Mia
Tied to the Bed
When she got back to the penthouse Mona received her in the formal dining room, where a feast seemed about to begin.
"There you are, darling, right on time. I should add that to your list of talents.”
Seated at the dining table were not only Mona, but two young men in suits with glamorous women at their sides, an older, very distinguished gentleman whom Mia pegged as British from the snatches of conversation she’d heard upon entering the room, and a middle-aged woman that might have passed for Mona’s sister.
"Shall I introduce you all?” Asked Mona, and they nodded in unison, smiling calmly and looking at Mia as she slowly took her seat at the end of the table directly opposite from Mona.
"This, my dear, is Mr. Oliver Trent and his companion, Vivien Leigh, her name one that she wears with pride—“ The blond-haired man and his brunette escort nodded their heads in greeting as Mona went on, “Mr. Harold Gregory, and his companion, Melanie Truman,” this couple turned toward Mia and merely smiled airily, “Professor of English Literature, Dr. Carlton J. Peters,” Mona paused and added, “a most distinguished guest, if I might add.”
"You may,” agreed the professor, and everyone but Mia tittered.
"And a woman who's been at my side forever, and whom I hope forever shall be,” Mona stretched out her hand in the direction of the woman immediately to Mia’s right and beamed across the table to her lover, “my most cherished confidante, Lillian Baxter.”
"Lovely to meet you all,” Mia murmured, and as was her habit, she snapped out her napkin, not realizing that the professor, who sat immediately to her left, was watching.
"I’ve heard a lot about you, Ms. Gianni,” Lillian murmured, lifting a glass of water to her lips. She did not have the delicate manners that Mona affected, but managed to be graceful while being matter-of-fact and to the point. She didn't stick her little finger up into the air as she drank, and nor did she set the glass down as if it were more fragile than a newborn baby.
"Oh, please, Lil, call her Mia.” Mona’s taking authority over Mia’s name went unnoticed by the group, and Lillian only nodded, then complied.
"Mia,” she ammended. At that moment the first course arrived. No one spoke, including Mia, who followed everyone else’s cue, until the waiters had left them alone in peace.
"Mia,” began the professor, “I’ve heard that you yourself are a student of applied knowledge in the art of literature.” He speared a delicate piece of salmon and slipped it into his mouth, then rolled his eyes and made a sound of pleasure in exaggerated delight at the taste of the fare.
"If you mean that I'm an author, you are correct, Dr. Peters.” She found herself matching his style of speech, and internally shrugged. It was an old habit of hers. She reminded herself to speak practically, and not take on his airs.
"Please, my dear lady, you may refer to me as ‘Carlton’ ... if it pleases you.” The corner of his mouth was slightly raised, but only slightly. Something about the way he threw in all the extra wording and deepened his voice made her sure he was judging her, and not only that, playing with her. She wasn't about to allow strangers think themselves any better than her.
"Thank you for your kindness, Dr. Peters, but I’m afraid it does not ‘please me,’” Mia returned graciously, and the professor leaned back, his brows raised. The rest of the group tittered quietly again. Vivien Leigh, who actually bore a strong resemblance to the Hollywood legend, smiled broadly and turned her glowing brown eyes on Mia.
"What is it you write, Ms. Gianni? I think I may have heard of you once or twice, on the television?”
"Yes, I suppose you have. I write horror novels.” Mia paused and slid her fork into her own salmon, then added as an afterthought, “That is, I wrote horror novels.” Mona looked up from her plate.
"But why the past tense, darling? You still plan to write, don’t you?” She had a comically tragic look on her face. Mia had long since had the feeling, and now it was getting stronger, that this was all a big show, a test, and that afterward Mona would discuss her behavior at length with these people when Mia herself wasn't around.
"I have no idea,” Mia responded nonchalantly, and she ate her salmon delicately, leaving the plate two-thirds empty before the second course. “If I do, it will have nothing to do with horror—of that genre.”
"I would like to know what you plan to move on to, if you do write anything else,” fished the professor, but Mia didn't respond. But soon after came some words from Harold Gregory.
"I’ve read your work. It’s good to see that you realize you have no talent in that direction.” He then turned his full attention to his lobster.
"Why, thank you for your kind support,” Mia rejoined wryly, and Dr. Peters made a sound of smug triumph while the rest of the table tried to hide their smirks behind their napkins or their wine glasses.
"Ah, a bit of wit, that’s good!” And he too turned to his attention to his lobster. Mia took the opportunity to mock his precise speech, and with a sharper, crisper, more believable British accent, she addressed him.
"And what is a distinguished Professor of English Literature doing way down south here in jolly-good Florida when he could be skinny-dipping in the freezing waters off the English coast?” That made Peters guffaw, and after drinking down his glass of water, he turned quite seriously to Mia.
"I like you, my dear, I like you a lot,” he said calmly, settling his fork down on his plate. “And you’re right, I would feel much more at home far, far away from this ungodly humidity, but the climate is not anything that I can control, and I must admit that I am here for research.”
"Research?” Mia made it evident that she didn't believe him, but he only nodded, and said nothing.
"Ha, Carlton’s idea of research is to sit out on that beautiful verandah of his with dozens of beautiful women fawning about him, a quaint letter on the way over the ocean to his superiors at Oxford, claiming that he’s knee-deep in the development and downfall of the English language in America . . . And how the country has struggled to produce literature that can’t even stand up, supposedly, to good old-fashioned British make.” This haughty response to Mia’s unanswered question came from Melanie Truman, who had a whiny Bronxian accent that made Mia inwardly cringe. She saw the look on Peters’ face and broke out into a grin.
"What’s so funny, Ms. Gianni?” Inquired Vivien innocently.
"Nothing,” was all Mia could say, and she shook her head in disbelief as she wiped at her lips with the cloth napkin.
This was going to be a long night.
They’d moved to the outside patio after dinner, to share drinks and talk quietly while breathing in the night air and relaxing. It seemed that Melanie was a very educated girl who actually could carry on a wonderful conversation full of rhetoric and sharp observation, but her voice turned most of the group off, so she ended up sitting quietly stretched out on a wicker lawn chair beneath some of the trees further off from the apartment. Harold Gregory sat on a pillow on the grass next to her chair, leaning his head against her thigh as she ran her fingers through his hair, her free hand holding a wine glass that she sipped at every once in a while.
Mr. Trent sat calmly in a group of wrought iron chairs with Dr. Peters, Mia, and Mona, while Lillian and Vivien sat away from the group in low chairs beside the balcony rail, heads leaning together in an effort to hear each other as they spoke intently on some unknown subject. The street below surrendered faded sounds of passing traffic and night life, the air warm but light, random breezes rustling through the leaves of the palm trees.
"Have you ever traveled, Ms. Gianni?” Asked the professor quietly, and she raised her glass of wine to her lips for a sip before responding.
"Of course. All good Americans do it, to learn how to outdo foreigners.”
"That’s not always the case. I do it to learn about cultures for the sake of learning. Sometimes being an American depresses me, and I have a phase where I want to belong to another way of life.” Oliver Trent knocked back a sip of his scotch and made a sound of appreciation.
"Where exactly have you been?” Mia asked, in an effort to deflect the conversation from her. It seemed that no matter what topic they were on, Peters always turned it back to her. Mona had been very quiet the whole time, making comments only rarely and offering a few tales when the moment grew dull.
"Oh, Costa Rica, Belgium, Malaysia. But I’d have to say that my favorite was France. For all the talk about the frogs hating the roast beef, they can be pretty charming when you’re polite.”
"Parlez-vous français?” Do you speak French? Trent smiled in the shadows and saluted her with his tumbler of scotch.
"Mais bien sûr, ma belle mademoiselle. Parlez-vous la langue aussi?” The group remained silent, listening. But of course, my beautiful lady. Do you speak French as well?
"Bien pour vivant comme une touriste, mais pas comme une native. Et vous?” Well enough to make it as a tourist, but not as a native. And what about you? Trent smiled again and finished off his drink.
"I lived there for five years,” he finally said, in English. “I became fluent by the middle of the second year. I had to. My girlfriend was French.” That made them all laugh.
”But of course,” murmured Mona. “How else were you going to understand her when she demanded that you get her everything in the world that she ever wanted? That’s a lot of nouns.” More laughter.
"Well, I think that it’s time I light out,” sighed the professor heavily, standing up slowly and pouring the last dregs of his brandy down his throat. “I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. I have a class to teach, as a favor to the university.”
"Good luck,” Mia said, standing as well, and proffering her hand. The rest of the guests took the cue, and in pairs and in ones, they left, shaking Mia’s hand gently and leaving Mona with kisses and hugs.
After they’d gone, Mia followed Mona to her room and helped her undress, and they both stood naked before the vanity mirror for several moments."You should let your hair grow out,” said the older woman, reaching out to lightly touch the elfin mahogany tresses. “It would look so beautiful spread out across my pillow.”
"Like yours?” Mia asked. She knelt down and put her hands at the small of Mona’s back, resting her cheek against her pale cream buttocks. She began methodically rubbing, massaging her movie star, until the redhead turned and rested the palms of her hands on Mia’s shoulders.
"I’m going to call Claude. Wait a moment.” Mona took a few steps to the bedside table and picked up the black cordless phone, then quickly dialed a number. After a second, she said into the mouthpiece, “Come over now. You know what to do.” She hung up and set the phone down on the table, looking across the room at Mia.
"I hate blonds,” Mia said, standing up slowly. She fingered the necklace that she wore around her neck, then let the slender gold chain drop, the delicate cross sliding down to nestle itself between her breasts.
"He’s only here for one thing, and that has nothing to do with liking him.” It took only another five minutes, and then there was a light knock on the door.
"Come in,” was all Mona said, and the door opened silently.
The chauffeur stepped into the room and shut it behind him, locking it, and for some awful reason Mia was compelled to touch him. She turned away from Mona and walked straight over to him, and took his hand, raising it to cup her breast, while she used her hands to begin undressing him. His palm squeezed at her breast in anticipation, and his slacks came off easily, as did his tight briefs. When he was naked, she let him enfold her for a moment before turning away, to walk with him to the bathroom. Mona followed, leaning in the doorway as she watched Mia turn on water for the shower.
In the steaming stall, under the hot water, Claude’s body moved against hers athletically, hard and ready to pleasure her, and when he mounted her against the tile wall, Mona was there to kiss her and suckle her breasts, as he thrust between her legs until his lifeless semen flowed through her insides. Then it was Mona’s turn. She squatted on her knees, her mouth filled with her driver’s member, while behind her Mia also squatted, her fingers reaching from under and behind to pleasure her lover until the driving moment. After that, it was soap and bubbles, while they bathed and kissed each other into another arousal.
Drying off, their hair still damp, they left the bathroom and moved to the bedroom again, climbing onto the bed. Mona spread her legs eagerly, and Mia bent her head between them, her tongue lapping eagerly, the smell of Mona sweet and musky around her nose. From behind, Claude thumped into her sex crudely, his hands gripping her hips for better access while she bucked back against him, her tongue deep in Mona’s sex, Mona’s fingers tangled in Mia’s short hair until they lifted away to grab the headboard. Claude continued to work himself into Mia until he came; he then drew out and bent his head between her legs, turning her to get to her sex, while Mona goaded him on gently with commands, until Mia screamed Mona’s name and pushed him away, shaking with her orgasm as she welcomed Mona to her arms.
Side by side, the three of them lay resting for a short while. Then Claude lifted Mona up before him and slid himself into her from behind, while she and Mia kissed lovingly, their fingers wandering like butterflies, before the final peak. With this last, Mona quietly told Claude that he could go, and he did so, leaving the two women to wrap themselves around each other and drift for several minutes.
Just before they were both engulfed in darkness, Mona whispered, “If you ever need him, just call. I’ll leave his number by your phone. Sometimes a good fuck just can’t wait.”"You don’t mind that I sleep with him when you’re gone?”
Mona merely smiled and kissed her lightly on her eyelids. "My darling, that’s what I got him for. When I haven’t got anyone nearby and I’m hot for some cock, I never have to worry. His apartment is two floors down. It’s always good to keep a man at hand. Otherwise, where would one’s peace of mind be?” Mia though this rather crude, but sexy.
"Hmm ... goodnight,” She finally murmured, her eyes drifting closed.
"Goodnight,” Mona responded, as she fell into sleep.
The next morning Mia realized that breakfast out on the patio was a daily ritual, and joined Mona, who seemed to be able to wake up at exactly six a.m. without a problem. The redhead was typing away on her laptop while occasionally sipping on her coffee or biting into a croissant.
"Mmm, good morning,” her lover greeted her, and Mia returned the salutation, sinking into her seat and snapping out her napkin.
"Alright," Mona said after a minute. "I’m going to be busy today, as usual. I’ve got some business to attend to.” She smiled over the screen of the laptop, taking in the view of Mia with something akin to a gleam in her eye, then sipped at a glass of water. "You’ve got an appointment tomorrow with a gynecologist. It’s all arranged.”
"So I suppose I don’t get to receive any special treatment and go without being screened, hm?”
Mona didn't smile this time, but clicked on her detachable mouse, typing in a few words before responding. "All of my companions are thoroughly examined. It’s for the safety of the rest and for myself, of course. Also, I’m a stickler for cleanliness. And genital diseases do not account for good hygiene in my book.”
Mia gave a wry smile to that and didn't bother to hide it. Mona noticed, but said nothing. Twenty minutes passed, during which Mona had finished her business on the laptop, when Mia set down her fork, finished with her fruit.
"I think I want to eat out tonight. On my own.” Finally glad for once that she could be a good liar when she really had to be, she gave no indication that she was concerned or worried about any reaction that Mona might have, good or bad. She kept her face as calm as she could. The redhead looked up from the newspaper she had just picked up and raised her eyebrows.
"Anything else you want to do?”
"Well, I thought I might visit the museum, walk on the beach. Go to a few bookstores. Crafts shops, maybe.”
"You’ll need more spending money. I’ll leave some with Gina. Things can get pretty expensive here in the city, so be careful. I’ll give you plenty, but be frugal, because by the time you get the bill for dinner, you might find that you don’t have enough.”
"I will.” The conversation was so casual that Mia was sure she had not even flurried a feather of Mona’s cool façade. When the older woman was done flipping through the paper, she stood up, picked up the closed laptop, and on her way off the patio stooped to kiss Mia sweetly on the lips.
"Any idea where you plan to go?” Mona shook her head no and smiled, blinking and giving her lover an inviting look.
"Later,” Mona whispered, and she left Mia with an intriguing smile, licking her lips as she went.
Mia did indeed begin the day with the museum and the beach. She admired some artwork but soon grew tired of it, and ended up walking barefoot in the sand at the public beach while Claude stood leaning against the car in a parking lot that lined the sand. When she was done with that, she swiped the sand grains off her feet as well as she could and climbed back into the car, pressing the button to lower the divider between the driver and passenger seats."Claude?”
"Yes, mademoiselle?” She was grateful that he chose to keep their professional and sexual relationship separate, not making her feel uncomfortable by making suggestions or behaving any differently with her than he had before she’d mounted him in the airplane lavatory.
"I want you to drop me off at the first book store you find, and go home. I’ll make my way back by taxi. I’ll be an hour or so, so don’t worry. Alright?”
"Yes, mademoiselle.” She looked at her watch. It was 3:30 p.m..
I spent a lot of time walking along the streets, peeking through windows and wandering into shops. At the bookstores I encountered, I found myself looking for erotica and fantastical horror novels, thumbing through them and trying to sort my ideas. The life that I led now was opening up new doors in my imagination, forcing me to think differently, to imagine the taboo possible. With possibilities suddenly stirring to life in my brain, I was beginning to think I could try to writing again ... though I still had my doubts. I was still afraid that if I touched a piece of paper with a pen, or put my fingertips on the keys of keyboard I'd fail yet again. I was afraid that if this happened, I’d never be able to look at myself in the mirror, or into another person’s eyes. To connect.
I bought a translation of the Kama Sutra and an edition of The Story of O, and added an instructional book on bondage, and another on homosexuality. Then I bought a few other fictional works, gothic horror rife with fanged beings, and after stopping for a cappuccino at a café, I caught a taxi back to the apartment building.
Setting the books down on the desk in my room, I arranged them in a neat stack by size, discarded the bag, and looked at my watch. It was 5 p.m. I had an hour to get ready and be waiting for Armand to fetch me.
It took me a little more than half an hour to shower, dress, fix my hair, and put on a little make-up. I of course did all of the little things that women do when they know that the night is going to be very special, and that it might perhaps turn into something more than special—erotic. I shaved where it was necessary, daubed perfume in secret places, public and private, and painted my nails quickly and efficiently in a clear, pristine color, applying a quick-drying polish and walking around barefoot as I slid earrings into the lobes of my ears. In the end, I used a curling iron to give bounce and to frame my face with loose curls. My make-up was dark but not gaudy—but I didn't like a lot. Too much made a person look cheap.
Finally, I looked at the underskin, what Armand would see if he took of my clothes. I wore a black satin demi-bra, with black lace trimming, matching panties with garters, and black pantyhose. I slid into my black, pinstriped slacks, which were slightly loose but chic, and then slid my loose-ruffled white shirt with flourished, loose cuffs on. It had a very low neck, with an alluring view of the fall from my neck to my breasts. They could not be seen, but were hinted at. Stepping into my wicked black velvet heels, which had crisscrossing straps to reveal my feet, I shrugged on my matching black pinstriped vest, buttoned it up and quickly tugged the ruffles caught beneath it up out of the chest opening, my décollétage now safely protected by ruffles of silky cotton.
I finally shrugged on a short, black, lightweight black jacket, grabbed a small purse that fit in my hand and made my way back out of the penthouse, ignoring Gina as I caught the elevator downstairs.
I caught a taxi to the café, which was only a few blocks away, and upon my arrival looked down at my watch. I’d switched to one with a tennis bracelet style, tiny diamonds marking the numbers on the face. It was ten until six.
Exactly ten minutes later a black chauffeured limousine pulled up, and out stepped Armand, gorgeous, in his own, full length, lightweight coat, black like mine. He wore an informal tuxedo, the kind with the shirt that had a Mandarin collar and the simple silk band lining it in lieu of a dress tie. He wore loose black slacks. He walked toward me with no expression on his face, his black leather dress shoes snapping on the pavement, reflecting the setting sunlight. He extended his arm.
I stood up from the café table where I’d been nursing a bottle of water, and took his hand, looking up into his face and whispering what had been on my mind ever since the night before.
"Time for a rendezvous with the devil.” At that, his smile grew deeper.
"You look stunning,” he said in a low voice, and then he led me into the back seat of the car, sliding in beside me.
"Do you know what time—“ He put his finger to my lips lightly as we rushed through the streets of Miami and made a hushing noise. I turned to look at him and saw that he was gazing deeply at me as if he were trying to see into me.
"Don’t spoil the night with useless details. This is our night. I have no idea if we’ll have another one like it again. Forget about everything else but you and I, and what we’re going to do.”
"And what are we going to do?”
His smile was slightly secretive, but his answer was willing. "Have fun,” he replied, kissing the back of my hand and refusing to say any more.
When she stepped out of the car beside him, she found herself staring up at a beautiful castle of a house, framed on one side by water and on the other by a lovely landscape.
"Who lives here?”
Armand took her hand and tucked it under his arm, leading her toward it, and she realized that the place was lit up like a carnival. There were valets and cars everywhere, and people climbing up a fountain of steps to pass through the gorgeous frame of the front façade. "No one. This is a hotel resort. Only the rich and illustrious come here.”
"I see.” He merely smiled and led her on. Once inside, they walked to a row of elevators and waited for one to come to the lobby level. "What’s this place called?”
"Pandora’s Box. Supposedly upon entering, you’ll find all the ills of the world. Politicians, plastic surgeons, lawyers ... ” Mia laughed and squeezed his arm as he gestured for her to head forward into the elevator.
"So are we staying the night?”
Armand shook his head and gestured to the old-fashioned needle above their heads which was slowly making its way toward the top floor. "The roof. Major players are up there hosting a party. For the production of a movie, which Mona is helping to fund, which is why I’m here in Miami, and which is also why I’m here tonight, with you. We’ll head for somewhere else in a little while.”
"But Mona must know that you’re here?”
The doors opened, and they stepped out onto a marble floor, which spread for several hundred square feet in all directions, framed by a network of marble columns and arches. The ceiling was for the most part a beautifully carved masterpiece of stone, but on the far side from the elevators, a crisscrossing sky of trellis woodworking overgrown with ivy, flowers and streamers, took over.
"Quite a rush, isn’t it?” Her lover asked her, and he was right. There were tons of people up here, mingling, laughing, talking, food everywhere, and several familiar, famous faces that made her realize that this party contained several of the most powerful moguls of the movie-making industry.
"How many movies is she making?” Mia whispered, and Armand threw her a sidelong smile.
"I’m afraid I can’t answer that.” He led her toward a table with a champagne fountain and filled glasses for them from the spout.
"Well, you can answer this,” Mia said, taking her drink and sipping it. “If Mona knows you’re here, isn’t it a little unsafe for me to–“
"She thinks that I’m here transacting business. If she asks people whether or not I brought a companion with me, of course they’re going to say yes, because I always do. To her, and to them, one brunette isn’t going to make much of a difference, or bother them any. If I didn't have a woman, that would worry Mona.”
"But you’re still going to transact business?” She asked this as if to reassure herself. He nodded, then kissed her lightly on the lips.
"My darling, I hope you don’t mind?”
"No, of course not!” The sound of relief in Mia’s voice seemed to puzzle him a bit, but he shrugged it off and took her gently by the elbow.
"Now, let me introduce you to some people. I’m afraid that we’re going to have to change your name. Any one that would be easy for you to respond to?”
"How about Lucia? That ought to get my attention.” He gave her a slow, amused look, as in each other’s eyes they saw the memory of their shared night with that woman.
"As you wish,” Armand said softly, with a little bow. Then he led her toward a small crowd of people and began the game.
It was eight o’clock by the time Armand extricated himself from another of the several groups he’d been holding fervent discussions with to join Mia at the rail of the far balcony. A quartet of musicians played O Sole Mio not far from them, and as he stood several feet behind her, watching her stare out at the night, he thought her undeniable and irresistible.
"Lucia!” He hissed, taking large steps toward her and suddenly drawing her up against him with one arm across her belly, so that she could feel his cock hard against her backside. He heard her gasp and as his mouth raked the arch of her neck, her head fell back over his right shoulder and her breathing turned fitful.
"Armand ... “ She didn't want to talk about the two of them, about what he had in store for them, and neither did she want to let her passion override her senses right here in public, however removed they were from the limelight. She decided to try and ply him with questions.
"I want you ... I’ll take you into the shadows, over there—“ he nodded to a small grove of potted plants that hid a bench and a stretch of carefully manicured grass. “And I will take you so thoroughly that everyone will be able to tell what we’ve been doing before we leave.” She laughed at that, and took his hands from her thighs, drawing them up to her belly, and rocked with him to the music.
"And get cited for public lewdness? I think not.” He groaned in her ear but she only closed her eyes, breathing the smell of him in, heady aftershave and subtle cologne, driving her crazy with hunger and fascination.
"Why did this party start so early?” Mia finally managed to find a logical question amid the mess of arousal in her mind.
"It’s one of those all day things,” he said, pulling away and moving to stand next to her, bracing his arms on the rail just as she had been. She stared down at the lights of the resort city, and saw the water glimmering to the left. “People come and go, starting around eleven o’clock in the morning. Some eat lunch, go off to handle some business, come back, eat dinner ... go see a movie, and come back to watch the party end at four or five o’clock in the morning.”
"When are we leaving?” He reached out to flip one of the curls that framed her face back from her cheek.
"Now.”
"You handled all of your business already?” Her brows were raised in surprise. Armand shrugged.
"Tonight’s transactions were just a formality, really. But we’ve got better things to do. Let’s go.” He took her hand and drew her close, walking with her towards the elevators directly facing them. As they maneuvered their way around tables and people, Mia became aware of the fact that people were watching them.
"Why are they looking at us?” Armand didn't even bother to look around, as if he had always been aware of it, and as if it didn't bother him in the least.
"They’re looking at you, not me. You're harder to pass off as one of my usual arm decorations. I hadn’t thought you’d catch their eye like this but all of the men I’ve been talking to have been watching you like hawks. Half of them want to fuck you; the other half wants to watch you fuck their wives.”
"How flattering,” Mia said wryly, and Armand grinned.
"I know that wasn't very classy to say, but it’s the truth. It isn’t love they want, or even sex. When men see a woman like you, it’s more inhuman, less civilized. A woman like you excites instinct.” He put his hand on the small of her back as they waited for the elevator to arrive. He turned to look over his shoulder, and nodded, seeing that the majority of men and women were still looking in their direction.
"You’re one of those women with essence. For example, Marilyn Monroe.”
"Oh, so I’m a blonde bimbo that doesn’t know how to act and her only tone of voice is a breathy whisper?” She gazed up at him frankly. The elevator had stopped several floors below and seemed stalled at that level. As they continued to wait, Armand answered.
"No. And she was far more complex than that. It means you’re a sensuous female that knowingly–or not–gets this look on her face like she wants to touch you in places you never knew you had and drive you wild.” He looked down at her, his brown eyes turning murky and unfathomable.
He went on, ”You’re not a bright, glittery, voluptuous thing with no brains. You’re dark, you’re carnal. Almost like a black widow, you know. As if you’re going to eat the man up and spit him out. Men get off on that, even if in the end they’re scared to death of you and they don’t want to have anything to do with you. They still fantasize about a woman like you. It’s about raw sexuality. You’ve got it. It’s animalian. Like you need to bare your soul and you have no compunction about doing it, and doing it right. And in the process, you intend to fulfill your lover’s every fantasy.”"What are you, a diehard Freudian?”
He did not reply, and she looked at him closely. There was something very strange in Armand’s expression during this speech. His pupils had dilated so that his irises were practically nonexistent, and his mouth had straightened into an impenetrable line, while his lids had lowered, looking at her as if he didn't trust her. She wanted to ask what the hell was the matter with him, but instead she looked up at the needle of the elevator dial and stepped away from him.
"Elevator’s here.”
In the car he reached for her as soon as the door had shut after him, and suddenly she was on top of him, still clothed, but panting, as he kissed her with insane appetite, his tongue tangling with hers so that she ended up crying his name softly, as a way of begging for mercy.
"Stop,” she breathed, and he released her from the kiss, lifting his hands to grasp her jaw and stroke her cheeks soothingly with his thumbs.
"I’ll let you take your time,” he said, and she saw that there was something odd about the way he looked at her, not quite letting her see everything he had to show beneath the dark lashes and lowered lids.
"I don’t need any time. I just ... like to have absolute control with things in my life.”
"The life you’ve chosen doesn’t allow for total control in these instances. That’s the only rule, Mia. Yes, Mona has absolute control, but doesn’t she lose some of it, isn’t she just as wild as the rest of us when she comes with your mouth between her legs?”
Mia stared at him for a long moment, then slid off of him, sitting beside him but with a few inches of seat between them. She stared out the window as she spoke.
"You didn't have to put it that way.”
Armand’s eyes narrowed even more. He saw the stiffness of her body, how she had changed from malleable and molten in his arms to distant and cold. He leaned toward her and put his lips to her ear, sensing how she steeled herself for the invasion of his voice into her mind.
"I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight you’ll ache for the rest of your life.” He said it like his voice was butter, spread across the palate of her senses, low and stroking her mind like velvet wine, drowning her for a moment in a sense of uncertainty and confusion, but as the car stopped he pulled away. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him until they were out on the sidewalk, a very inviting restaurant filled with candlelight, chandeliers, and quiet romance immediately before them.
"Shall we?”
She turned to look up at him and saw that his demeanor had changed completely. Now he was once again debonair, charming, warm and invitingly sexy, not dark and sadistic as he had been mere moments ago. She shook her doubt to the back of her brain, took his arm, and went in.
During dinner they talked small talk. They revealed nothing about themselves and Mia was pleased with that, not wanting to risk hurting herself if she let this man know too much and he used such information against her. He was right: all that the two of them wanted was a purely sexual relationship, one that would satisfy their need for danger and secrecy, for rebellion and flirting with disaster. There was something about what was going on between them that made Mia think that he was the devil, and she, his mistress.
"If I return really late, what am I going to say to Mona?” Armand looked over his glass of red wine and smiled a tiny smile for a moment. Yes, something about him had definitely changed tonight. That wasn't a nice smile. It was warped, almost imperceptibly, into something cruel.
"Tell her you went to a club with some people you met. Tell her that the men of the group were all with someone, and that you really just sat and watched and didn't realize how quickly the time had passed.“
"Knowing Mona, she’ll probably be able to smell you on me.” She didn't realize that she was intimating what the rest of the night between them might involve.
"Probably. But not if you immediately get in the shower and then get into your nightclothes. She’ll just have to take your word on anything she asks you.” Mia felt compelled to speak to him about what had been bugging her since they’d left the party. Without thinking, she reached across the table and covered his right hand with her left. He looked at her, waiting.
"Armand, I need to know what’s going on. Those words you used, those things you said when we were waiting for the elevator, and the look you had on your face ... it seemed a little ... strange. Not to mention what you said in the car. It didn't seem like you.”
"Of course it didn't. But you’ll find out everything later. For now, we dine.” He raised his glass of wine in a silent toast to her, but she shook her head and didn't move her hand from his. Instead, she applied a little pressure. At this, Armand’s eyes darkened to almost black, their hazy, raw honey brown gone. He looked dangerous now.
"No—I want to know what instigated this change in ... in you. I mean, have I done anything to make you feel less ... kindly toward me?”
He laughed, a short, dry laugh. "Mia, you’ve been doing things like that ever since I met you. But—“ He set down his wine glass and leaned back in his seat, slowly drawing his hand away from hers. "I can see that you’re concerned. As you should be. All that I’ll say is that you’re the one who put yourself in this position.”
"Me? What position?” Mia took her hand back and stared hard at him. He smiled again, this time more gently.
"My sweet, do you remember when I asked you if you’d ever been raped before?” Slowly, Mia nodded.
"And when I asked you if I should do so to you, and you said yes?” She nodded again. He raised his eyebrows as if the reasoning were clear.
"You were inviting the devil in, my dear, and it’s not his fault, because he didn't try at all to mislead you.” She thought she was beginning to understand, but then again, she wasn't sure of what she was even trying to understand.
"And do you remember asking if it turned me on, my watching Mona take you like she did? You were toying with me, and you knew it.” Mia could say nothing, could only stare at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it didn't. “And after I’d had you in the fitting room, yesterday? Do you remember saying that you didn't think you wanted to see me again? Do you remember reminding me about that night in San Francisco? Do you remember San Francisco?” Mia nodded, very slowly, almost robotically. Finally, Armand shrugged.
"You see? None of it is my fault.”
"None of what is your fault?” What the hell was he talking about? But Armand only smiled vaguely and refused to say any more on the subject.
After dinner she walked cautiously beside the man that she was fast coming to regard as dangerous and waited silently to see what he would tell her of what would happen next. He said nothing at all, but helped her into the car, and remained silent the whole ride. As they rode, she recognized the street they were on as the one where she was staying. They turned slowly down a side street and drove up to the rear entrance of the hotel where she realized that Armand resided.
They took an express, executive guests only, elevator to the next to last floor from the roof, and walked across a short hall to the one entrance available to them. It was a double door, ornately carved and paneled.
"The Imperial Suite,” was all that Armand said, and she glanced up at the room number. 2600. All alone on this floor, like a penthouse, but not on the very top. Was it just a rule of thumb that Mona and her cohorts should keep the top floors all to themselves?
As soon as the door shut behind them, he took her jacket from her and directed her to take a seat at the bar, picking up a remote control to turn on some latin jazz on low volume. He disappeared for several moments, then returned without his suit jacket, walking around in just the silk shirt which had romantically billowing sleeves, and slacks. He went behind the bar, plucked a glass from the overhead hangers, and stirred up a concoction. Handing it to her, he made his own.
"What is it?” She stared at the liquid, lifting the tumbler to the dim lights of the bar and trying to determine by look and smell.
"Something to loosen you up. You’re going to have to be very flexible tonight.” She set the glass down and started to get off of the bar stool.
"Stay where you are,” Armand began, and something hard in his voice made her look back at him and obey. “And drink it,” he finished.
She did as he commanded. It tasted rough but sweet, and since she hardly drank anything but champagne or wine, she had no idea what it was. Remembering that night with Mona when she’d picked a drink she’d never had before and nearly killed herself with it, she wondered if she’d end up drunk as hell and incoherent after finishing just this one.
So she didn't finish it. She drank half of it and set it back down, then looked up coldly at Armand, who'd just about finished his. He gave her an evil smile, full of teeth, and walked around the bar to take her hand before leading her to the bedroom.
“I don’t trust you anymore,” Mia began, feeling the drink kick in and make its molten way through her limbs, relaxing her against her will as Armand began to undress her.
"I know,” he said calmly, without concern, and when she was naked he started on his own clothes.
Bare, he walked her slowly to a couch that sat before a warm, roaring fire. They stood behind it. It was green, like the room he’d first made love to her in. Above the mantel was a huge, lusciously framed mirror, in which she saw herself being loosely positioned, so that her hands held onto the back of the couch, the back reaching her upper thighs. She was made to lean forward slightly, and she watched in the mirror as he bent his head, hand taking hold of his cock, the head of it pushing against her inner lips. Then she felt him enter, pushing in firmly from behind, as his eyes ran up and down her body via the mirror.
"This is crazy,” she breathed, reaching back to take his neck and pull him closer. He rode higher into her, his face turning, his lips almost, but not quite, touching hers.
"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
She closed her eyes, felt her perverse side surge inside of her as his sex did the same, pumping, pumping, driving her forward so that she had to push back to hold her balance. His mouth made a smoke trail along the path of her naked neck.
"No ... you call this a rape?” With that, Armand disengaged, and knelt down where she couldn’t see him. He wouldn’t let her turn to watch what he was doing. All of a sudden, she felt his hands part her from behind, and his tongue circle her anus. Crying out, Mia fought the hold of his hands on her hips until he laughed at her and let her go. She whirled around and put her hands on his shoulders, then pushed him so hard he fell on his ass. He wasn't laughing any more.
"You bastard. What kind of games are you playing?” He just stared up at her, and she couldn’t help herself: she slowly sank to the floor, her knees on either side of him, and felt his sex claim its place inside her womb.
"Not even close to the kind that you’ll be playing soon enough,” he said, and he put his hand on the small of her back and worked her down over him until she couldn’t move anymore they were so well clamped together. He fell backward, lay against the carpeting of the floor.
"What did you mean?” Mia panted, leaning forward so that her breasts did not quite touch his smooth, golden chest, her hands pressing against the floor at his sides. “What did you mean, that I put myself in this situation? That it wasn't your fault?”
"Not yet,” he answered, and he pushed her gently off of him and stood, to pick her up and carry her to the bed. He set her down roughly so that she bounced on the mattress. “Now, I’ll show you what I meant by inviting the devil in. You should know better, my darling.”
"What—“ He had reached to the side for something, and then she felt the slide of silk against her wrists. Before she knew it, they’d been tied together.
"What the hell are you doing!” Mia cried softly, not sure that she wanted to escape, not sure that she wanted to be a part of this. But isn’t this what she’d wanted? To be taken, thoroughly and cruelly, against her will? By somebody who wanted her just as much as she wanted him?
"I told you what I was going to do. Do you remember?”
She said nothing, only stared up at him. He was tying her bound wrists to the middle of the headboard. The realization began to dawn, another itch at the back of her brain, something ...
"Oh, such wide, beautiful eyes won’t let you off without a punishment, darling. Do you remember what I said? Answer me.” He didn't raise his voice, but she could hear the hot, hard anger in it. She suddenly realized that he was arousing her, that she could feel the pooling wetness between her thighs, that however dangerous this was, she liked it.
"Yes,” she gasped, and then he pulled out of sight. She felt his hands against each of her ankles, now separate. The air between her legs was abruptly chilly, and then she felt Armand’s fingers slide lightly between her nether lips.
"I can see that you weren’t lying. You do want this, don’t you? You’re ready for it, aren’t you?”
"Yes, yes ...” She stared at him, as he rose above her, but he didn't touch her. He’d removed his fingers.
"You’re soaking wet, Mia. You've got a dripping cunt. But do you remember what I said I would do to you?” She nodded, slowly, staring up at him with frightened eyes.
"Tell me,” he directed gently, leaning forward and playing with one, tender nipple of one of her breasts as he waited.
"Word for word?”
He nodded, the darkness in his eyes making her very, very hungry. He was seducing her, he was torturing her, and she was loving every goddamn minute of it. "Word for word,” he agreed slowly.
"You ... you’re going to ...” She closed her eyes, and felt his mouth replace his fingers, sucking hard and then lightly on the tip of her breast, driving her crazy ...
"Yes, go on ... ” He sucked harder, and she cried out huskily, then pulled herself together, trying to respond. Her ankles were again encircled, but not by fingers. This time they were attacked by silken bonds and tied to the end posts of the bed. She struggled against them, and worked her wrists, but got nowhere.
"Ah, you just make yourself more appetizing when you do that, Mia. You make me want to make sure that you really hurt. Now, tell me.” She realized then, the entire truth, of what was between them so far. She parted her lips, took a breath, and let the words come out.
"I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight you’ll ache for the rest of your life.”
Armand froze, then slowly lifted his head to stare down at her. She had said it as if it were the other way around, and the look on his face, before he finally took her, in rage and blind lust, permanently stamped itself on that itch in her brain and forever filled her with a sense of power. Mona had been right. In her willingness to submit, she was stronger than her master. She had tasted a little bit of what Mona had turned into an art. And it felt good.
It was around one o’clock in the morning when in the darkness Mia slowly rolled onto her side and pushed herself up into the sitting position, groaning inwardly with the pain. He hadn’t lied. She wasn't sure how she was going to be able to hide the bruises his hands and teeth and silk ties had left all over her watery limbs, but she’d manage it. She closed her eyes and sighed, and looked over at the alarm clock all the way across the room, its faint neon colors telling her the time.
In silence, she reached out to her side to find the mussed hair of the man that had raped her repeatedly, that had made her do shameless things, and that had made her cry out his name too many times to count. But she’d won the game. She was determined to keep on doing so. She liked her power too much to give it up.
Armand stirred, and lifted his arm weakly, his hand accidentally finding her breast and trailing down to rest wearily on her naked hip.
"What are you doing?” His voice was warped with sleep. It had only been a couple of hours since he’d untied her and covered her with himself before they’d fallen into a deep slumber from which only an instinctive subconscious warning about Mona could wake Mia.
"I’ve got to go.” She pulled away from him and slipped over to the other side of the bed, and as she moved to get off of it, his hand took hold of her tender wrist, causing her to curse under her breath and hold very, very still, to stave off any minute movement that might give her any more unnecessary pain.
"Are you sore?” He asked, his voice still thick with sleep but sounding more aware of the world around him. He sounded half determined to make sure he’d kept his promise, and half sorry.
"Of course I am, you son of a bitch; you fucked me over ten times.”
She didn't care right now about the vulgarity of her words, only the need to get dressed and to find her way back to Mona’s penthouse. Armand cleared his throat and rolled over fully to face her, his face half buried in the sheets that were torn and stained with their sexual juices, their sweat and their blood. Not a lot of blood, but enough to shock the maids that would clean the room later and make them wonder with raised eyebrows and wide-eyed looks at each other. That made her think."Take the sheets off the bed and throw them in the fireplace: torch them. Tell the desk you’ll pay for them. Knowing you, you’ll have no problem with that.” She stared down at him for a long moment, seeing the warm eyes glinting in the darkness. The moonlight glimmered through the gauzy curtains and bounced off the walls of the room, soaking their skin in milky light.
"Let me go,” she said softly, too softly, and waiting silently, she felt deep satisfaction in knowing that when push came to shove, he would obey her, for he gently released her wrist.
She found her clothes somehow in the darkness, and knowing that she might stain them, she gingerly put them on, cautiously, careful of her hurting wrists and ankles, the movements of the rest of her body slow and like underwater ballet, because every other part of her was sore as well, though in a duller, easier to handle way. It still hurt, but if she took her time, she would get through her ministrations successfully.
When she was finally dressed, she stared down at her shoes and shook her head—that hurt too—and gave up, deciding to just go without wearing them. Bending over slowly to pick them up by the backs with the tips of her fingers, she straightened up just as deliberately and looked over at her lover. He had moved to sit up at the edge of the bed, his legs hanging over the side. The bed itself was built high, so his feet dangled almost childishly, making her feel something strange in the center of her chest. Fond.
"Alright,” she said, trying not to breathe out too heavily as she spoke, because that made her cringe in pain, “time for me to go.”
"You look like you just got run over by a car.”
Her look was piercing and sarcastic, as much as it could be without moving her head too much. "I did.”
Her voice was raw and sharp as a knife. He gave no outward response to that and only watched her as she turned carefully, her arms lifting outward from the hips for balance, and made her gradual way to the door. When she got there, she turned.
"I need your phone number. Write it down—don’t write anything else—and stick it in my purse.” Fumbling around in the darkness for the hotel pen and stationery, he wrote the number down in the dark, deliberately and without hesitation, as if he had done it a thousand times before, and did as she asked with it. He stood directly beside her when he’d put it in her purse, and after she looked at him, then at the door, he reached out to turn the knob and pull it open.
"Thank you.”
She could tell by the way he was looking at her that he was trying to figure out the next step between them, trying to gauge her reaction, trying to figure her out. Perhaps he thought, being the gigolo that he was, that he had figured the female race out, and that he could categorize her like all the rest. And perhaps he had forgotten the universal rule, unchanging, unquestioned, unchallengeable by anyone but God, a cat, or a gay man: Only a woman can figure another woman out. She decided to leave him wondering what was going on in her head. Whatever conclusions that he came up with he would act upon, and it would be interesting to see what actions he would take. Knowing that he’d probably be wrong, she looked forward to seeing him make a fool out of himself.
"I’ll call you.” She said this just before she turned to head towards the entrance to the suite, but just as she did so, his lips brushed the nape of her neck, somehow managing to still stir some physical emotion in her, reminding her body of the ache she’d been beginning to get over.
Armand followed her to the outer door and opened it for her, because the both of them knew that she wouldn’t be able to handle the huge latch and the bolt on her own. As she stood on the threshold, ready to leave, her naked lover reached out a hand to gently brush a lock of her short, mahogany hair from the sides of her face, smiling slightly and almost tenderly as he did so."It’s Tuesday,” Mia said matter-of-factly, wondering how he felt about that.
"Don’t worry,” he replied calmly, his smile growing wider and letting her see some of the original Armand, the one that made her feel chastely safe and warmly cherished. “We’ll have plenty of time.”
For what, she wasn't sure, and she felt that perhaps she didn't really want to know.