that was impossible. But on a night like this one, she could do her work imagining that she lived in a cloistered medieval world. The high walls closed in on her, and the dark woodwork of the old building and the musty scents reminded her of times past moved her into that Old World feeling. She used the pictures like windows to look out on that other time and place.

  The lamp on Savannah’s desk flickered for an instant when the pop machine in the hallway began to run. The faint change made Savannah alter her eyes. She could hardly see and yet it was only seven thirty. If she turned on the overhead fluorescents she might see well enough to work until nine, but she hated destroying the atmosphere that fed her daydreams. Becoming weary from eyestrain, she took a break and laid her head in her arms. Instantly, in a pleasant unfeeling reverie, she drifted on the edge of sleep.

  When her office door suddenly rattled, Savannah was startled out of her slumber. She jerked and looked toward the door. The knob turned, and then a blaze of light blinded her for an instant, though it would have been impossible not to recognize Michael entering her office. Closing the door behind him, he was bathed in the same sensuous filtered light that she’d worked in all evening. Although his presence, that sure substantial dark resolve of his, changed the mood of her cozy habitat. It was the grim expression on his face that made her bones rattle as hollow as the old office door. Spain and Guillaume and dark acts in the threatening dead of night plunged her firmly into the eroticism of that indecent lair where she preferred to meet her lovers.

  “Are you telling me you want to renew our affair, Savannah?” Michael spoke first. He wore a long black coat that s
wayed about him when he walked, a white collarless shirt and soft pleated pants underneath. Savannah found his choice of clothes a formidable addition to his already profound persona.

  Still blurry-eyed from her brief nap, she struggled to comprehend his intent. Just looking at him, her body became pleasantly aroused. An eerie tingle trickled like a drop of water down her back. “I was silly to end it,” she admitted. As each second ticked by, she became more alert, and more sexually charged.

  “So you get drunk and stupid so you’ll have a reason to call me?” he asked.

  “Is that how you see it?”

  “How else? That’s assuming that you really want me back after the dastardly thing I did.”

  “You’re going to make me suffer, aren’t you?”

  He smirked. “I probably should. After all the rough stuff you’ve asked for, I get rough with you just for me, just once, and you order me out of your life.”

  “I was wrong.”

  “Nice of you to admit it now, after you end the relationship.”

  “But maybe it’s not ended?” She looked up at him like a small child pleading.

  “Maybe there never really was a relationship,” Michael speculated. “Living in the shadow of this master of masters isn’t really my cup of tea. Oh, I went along with it because I was so infatuated by you, but I’d be kidding myself to think that you wanted me alone.”

  Savannah hardly considered Michael second fiddle to Guillaume. On the contrary, he was real, not letters, not commands and orders, not too much fantasy and too little reality that only poked its head inside her life in fleeting bursts. Seeing Michael now in flesh and blood, the longing for him she’d kept at bay for two weeks burned in her heart. She’d do anything to have him back.

  “It really isn’t like that,” she began speaking. “You aren’t even in the same category as Guillaume. I’m less taken with him now than before. You’ve made an extraordinary difference in my life. I’ve been honest with you, Michael, and you’ve accepted that. I should never have sent you away. I am sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too.” He didn’t move. Still standing by the door, still exuding an almost ominous quality, he refused to give away his feelings. Remaining so closed to her, she was scared to even breathe, afraid that one wrong word, one poorly phrased remark, he might slip out the door and out of her life.

  “So is there a way to repair the damage?” she finally asked.

  “There might be.”

  “I suppose I’d have to submit?”

  “That would be a good way to start.”

  “In the studio?” There was a feeling of safety she associated with the place they first met.

  He considered for a minute. “No, here.”

  “Here. Hum. Now?”

  “Now.” He replied to her with a granite resolve in his voice.

  “Perhaps you should lock the door?”

  “Be my guest,” he said, moving aside, his arm sweeping in a gallant gesture.

  She hesitated then walked past him feeling his harsh energy pass through her as she did. Turning the skeleton key in the lock, she deposited it on the bookcase by the door. That the last act of her own volition.

  With their privacy assured, Michael turned down one lamp leaving the room even more eerie than before. Without hesitating he was behind the quivering blonde pushing her towards her desk. One hand was on her skirt, the other at her shoulder. Such placement suggested the advantage he would have over her, the command he intended to wield. The hand at her ass prodded her, fingers, like darts, jabbing where there was energy to dispel. Desire in her rising quickly, her whole being acquiesced to his insistence as though for that moment, Michael and the voice in her mind were one, consumed by their united fervor.

  With Savannah bent over the end of her desk, Michael moistened her rear door with a cool fluid that bathed her genitals. That he had the lubricant so ready suggested that he planned this all along. As his fingers pressed against the unrelenting pathway, she whispered something he could not hear. A protest. Though she was smart enough to suppress the need to loudly vent her fears.

  He knew her fear, by the way she was beginning to quake.

  Michael’s middle finger violated the virgin barrier, and its first plunge down her channel was met with a burst of sensation skyrocketing anxiously from her sex to her fingertips and toes. Relinquishing to the feelings, she bore down, grit her teeth and tensed, knowing that the finger would not be the only invasion of her untried backdoor. With a second finger inserted in her behind, she made a rude jerk and Michael withdrew from her abruptly, spanking her hard with the palm of his hand. She was surprised to find that he wouldn’t stop, even when she gasped a pleading, “I’m sorry.” She squirmed to get away from the strikes, but his other hand kept bringing her back. Laid on with speed and a steady consistency, the smacks brought a pain that rose in measured degrees until she could no longer endure in silence or with just little whimpers.

  “Please, Michael,” she gasped.

  “Please what?” he asked.

  “Please stop,” she said.

  That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, so the pause was brief. His hand started up again with the same vibrant beat until she cried again. “Please, no more.”

  “That’s not the way to get me to end this,” he informed her. “Now if you beg for me in your ass . . .”

  For an instant while the idea registered, she again felt the painful spanking. She couldn’t think. Her mind in a blur, she didn’t know what to say, until suddenly getting her wits about her, she cried, “Please have my ass!”

  Stopping immediately, Michael resumed his plans. First gathering more dew from her wet cunt and dousing her with more slick lube, he inserted two fingers past her tight sphincter. He drew them in and out like a prick, slow and easy, knowing this would be a startling change in her sexual repertoire. He was patient waiting for her tense muscles to relax.

  There was a frenzy of frenetic energy shooting through her. Every muscle in her threatened to remain rigid, but with Michael not stopping, something clicked inside her body and brain and she reluctantly began to ease off. Then the feeling of intrusion took on a different aspect. With two fingers in her ass, the others reached below for the folds of her vagina. The twin sensations became so erotic, nothing in her mind could take away the resounding joy of her body’s response. What had been a barrier for her in the past had been breached. She wanted more. She wanted Michael’s erection there. Full, firm and penetrating, she wanted him that deeply within her agitated flesh.

  Once he took his fingers out of her, Michael was as swift breaching that doorway as he’d been with everything that evening. But when she thought she could easily handle the invasion, Michael’s cock was far larger than she expected. Her body tensed again. She cried out only to find his free hand smacking her ass again. With him so completely in command of her, she was compelled to relax.

  Thankfully, he was quick. The penetration was deep and her body’s response a stunning shock. Savannah accommodated the sexual attack while beginning to understand that given enough time, she’d find pleasure in this unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She hoped for that moment when her need to climax would take over. But to her dismay, her own satisfaction would have to wait. Not concerned with anything but himself, Michael took everything he wanted from her ass. Spewing himself inside her, he then pulled out swiftly, and left her believing that she’d lost some important part of herself.

  “This is just round one, Savannah. You behave, maybe there will be round two.”

  He said no more, but left her still lingering over the end of her desk exhausted. Her legs were weak feeling as though they might collapse underneath her. Finally grabbing for some Kleenex, she wiped herself and stumbled to her chair. Closing her eyes, the detail of the last hour played over and over in her mind like a scratchy phonograph recording, while the exhilarating burn on her bottom both soothed and stirred her.

  ***

  I was invigorated l
eaving her. I certainly didn’t understand the darkness that reigned in me when I was with her, but it was an aphrodisiac so powerful I was afraid to feel the full effect of it and all that it might do. I wanted to love her tenderly. But it was savagery motivating me, luring me deeper and deeper into the lust she’d raised in me. If I’d never taken the spanker from her that first time she presented it to me, I might have never known what it felt like to own a woman the way I owned this one. It still amazed me that Savannah, cool, crisp, self-reliant Savannah, would have such an uncivilized soul.

  I had much more planned for my repentant lover; but I’d give her some time to let the shock of the first assault settle before I’d go on with the other horrors I intended to carry out on her willing body.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The phone jangled a half dozen times before a sleepy Savannah reached for the receiver on her bedside table and ended up knocking the whole machine on the floor. Drawing the receiver up by the cord, she finally gasped a half awake “hello” into the mouthpiece.

  “Having problems this morning?” Michael’s cheery voice asked.

  “No, no, you just woke me. Isn’t it Saturday? I don’t have to be anywhere do I?” She looked at the clock seeing that it was nearly ten. She never slept past nine, even on a weekend; but then she didn’t often have a night like the one she’d had the night before. On first hearing Michael speak, she forgot what he’d done to her just hours before, thinking only that she always enjoyed the resonant tone of his voice. Moving slightly in bed, she winced, as a pain shot through her bottom. She remembered getting screwed in the ass. Still, the discomfort didn’t matter. The idea of it was actually pleasant and she found herself smiling, glad that he’d even called considering the abrupt way he left her.