It takes me almost ten minutes to catch my breath before I'm able to stand and walk over to the table where the simple flip-phone master gave me awaits. I press and hold the number on the keypad preprogrammed to speed-dial his phone at work.
“Lena?” His voice sounds worky but relaxed.
“Master.”
“Yes, sweetheart. Tell me why did you call. I am a bit busy here.” I can hear voices in the background and the beeping of hospital equipment.
“I’m, I am sorry to bother you, sir, but you told me to call if…”
“Quit beating around the bush, Lena. Tell me why did you call. I'm in a hurry, sweetheart.”
“I-I, I just came.”
“Oh good, sweet girl. Were are you thinking of me when it hit?”
“Yes, master. Before, after, and during. I quite honestly cannot not think of you.”
“My sweet little baby,” he says in a tone that surprises me. I had no idea that a human voice could convey so much emotion merely by its intonation. “Did you squirt a lot?”
It shocks me deeply that he would ask such a question without even making an effort to speak in a lower voice. I can clearly hear people in close proximity talking loudly by him. I blush deeply wondering if they overheard what he just said.
“M-master…” He chuckles. “They will hear you.”
“Don't you worry about them, little vixen. Answer my question when you squirted, was it a lot?”
“Y-Y-yes…”
“Was it sticky?”
“Masteeeer,” I protest exasperated, “they will hear you.”
“I hope they would,” he says with a deep sigh. “They could use some spice in their life, that's for sure… These silly young residents, but I don't think they have minds for anything but boring old conventional medicine.” For a moment I feel a pang of jealousy. He cares so much for his students. He said he might want to tutor me. He said that he did not want an ignorant woman to be his submissive.
“Did you use the pump at ten o'clock as I told you?”
“I did, sir, but please, let me buy milk for the cake tonight.”
“Why? How many milliliters did you get at ten?” His voice has reacquired his business-like demeanor and sounds all gruff and professional again.
“Only about twenty-five…”
“From each breast?”
“From both together, sir.”
“Hmmm, not very much,” he says as if talking to himself. “But it is only your first day after all, and your titties are on the small side. I am sure that with time your output will improve.”
“Yes,” I say hearing my own voice grow husky with apprehension. Even after having spent all this time, most of it naked, with my master, I still blush deeply when he asks me intimate questions like that. In some ways I cannot wait for him to take my cherry. Perhaps then I will learn to be more at ease around the man who is old enough to be my father.
“Make sure you drink a lot of water throughout the day,” he says. “Stay well hydrated and eat a full lunch with lots of meat and vegetables and take the multivitamins I prescribed you.”
“Okay, I will.”
“Good. Any other questions?”
“Just one, sir…What should I wear tonight?”
“Surprise me, sweetheart. Pick from the clothes we bought in Beverly Hills last week. And remember — no shoes. Also, the anklets and gold chains around your waist stay. I know this is the first time we are entertaining company since you came to live with me. The guests are very important people. Just remember to stay calm and simply answer if somebody asks you questions but don't speak unless spoken to.”
“The couple that are going to visit us are good friends of mine and… How shall I put it, they are not unfamiliar with our kind of lifestyle. In fact that is precisely the reason they are coming to see you tonight.” His voice suddenly sounds very grave, almost sad.
“Oh…”
“Whatever happens, just remember this simple truth — I love you.”
“I-I love you too, master,” I reply suddenly at a loss for words.
***
I choose to wear the little gray dress he bought for me ten days ago. It comes down to just above my knees and I think he likes it. It just got delivered back from the dry cleaners yesterday morning.
It looks pristine with no trace of the mess I made that one night after dinner. I was still learning. I was being trained and my throat rebelled quite vehemently. I shudder to think of the ordeal as I slip the dress on over my head and look at myself in the big floor-to-ceiling mirror.
The material is just sheer enough that I can see the faint outline of my nipples through it. I wish I had a bra to wear but my master gave all my old bras away to goodwill and does not want me wearing any. I only hope that my breasts don't leak tonight. But with all the milking I suspect there is little chance of that. They will stay dry.
I stand up on the balls of my feet admiring the way the designer dress hangs over my thighs. It is perhaps the first time I'm wearing clothes for an extended period at home and it almost feels unnatural. My eyes drift down and I am happy to see that the curve of the material makes it hang in little wavy patterns just so that it hides the thick unshaved triangle above my legs.
I have never even taken scissors to trim back the thick bush growing there and master seems to want it that way.
I am ready.
The chain around my waist just below my navel to remind me that I am an object of my master's desire.
Plunging neckline that leaves just enough to the imagination but reveals quite a bit. Lips — red and pouty to make a dead Egyptian Pharaoh renounce eternity in heaven and come back to life for one last kiss.
Toenails and fingernails — trimmed just the way my master likes them, not too short but not long either, just a hint of bordered contrast with the healthy pinkness of my flesh beneath. No nail polish whatsoever — my master says my skin is plenty radiant and needs no artificial gaudiness.
And then I remember — his last instruction before he hung up at lunchtime, “Also, I have one other thing I want you to do today besides your chores, you have one other obligation. I want you to think hard throughout the day about which part of your body is most sensitive. I want to know. You will tell me tonight what you have decided.”
Oh God, my whole body thrums for him. How can I pick one part and tell him — “Here this is the one that begs for your attention, master.” No matter, I will think of something when he asks me later.
I am ready. Or so I think.
***
They arrive at eight o’clock sharp. An average-looking man with eyes the deepest dark-brown I have ever seen and gorgeous lithe blonde that appears smitten from the moment she sees me. Before my master even has time to introduce them I step up to him on tiptoe and whisper in his ear, “My clit.” I cannot stop myself from giggling. He smiles back at me, but why does his handsome face also look so sad?
“Good girl,” my master says in a distant voice that catches me by surprise. “From now on, I claim it as mine. Forever. Mine.” He is so serious. I nod and look down suddenly so very self-conscious.
The other man steps up to me. Very close. Too close for comfort.
"Does she know?" I tremble a little beneath his gaze. His finger doesn't even touch my cheek but merely lingers close enough that I can feel his heat.
"Deep down she does… I think. But I haven’t told her, yet.” My master walks over to the far side of the living room, by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and pours wine. The light is low, only the ornamental lampshades on the side are switched on and set to ten percent dimness.
Everything seems to be plunged in twilight that makes things appear darker than if there was no light at all. My master's face is mostly in shadow but glints of moonlight reflect through the window and catch on the deep, sharp canyons crisscrossing his cheeks. His eyes are twinkling. He offers the thick, foaming glass of red to the woman but doesn't even look at her.
"How ol
d?" I can feel his friend's breath on my cheek. It smells like… Almonds? Chocolate?
"Twenty."
"And a virgin." I hear tender puzzlement in the man’s voice but in his eyes I only see a glint of malice. "How rare."
Then suddenly he turns to face my master. His movement is like a blur — one instant he is facing me, the next — he's looking the other way. "She is not slow? You know…"
"Mentally challenged?"
"Yeah. There is nothing like realizing you are in the company of a vacuous bimbo to kill one's libido. At least as far as I'm concerned." The man says and I hear my master laugh.
“Lena is quite sharp. It is just that she has had a rather sheltered life."
"Until now."
"Yes, until now. Her choice for our morning reading is Virgil. I think her mother used to read her classics when she was little."
"She's Eleanor's kid, isn't she?" My eyes grow wide. He knows my mother?! Too many questions suddenly flood my mind, all in the same time. Like an explosion of ideas that leave me weak in the knees.
"Yup. How could you tell? I must say I'm impressed." The friend turns to face me again, and for the first time smiles. His teeth are a gleaming white, his canines pointy.
"Look at her, she is surprised!" The two men laugh while the woman ignores them both and takes a place on the couch. She folds her legs under her. I'm shaking uncontrollably now.
"My gosh, I think I'm scaring her."
"I told you she isn’t stupid. But you didn't answer my question. How did you guess she was Eleanor's kid?" The man steps even closer to me, so close that for a moment my eyes lose focus and tear up.
"The eyes, my friend. Always the eyes. It is not for nothing that people say the eyes are the window to our souls. Yes, hers are sparkling blue, and her mother's are brown, I remember. But something in the way she glances about, like a scared little squirrel, this way and that. It reminds me of Eleanor. Say… she's not yours? Is she? I know she is not mine. I am sterile like the statue of an old man. I've always been that way. But you, my friend," the man laughs. "You are not. That's for sure."
"No, I checked." My master replies. Suddenly I feel lightheaded. The implications are too severe, too numerous, they overwhelm me. Gently, I lower myself to my knees, and then I curl up like a little baby bringing my legs up against my chest and hug them tightly as I sit back on my butt and lean against the couch behind.
Both men look down at me. I wonder will they laugh at my display of overwhelmed weakness but they don't. They just stand there watching, assessing, observing me — two experts evaluating a specimen of interest. For a moment I wonder if they don't actually belong to a different species entirely.
"Delicate child," says my master.
"Very impressionable," says his friend. “Good potential. In the right hands.” The silence drags on and I tentatively glance up, my head still facing down.
"Do we know who the father is?" The friend asks and just like that, steps closer, puts his hand to rest on top of my head and actually leans on me!
A whimper is all that escapes my tightly clenched lips. I don't protest or even make a face. I just stay there, kneeling at this strange man's feet and take it. He leans on me for support, and I sit up on my heels, straighten my back to better take his weight and meekly look up from below the man's meaty palm at my master. There is this twinkle in his eyes again. He is amused! He appears to be having the time of his life watching this man treat me like some piece of property — a new chair perhaps!
I feel my face grow hot with shame and confusion. I know my master loves me. Spending a month in his company has made me certain of it. But the way he allows this so-called "friend" of his to treat me in his presence — this I cannot understand. I feel nauseous at the way they talk about my mother, and now — my unknown father, like I'm not even in the room!? It is all just too confusing to me.
Should I be angry? I certainly feel angry, but should I act it out? Is that what they want? Is this why they are pushing my buttons like that? But acting out is bad manners. My mother has told me so, and my master — I steal another glance at him — he's happy, no, not happy, he seems proud!
It is the very first time I can detect pride in my master's eyes. He's proud of me! This realization makes me happy. I feel a sense of… Fulfillment? I don't want to disappoint my master. I like the way I feel when I make him proud. I will stay down on my knees and be quiet and take whatever they dish out.
I will take it to please him.
"Not one-hundred percent, no." My master replies.
"But you have a suspicion?"
"I do indeed." My master's voice is suddenly thick with what I realize is pent-up emotion.
"Oh! Him?" The friend sounds awestruck. I cannot make out what my master growls out in response but I see him slowly nod his head.
"Wow! Talk about poetic justice." The friend looks back at me. "I suppose it makes sense, twenty years ago certainly puts it in the right ballpark. Does Eleanor know?"
"Know what?"
"About it," the friend taps my head like a master petting an obedient Golden retriever, “it and you."
"She does, and she doesn't approve. She says I'm too old for her."
"Ha! Oh, that's too good, too good, ha – ha – ha."
The man laughs sonorously, his deep booming voice echoing off the crystal on the table not far. With the corner of my eye I see the woman on the couch make a grimace.
“Benjamin, please, you’re too loud."
"Nonsense, I haven't laughed like that in ages," the man says, his laughter still having the best of him.
"It is frightening her," the woman says and takes a sip of wine that leaves her lips even redder. I wonder if she knows that my bladder is not as full as it used to be just moments ago. I remain kneeling on the floor and wonder if the dark Persian rug will absorb it all, if they will see that I peed myself just now. I wonder if my master will punish me? How will he punish me? When?
"Well, she ought to be afraid," suddenly the man's voice is deathly serious. I feel deep chills running down my spine. "If she only knew who her mother really was, what she was, what she did to my good friend here," the man says pointing at my master, "she wouldn't be quite so carefree. Don't you think?"
"Not now, Benjamin," my master suddenly interrupts him. His voice is not menacing but his intonation is cast in steel. "Later. Perhaps. Now, we eat."
***
Dinner itself is quite uneventful, at least in comparison to the conversation that preceded it. At the outset my master indicates that he wants me to remain standing and serve them while they ate. And so, for almost two full hours, I go around the table refilling their wine glasses, bringing out their dinner, being the best little waitress I can be. They barely acknowledge me at all.
They talk about politics, a recent production on Broadway that apparently stars some personal acquaintance of theirs, art, and whatnot. The topics vary wildly and for the most part are way over my head. What do I know about the exposure of the US long-term investments in Romania to the fluctuations of Middle Eastern sweet crude? It takes me a long moment to even realize it is oil they are talking about.
As they chat, eat, and drink, I wait in the corner by the door, and shrink into my own world. My mind slowly drifts to my childhood and my mother.
It is true I have no idea who my father really is. All these years my mother would simply ignore or evade the question whenever I tried to ask it. It was as if she was desperate to forget that part of her life. Sometimes she would visibly flinch when I broached the subject and eventually I learned to just avoid it altogether. Standing by the door, with a growing discomfort in the pit of my stomach, I start to realize that the past I do know is vastly overshadowed by the past that this a complete mystery to me.
"She is so cute, the way she stands on the balls of her feet, doctor,” the voice of the woman cuts through my reverie.
“…And also the way she sucks her thumb," my master's friend ads in. I blush c
rimson. I hadn't even realized I was sucking on my thumb. I immediately put my hand down by my side and blink away tears of humiliation that have sprung to cloud my vision. I see my master smiling warmly at me and waving me over to him.
“Come here, sweetheart," he says and I walk over, apprehension squeezing at my heart as I come up to stand within his reach. He is so big and tall that even though he is sitting, and I am standing, we are still eye to eye.
“Dinner was a symphony, dear child, well done,” he says and reaches to place the big paw that is his hand on my cheek. It feels so warm and soothing there that I lean in against it as I feel his thumb come up to brush my lips. I am terribly embarrassed to feel so emotional in the presence of these people I only just met. I look over sideways seeing them smile at us.
“Shush, little one,” my master says softly, his voice — a barely audible rumble in his chest as he speaks looking straight into my eyes. His thumb makes little circles up and down my lips that I do my best to keep firmly shut.
“These are very good friends of mine darling," he says. “You have nothing to fear. Do you understand?” He looks at me, his eyebrows arching up and I nod finally accepting the truth of his words. My lips part just a fraction but this is all it takes for his thumb to angle in and push itself all the way over my tongue. “There you go, sweet darling. Suck on it and think of nothing else. Relax and forget about them,” he says and I do as he orders me while his tight hold on my chin and face keep me steady.
“Here, Lena, baby, come and sit in my lap,” he scoots his chair back from the table and effortlessly spins me around bringing me down to plop across his broad thigh where he holds me with one big hand on my hips. His other hand is still gently caressing my face as I close my eyes doing my best to blot out the leering guests from my mind while I suck on my master's thumb.
Lena's Fall: Volumes Eight through Fifteen of Lena’s Journey Page 4
