“Tantalise?” I giggled.
“Yes, dear, why not?”
“I really don't view myself like that.”
“You should do. You should not underestimate your power. Men respond to women who know their power.”
“I don't care for men.”
“Oh…?”
“I mean, well, none of them seem to understand me. And my one true love died.”
“That's sad. Sorry to hear that.”
“It was sad. But, his existence had great purpose.”
“That's noble,” she said, but I think we'd lost each other in separate meanings.
“I hope you don't think I'm a user.”
“Pardon?” she gasped.
“My scars. They're from treatment for leukaemia as a girl. The nurses never could find a vein.”
“You survived leukaemia? How old were you?”
“Ten when they diagnosed me. Around 13 when I got the all-clear. Still, it could come back, at anytime.”
“My mother had breast cancer,” she said.
“What happened?”
“She just had it taken off, just the one. I decided to have tests to see if I was at risk.”
“And?” I asked, eager to know whether she and I had a common complaint.
“I was fine. No risk. Not much more than the average person, anyway.”
“Oh.”
“The cancer debate does fascinate me. It still seems like such a grey area of medicine, though they make progress all the time.”
“They saved me with someone else's cells. It might have been that coupled with chemotherapy, or just my body recovering itself. I still don't trust science.”
“People only trust what they understand.”
She was working quickly with her pencil and I had forgotten I was even naked in a stranger's house. Florence, that was her name. She was dark but with porcelain skin, a slender figure and a little taller than myself. She certainly had the look of an intellectual about her, but the ringlets still seemed odd.
“No, it's not that, it's that when you're ill, all you hear about is blood tests and charts and drugs. But all you know is what you feel. I was told I was the girl who defied the odds. They wrote papers about my recovery.”
“Yet, the recovery is ongoing, isn't it?”
I turned and looked at her. I felt her comment was a little close to the bone. She had a wry smile, however. I conceded, “Just because you beat it doesn't mean you can ever go back to the way you were before.”
“And why should you want to? You are clearly stronger for it.”
“In some ways, yes.”
I didn't really want to talk about it any more than that.
“Sorry,” she said, and carried on drawing. “It's just I decided when I first spoke to you that there was, something…”
“Well, now you know, I survived against all the odds.”
“No. Not that. No. I noticed you were… I don't know, enquiring yet reticent. Such disparity always starts alarm bells ringing for me.”
“For you?”
“Yes, after all, I do study and interpret the human form.”
I wasn't prepared for someone to start challenging me. I also just didn't want to talk. It was all getting too much. Her artistic ways seemed blasé and unconvincing.
“Florence, I don't like to live in the past. Bad things happened. What else is there to do but try to get on?”
“Take pleasure, my darling. That is what we can do. Perhaps more should try to and then at least if they get hit by a bus one day, they can say at least they'd enjoyed plenty of orgasms.”
What had I got myself into?
“I'm not sure if I'm that sexual a person,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I'm quite sure the only real orgasms I've ever enjoyed were with a gay man.”
“Pardon me?” she tittered.
“Yes, I was virginal. He was my best friend. It was amazing but everything since then has been… substandard.”
“Were these other liaisons with lovers? Friends?”
“Strangers.”
“You've… never had a relationship?”
“No.”
“And why in the heck not?” she asked.
“The gay man was difficult to live up to. And… he's the one who died.”
“But, you're in your prime of life! Look at you!”
“I hear the words and they make not a blind bit of difference.”
“Well, give me a few moments and you shall see.”
“I wait with baited breath,” I sniggered.
“Your body is not your enemy, Lottie. It is the greatest weapon at your disposal.”
“Try saying that to yourself after having it fail you for so many years.”
“Years…?”
“Yes, I'd say perhaps, I've only just started feeling strong recently. I started exercising more and changed jobs. It seems to have given me new life.”
“Perhaps, the power of the mind is stronger than you realise.”
She scratched away at the easel for a few minutes more and my arms began to ache. I didn't even hear her walk over but she came toward the bench and offered me a floor-length silk dressing gown.
“Done. Come, see.”
I wrapped the garment around myself and felt invigorated. It had not been as bad as I had expected. It was all over. A sigh of relief.
I looked at the canvas and saw the figure of a woman, not a girl; a strong female with a purposeful set of shoulders and arms, muscular legs, a round bottom and elegant poise.
“Seriously, you really have given me far too much credit.”
“That, my flavour of the month, is you. Men will salivate over it. It's the goddess of their dreams and she is real.”
I raised an eyebrow and shot her a querying glance.
“It's really you. That is how you really look. You're magnificent. You are.”
“Okay…”
“Let me show you,” she said, standing right behind me.
She wrapped her arms around my waist and hot whispers caressed my ears.
“Lottie, look at the canvas. That is you. Now imagine a man, your wildest dream let's say, looking at you like that. Pray tell, what would this man look like?”
I was embarrassed and becoming aroused by her body pressing right up against mine. She waited for a response, though, and clearly wouldn't be put off by my reticence.
“Oh, I suppose… if we are talking fantasy… he would be just like Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise.”
“And, you like that film?”
“Oh yes, it's very good.”
Her hands were pressing against my stomach and massaging my lower abdominals.
“And did you get turned on by the sex scenes?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“You don't administer yourself?”
“No, I simply couldn't.”
“Why ever not?”
“I'm not… I dunno.”
“Tell me a scenario, or a fantasy that arouses you,” she instructed, brushing her mouth against the join of my neck and shoulder. Flushes broke out where she kissed.
“Oh, definitely, for me, it is the sight of a woman on top, her breasts being fondled or sucked and her hips rhythmically working a man.”
“Interesting,” Florence said.
I was becoming a little flush in the cheeks. I'd let the robe slip open and had a sense of gradually becoming Florence's little sexual puppet. I could feel the knotted tension in my stomach unravelling.
“I guess a woman's domination has always appealed to me. It also allows for the female to display herself in a more pleasing way. On her back, she's just fodder.”
“And yet, she's still controlled by the cock, is she not?” Florence asked, her hands resting at the tops of my thighs, clutching at the separating robe. Her posh voice swilled through my ears pleasingly.
“Yes, I guess.”
“And you said you weren't sexual.”
>
And then, her soft fingertips reached up to rub my exposed, pointed nipples. I hissed and drew breath. It was enthralling and I felt faint. A gentle kiss from her mouth against my throat was maddening.
“I know I am,” I said breathlessly, “but that, the right kinds of lovers don't seem to exist for me.”
“Perfection does not exist, Lottie. It's a fallacy. Love is… best enjoyed blindly. Without expectations. Without precondition.”
It was easy for her to say that but it was not easy to absorb words I had no concept of. However, as she breathed heavily in my ear and let her loose curls fall over my shoulder, I became lost in ecstasy. I spread my legs and straightened my back. Her hands trailed all over my torso and up to my throat.
“Listen carefully, Lottie,” she murmured, in my ear.
“Okay,” I gasped, as a hand squeezed my breast. I just needed somebody's touch. It had been so long.
“Pleasure is worth everything. It is everything. I shall show you. I know men who would give anything to see your body like this and worship it. Really, truly, worship it. They would.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, waiting for her hands to move elsewhere.
She stroked my buttocks over the silk robe.
“I'd murder for these curves,” she insisted.
“Take it off,” I said, panting.
She slipped the robe from my shoulders and it fell into a pool of silk at my feet. I was naked, looking at a drawing of myself laid out naked. Perhaps there couldn't have been anything more self-indulgent or narcissistic.
“The fantasy man throws you down, Lottie,” she said, still trailing fingertips all over me. Anywhere but THERE. “He drives into you and you see his truncheon with its dark tuft of protective hair ram up against your little pale body. It's magical.”
“Oh god yes,” I said.
Her hands stroked the insides of my thighs.
“He presses his hands against your breasts as he fucks you rampantly, like an animal, whacking his taut shaft right up inside you.”
“Yes,” I said.
Her fingers were straying into the fleece above my womanhood. She tugged and teased what was there.
“He is thrusting so hard and fast and almost knocking your beautiful breasts right off. He is sweating and mean. He grunts and tells you that your fuck is so tight and wet.”
“Oh yes,” I said, rubbing my buttocks against her front.
“Are you wet Lottie?”
“Dripping.”
“Sorry?”
“Drenched.”
“Yes, you are.”
Her fingers dove inside my pussy and I yelped, shuddered, and fell to shards of glass inside my mind. I crumbled. She probed me so expertly, as if performing on herself had become such a chore that it was better to carry out the same routine on someone else. She moved her small but expert fingers in and out and rubbed my clitoris each time. I was all to cock, as it were. I swung my hips unconsciously and she hissed in my ear as I enjoyed myself. She made me cum so hard I could hardly stand up afterward. Then, to my surprise, she did not stop. She kept going. She was working me freakishly but I was so aroused and in a state I knew wouldn't come around again so easily. This time, when I came, I shouted loudly. I gasped for air and felt a trickle running down my weak legs, which seemed to have turned to rubber.
“I prepared a little surprise, earlier, Lottie. I knew you might warm up. Please, let's go to the bench.”
I tottered as she led me, with my legs still suffering spasms. She had me lie down and she revealed that underneath her baggy outerwear, she wore a chunky bondage corset. It was like something out of a dream. I could see her nipples trapped behind steel plates and thin strips of leather criss-crossing over her torso. It was sexy, in its own way. The design drew attention to her exposed navel and in particular, the delicate curves of her hips and the creases between her thighs that defined her womanhood. That part of her – the cunt – was protected by two, criss-crossing, wide straps of leather, which were held fast at the sides of her corset, where it clung to the tops of her hips. Those straps had chains at the ends and tiny padlocks so she could be unfastened by her keeper. She was almost naked in the garment, but her holes were unusable by anyone but her Master.
“I belong to a man, Lottie, and he has me wear this so that I don't forget who owns me. He shows me the greatest pleasures of anyone I know but he whores me. I quite enjoy it and we enjoy talking about it afterward. He enjoys me finding girls for him. I thought you may enjoy a hard cock. You looked like you needed one. So, I prepared this one earlier,” and out, from the shadows, appeared a naked buck with a hard-on the size of a milk bottle. He was masked, however, and already sheathed. He was athletic and ruddy, desperate for my body, I could see.
Florence stood back and sat in a chair. She started frigging herself between the leather straps around her groin and I knew I must have strayed into a dream, I knew it. She had to work hard to slip her finger between the tight restraints but she was undeterred.
From where she sat, she instructed, “Open your labia and pull your legs up Lottie.”
I was desperate to be fucked. I'd gone without for so long. I did as she bade. The man spoke in a deep, rugged tone of voice, “You're ravishing. I want to help you enjoy your body.”
Swiftly, he knelt down at the end of the bench and pulled me toward him. His cock found my hole and he started fucking the opening of my entry with his delicious, full cockhead. It was sensational to be teased after being so well prepared by Florence.
“Look down at the cock bucking inside you,” she said.
I looked and was mesmerised. I made it possible for that huge sword of flesh to somehow find a home. Hands found my breasts and my buttocks and he groaned, working his way deeper inside as I grew to accommodate him.
I closed my eyes and imagined that some hero had just returned from battle, covered in cuts and bruises, and was giving me the fuck of his life. He'd been made to realise that life could be taken away so quickly and he knew he had to make the most of me while he had it.
I heard instructions from Florence, “Rub your nipples, lovely one,” and I did, opening my eyes to see my conqueror shifting like a cowboy, bucking in and out of my body. He was pounding me hard. The sight of his muscles and hips working was unreal.
“Now reach down and rub yourself,” she said, close to climaxing herself.
I reached and rubbed, mashing what I had never really explored before. It had always seemed too sacred to besmirch. I was out of my mind, however. I lost all control and let loose. I threw my hips toward him and bucked, rubbing myself senseless. I told him I was going to cum and he groaned loudly, telling me, “Hold on,” and he held my hips down while he pressed as much of himself as he could into my vagina, as carefully as possible, with real, exacting precision. I was delirious. With the feeling of hot, wet, wanting-to-pee anxiety came vast, sweeping motions of joy stretching through my stomach. I reached my peak and he held it, continually pumping me. For moments that seemed longer than hours, I was in a tranquil state of heated, sustained pleasure, crying out for more and more. I heard Florence moaning in the background, murmuring how hot it was to watch us. A blast of whooshing pleasure swept through me and I fell over the other side, into sweet currents of relaxing little judders. The gentleman pulled away and I lay there still sprawled and used. I didn't care. I'd been indoctrinated in the ways of the flesh and my exposure to it was like a drug. The man disappeared and Florence came over to hold me, pressing her cheek against my breasts.
I recovered and got dressed and she told me about a group of people I might be interested in meeting. Not sure whether I was ashamed or remorseful, I told her that I would let her know. I'd think about it.
Chapter XI
My Awakening
With my newfound sexiness realised, I ran myself a steaming hot bath once I got home that night. I slipped into the watery soup and rid myself of all that my body had been forced to undergo. I was a little sore from the spasms t
hat had run through my legs and the large cock that had sought to break me in. I lay there and for the first time considered my womanliness. My breasts had always annoyed me. They were big and cumbersome for a frame so small, weighing heavily on my shoulders and lower back. I thought the nipples too large and the shape too droopy. Meanwhile, my legs were chunky from years of physical work. I felt like they could perhaps be slimmer if I was not always on my feet so much but this was how they were, and whenever I raised myself on tiptoes, I always had a sense of the calves becoming prominently defined. But this night, I saw those legs and remembered them wrapped around that man's body. They were strong legs and had never let me down. My concentration moved to my arse. Reaching beneath myself in the silky, oily waters, it felt weighty but luxurious, and I knew this was a rump that many men might crave to put their aching members between.
Next was the waist. One bit I had always liked. Neatly tucked in and never a bother, except when it came to dresses. I always needed a belt to accommodate the fact that my breasts and hips were not in line with this much smaller facet of my physique. However, squeezing both hands at my sides, I knew this was a part of myself that could be used…
In the baking hot tub, I lay back and decided my body was not half bad after all. I glanced at my pale skin, aglow against the candlelight, and discovered I could seem a different person when sunk beneath the shimmering surface. I felt perhaps, perpetually in this state, I might seem ever attractive. I glowed with cleanliness and renewed confidence in myself. My hands crossed over my breasts to hold my shoulders and I smiled a broad grin that had never before appeared on my face over this concept of me being a sexual being. This was new.
I stepped out of the bath before the waters started to get cold, eager to maintain the glow on my exterior. I dried myself meticulously and applied moisture creams to my limbs and torso, for the first time, actually indulging myself in such a treat! I even used some tiny bits around my eyes and mouth, just to give me that feeling of having been properly administered to.
Outside, thunder cracked nearby and a storm threatened. It was humid and muggy and people outside rushed to get indoors. It could have been the end of the world. I did not put on my robe in the bathroom but instead walked through the flat naked, down the corridor, and into my bedroom. As I went, I imagined a suitor trailing behind me, following me to my chamber, hoping to capture me once in there. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I felt a little twitch in my belly.
A Fine Profession (The Chambermaid's Tales Part One) Page 10
