Part Four
"Keep perfectly still," he said, lifting the knife towards
me. "I don't wish to hurt you."
I didn't need telling twice. I whimpered hysterically,
concentrating on the predatory metal glinting in the orange
light of the twin spots. It was pointing directly at me,
getting closer and closer. I sucked in my breath and I
couldn't let it out again, my chest muscles had seized.
"What are you doing?" I faltered, as the tip of the knife
approached and touched the wool of my sweater. Such a silly
question! But god, what's he doing now? Lazily, he was
moving the knife lower; it flicked at the belt of my jeans;
lower it went, maintaining its contact with the blue faded
denim. It came to rest at my cunt. He pressed it harder
against me. I tensed; I could feel the steel biting into the
material of my jeans, pressing against the soft flesh of my
cunt. I was simply terrified. I had no idea who this guy was
or what he was capable of. My hands tightened into little
fists; all the blood drained from my face.
"Please!" I whined. "Please, no."
He kept the knife pressed against me, an obscene substitute
phallus pressing at my gates. "Firmness and control," he
said. "You're not going to be so silly as to scream or
fight, are you Vickie?"
"No," I was begging him, really begging him. "Please, take
it away."
"I'm afraid I can't do that yet," he explained. "It has this
little job to do."
He took hold of the sleeve of my jacket. "You will keep
still, won't you Vickie. You could so easily get hurt.
Seriously, I would hate for that to happen."
I had already answered the question once, but I didn't
intend to remind him of that. I nodded. Yes I was definitely
going to keep very still.
From the cuff of my jacket, he sliced upwards towards the
shoulder. "Shame to spoil such a nice jacket," he said
sympathetically. "Especially as you've only just bought it."
He sliced open the other sleeve. "But then, you shouldn't
have worn it this morning."
He slid the knife under the shoulder of the jacket and
sliced across the top; first this side, then the other. It
was an unnerving experience, how can I describe it? I've
never known anything that compares, nor want to again. To
feel the heat of his burning concentration upon me as he
took hold of my clothing and then the sheer violence of the
attacking knife and its destructive effect. I felt confused,
contrite, humiliated at being forced to stand and allow him
to scythe the clothes from my body. All the time, meanwhile,
he kept speaking to me, telling me how sexy I was, how
pretty my legs were, my back, my arms. I could tell from the
state of his erection that he told me no lies. He spoke
calmly, clearly and authoritatively.
Why was he doing this to me? He could have asked me to
undress, he could have told me to strip. I know he could
easily have made me. I would have scowled; blushed; sworn,
but then I would have had to do it.
Instead, I stood penitent as the blade flashed back and
forth within millimeters of my skin. I heard the terrible
scream as it sheared cloth asunder. First my jacket fell in
shreds to my feet. Then my sweater was torn apart.
Only my belt was sacred. He lay the knife on the coffee
table to unclasp the buckle. I glanced at the knife, its
malicious blade lying there naked as he yanked my leather
belt through the hoops of my jeans.
"An excellent tool for discipline," he explained, flicking
the tail not too lightly in the direction of my ass. "We
can't destroy such a fine instrument." He flicked it at me
again, a little harder. I yelped which brought a broad grin
to his face. I, on the other hand, was rueful. He swapped
the belt for his knife and I stood pensive as he then knelt
at my feet scything my jeans into small swatches and then
lifted my feet out of my shoes.
This accomplished; he sat down and looked at me, his cock in
his hand. The knife was placed back on the table. "You have
a very sexy body made even sexier by some very fetching
underwear," he complimented. "Did you buy it for me?"
His hand was moving up and down over his cock, slowly,
regularly. "Yes," I murmured.
"Pardon?"
"I said 'yes'," I repeated.
"Turn round."
I swiveled round one hundred and eighty degrees to face the
fire. However, I could still sense the heat of his gaze on
my rear.
"Nice ass."
"Thank you," What else should one say?
"Stockings too. Turn round."
I swiveled to face him. He was examining my chest. I wanted
to draw my arms across my bosom but knew this to be a
mistake.
He was very turned on; I knew it because I could see the
state of his erection. He said, "I like the way that bra
pinches your nipples and makes them point up. It's very
erotic."
I looked down. Was it? I could see my tits through the sheer
black fabric and the nipples too, but I couldn't make out
which way they were pointing.
"And the way those stockings cling to your legs and make
them seem even longer than they are."
I caught my breath. He had got up. Still rubbing his cock he
approached me and with his free hand felt for one of my
nipples inside my bra. He squeezed it. Then he did so again,
harder. I gasped.
"Do you like that?" He kept his tight hold on my nipple as
he awaited my answer.
"Yes." The relief as he let go.
"Sophie told me you like your teats to be treated roughly.
Would you like me to do it some more?"
Damn Sophie. Why had she told him? But, of course, he had me
now. I could only acquiesce. "You know that I would."
"Then ask me to cut off the rest of your clothes."
I held my breath as he found my other nipple and squeezed
it. Closing my eyes and blushing red, I whispered: "Please.
Will you cut them off."
"Not good enough." His fingers squeezed tighter; not
painfully tight but enough that I couldn't ignore it.
"Pardon?" I squealed.
"That's not good enough. You've got to ask me properly."
I looked him in the eyes and spoke from the heart. "Please,
sir. I need you to use your knife to slice all my clothes
off me. Please, I want you to strip me naked and then do
whatever you want with me."
He smiled and released my nipple releasing a tidal wave of
arousal. God help me! "Good. Very good," he said, picking up
the knife from the table.
He started with my suspender belt and my stockings, then
continued by slicing off my bra and panties. He enjoyed
these most of all, slipping the blade between skin and
cloth, then snicking at the material. "Very nice, very
attractive," he said, complimenting my bare tits. "Sophie
told me they were good."
I blushed. Sophie again. What right had Sophie to talk about
my tits? My cut my panties and these fell to the floor.
"Excellent," came his compliment. "I'm real pleased you
decided to trim it for me. Are you wet?"
He had reduced me from fully clothed woman to a quivering
nude in a matter of minutes without me being able to do a
thing about it. Yes, I was wet. God, this was my fantasy.
How did he think I would react? I nodded.
"Good," he said, sitting down once again on his chair. He
stroked the tip of his cock. "Now, pick up the remains of
your clothes and put them on the fire."
I was sure I couldn't have heard him right. "Pardon?" I
said. They may have been in tatters and unusable, but there
was something so final about committing their remains to the
fire.
"I shan't tell you again," he warned.
The knife was still in his free hand. I don't believe for a
second that he intended it as a threat, but it sure focused
my priorities. I am petrified of being cut.
Fuck, I only just thought. Damn her, Sophie told him that.
The bitch told him. She told him how much I hate knives. I
bent down and collected what had been my clothes into a
pile.
"Not all at once," he said softly. "Feed it, watch as the
flames consume the cloth. Allow yourself time to think, to
worry."
I tossed a handful of cloth into the flames. The fire licked
round and then sprang up. The little bundle of cloth fell
apart, blackened and burned, and then finally disintegrated.
We watched together, quietly and contemplatively. As the
fire died down, I threw on the next portion. Three more
times I fed it and each time it waited, teased and then
reduced my clothing to nothing.
We watched for a good five minutes after the last was gone.
I sensed that he was waiting for something. "The shoes too,"
he said when I inquired.
I knew better than to disobey. The knife was still on the
table. I picked up my shoes and tossed them onto the fire
too.
"Very good," he said.
This time he didn't wait to see the plastic blister and
melt. He got up and disappeared into the kitchen for a few
moments, quickly returning with a white plastic pot, pint
size on which there was a lid.
"Now, how would you like to suck my cock?" he asked, placing
the pot on the coffee table next to the knife.
"I don't do that," I said flatly, looking suspiciously at
the pot. "It's dirty, repulsive."
"But I like to have my cock sucked," he responded.
I threw him a blistering look. Behind me, my shoes were now
ablaze.
"It's all a matter of attitude," he said, "It's not so hard
if you approach it right." He picked up the pot and opened
it. Inside there was a thick white sticky liquid.
"Tell me" he asked, holding out the pot for me to examine.
"What do you think this is?"
"How would I know?" I scowled, totally ignoring his
offering. He placed it in front of me on the coffee table,
then sat back down on the sofa. His cock was no longer as
hard as it had been a couple of minutes before. It lay
languidly upon his upper thigh.
He said: "I want you to grab hold of some of that stuff in
your hands and rub it onto my cock and my balls."
"And if I don't?"
He pointed towards the wall with its set of six photographs.
"One of those will end up in a place where you'd rather it
didn't."
"Bastard!"
"It's your choice."
I sighed, dipping one of my cuffed hands into the pot. What
choice? The liquid it contained was disgusting; it was cold,
wet and sticky. It looked like the result of some bizarre
fund raising event in which a whole football team has just
jerked off for charity. On the other hand, it smelled like
yogurt. Indeed I'm sure that it was yogurt. I sat on the
parquet floor in front of him, and rubbed it into the thick
length of his cock. It was an uncomfortable task to be
forced to perform. I am not an innocent by any means. I have
handled a fair handful of cocks in my time. But it's always
been as part of a loving encounter; this was so impersonal,
so medical. He, presumably, felt differently. As soon as I
began, his tool thickened and hardened at my touch.
"That's nice, extremely nice. Now pull the foreskin back,
Vickie," he instructed. "You must get it everywhere, behind
the foreskin too, inside, outside, make sure you rub it well
in."
"You're enjoying this," I protested. He couldn't very well
deny it. I held the evidence in my hands, solid and turgid
and erect.
Denial was not, though, on his mind. "That's why you're
here," he agreed, as he lay sprawled across the sofa,
relaxing to the touch of my fingers. "That's your purpose,
Vickie. Teamwork, remember. We work as a team to ensure I
have a good time. Rub it into my balls too. You mustn't
forget my balls. Massage it well in."
I didn't forget his balls. I cupped them in my palms and
worked the yogurt into his skin. I kept going for several
minutes knowing this had as much to do with providing him
with a nice climax as it did with getting yogurt onto his
cock. My hands were now covered in the thick white stuff and
I sensed that that climax wasn't too far away.
But, it seemed; I hadn't fully understood the plan. He
lifted my hands from his erection.
"Now, a slight change of position required." He unfastened
my cuffs and then refastened them with my hands behind my
back.
"I'm sure, you can guess what comes next," he said. "I want
every bit of yogurt licked from my cock. That includes what
you have wiped on my legs and belly as well as what hides in
the folds of my foreskin."
I shook my head slowly. "I told you. I don't suck cock."
"Let's try this again. Are you going to make me get nasty?
eh?" He took the knife from the table and gently took the
weight of one of my breasts with the face of its blade. The
blade was actually facing away from my body so I suppose I
was safe, but it set my phobias soaring. The cold steel
against my warm breast was mind numbing.
"What was that you said?" he hissed, keeping the icy steel
under my titty.
I gulped. "Whatever you say," I muttered.
"That's better," he nodded, taking away the knife. "So, if
you prefer, if it helps, forget that it's my cock. You like
yogurt, don't you?"
"It's okay," I said guardedly.
"That's all that matters. Just think about the yogurt.
You're not going to taste anything unusual or unpleasant.
It's just yogurt."
I glared suspiciously. He laughed. "It isn't going to bite
you," he said.
I was unhappy about doing it but didn't see that I had much
of a choice. I bent into the space between his legs. That
cock seemed even longer, even thicker this close up. "Start
wherever you like," he said. "Just get used to it first."
I took an initial tentative lick down at the stem. I think
it may even have been from off his belly. I just skimmed a
little off the top of the yogurt, making sure my tongue came
nowhere near him or his tool.
"That's good," he encouraged, taking hold of my nipples and
using them to pull me gently forward. "Keep going."
I did. I kept licking, progressively getting more
adventurous. At first, I cleared the area around the stem.
Then, finding that not too irksome, I began to stray further
and further up the length of his cock. He used my nipples as
a way of telling how well I was doing. When I pleased him,
he played with them, building up my excitement. Once when I
nipped him, he pinched me hard and I shrieked in protest.
When I got lazy, so did he. I learned quickly that to get
what I wanted, I would have to give him what he wanted.
None of which was as bad as I had built up in my mind. I'm
sure the yogurt helped in masking any strange smell or
taste. I licked away; long sensuous licks by now in which I
scooped up this strange white coating, swallowed it, and
then received bountifully the reward of a pleasuring of my
teats.
I was proud of my work. His cock had grown mean and angry
due to my attention. The skin was drawn back and the cock
meat itself was exposed, covered in globules of yogurt.
"Now," he said. "Remember that you need to get right under
the foreskin to lick up the yogurt there."
I was beginning to enjoy myself. Whoever would have thought
that sucking cock could be so easy and pleasant.
"Take it right into your mouth," he instructed. "Gorge
yourself. Don't be frightened by it, it's not going to hurt
you."
I could still taste the sweet stickiness of the yogurt
although I had by now removed virtually all of it. Rather
than being coated in it, the yogurt now merely lubricated
the outside of his cock and helped with the sucking.
At that point a horrible foreboding began to grow inside me:
he was going to come soon. I could feel him tense as his
climax got closer. I felt it in my mouth, if you know what I
mean. And I tensed too. What was I to do? Although I had
imagined otherwise, sucking had not been unpleasant, but I
couldn't take his jism in my mouth. I just couldn't.
He stopped me, pulling his cock from my mouth. What now? He
had dipped a finger into the pot and it was covered with a
dollop of yogurt. "Put this in your mouth," he commanded,
holding out his finger towards me. "Swill it around but
don't swallow. It will help disguise the taste."
I accepted his offer gratefully. "When it comes," he said,
pushing his hard penis back into the comfort of my mouth.
"Mix it and the yogurt together and then swallow. It's not
as bad as you fear. Trust me."
I held that yogurt within my mouth as I sucked him again. It
only took a few strong sucks upon that groaning organ to
make him begin to shoot. As he did so, he lost some of his
unflagging control in the frenzy of coming. He thrust his
dick deep into my mouth, holding my head in his hands and
pulling it onto his cock. It hit the back of my throat at
the end of his strokes and I gagged. For a moment there was
panic in my eyes. I couldn't handle it. He was impaling me
upon his cock, and I was helpless, way beyond my limits.
That moment was ethereal, magic. This was why I was here.
This was why I had come to Scotland to be with him rather
than being at home with Richard in London. I had come to be
his plaything, his sexual toy. I was here to be used and
nothing more. How can I describe it? It was horrible and yet
it was also exquisite.
I felt him spasm. Oh God! He was going to come. I tried to
slurp the yogurt around my mouth, anxiously waiting for his
jism to fountain forth.
I felt the first spurt, then the second, and then the third
fire out of his cock and splatter against the roof of my
mouth. God, this was incredible. I could feel every nuance
of his orgasm, the quivering of his cock as it was about to
erupt and the retraction a moment later. It was me that was
making his cock do this, my mouth and tongue that were
responsible for his come. And I still hadn't the faintest
idea who he was.
But the yogurt idea wasn't working. Or maybe it was, maybe
it was just that I didn't understand what was supposed to
happen. I could taste the individual flavors of the yogurt
and his come in my mouth; the amalgam was still only partly
mixed. His cock though, was the cocktail stirrer, blending
them into one.
I sucked it, I savored it and then I swallowed.
Ten minutes passed, the first couple in silence. They were
frustrating minutes because I had been juicing nicely. His
hands on my breasts had got me hot and sexy and I was high
and flying. But now that he had come, he had simply left me,
abandoned me to cold turkey. With my hands cuffed behind my
back I could do nothing to placate my aching breasts and
although I squeezed my legs together, this brought only
limited relief. He was amused by my predicament.
"You are angry with me because I haven't given you an
orgasm?" There was a smile glinting within his eyes. The
bastard, he was enjoying watching me squirm. Literally, I
mean, he had me squirming, pressing my legs together.
"No," I said proudly. I wasn't going to humiliate myself by
admitting how worked up I was.
"Good," he said, getting up. The smile was now in his words.
He was teasing me. "I will make you a drink to clean out
your mouth."
Damn him. Damn, damn, damn! The aching within my body was
pleading for succor. I was so let down, so frustrated. He
handed me a coke laced with vodka to wash the strange
flavors from my mouth. Thankfully, he unlocked my hands
first and it was with considerable relief that I was able to
rub my wrists and stretch my arms.
What self control it took to keep my hands out of my pussy.
It was only that he was there, watching me that goaded my
pride and gave me strength.
It was a strange, peculiar interlude, this, in which we
reverted to being strangers. Once I had finished my drink,
he asked me whether I was enjoying my vacation. What a
question! Very politely I told him that I was, that I had
found the locals very friendly and their country
breathtaking. Nothing too cordial, I was still annoyed at
him.
He told me that the air force had used this area for
practice during the second world war. On Loch Eriboll, for
instance, the deepest of the sea lochs hereabouts, there is
an island that was used as a stand-in for the battleship
Terpitz.
"How fascinating," I lied.
"You should visit the Tourist Information Centre," he
suggested, handing me a sandwich.
The sandwich was wrapped in cellophane and carried a price
tag from a Durness grocery store. It cost one pound and
seventy-five pence since you're interested. I ripped it open
and tucked in hungrily.
"You can take a shower, if you like," he said. "Before we
get back to work."
***
Lunch break over, he took me upstairs to a small basic room
with plain bottle green curtains, pine furniture and a
double bed. The covers had already been pulled off the bed
and folded into a neat pile behind the door. Only a white
sheet covered the mattress. He pushed me onto the bed. "Lie
back," he commanded.
It seemed that my relative freedom was to be short lived. He
held up the two pairs of cuffs and shook them gently from
side to side. They jangled fatalistically. Obediently, I
offered my arms for him to imprison.
"To the headboard, this time," he said, snapping shut a
bracelet round my wrist. I knew better than to argue. In
fact, I suspect that it was more that I didn't want to
argue, I wanted him to be in control and the cuffs empowered
him. He pulled my arms above me and snapped the other
bracelet of the cuffs to the bed's headboard.
"Excellent," he said, gazing upon my bare quivering breasts.
My large pink nipples hardened and grew from being noticed.
He planted a soft kiss on the bone of my chest, mid way
between them.
"Now," he said, climbing off the bed. "You get your reward
for good behavior." He was heading for the door.
I had showered, relaxed and now I was nicely warm with a
pleasant aching in my pussy. That had not gone away. I
didn't want him to leave me. I heard his bare feet upon the
wooden steps as he first descended and then returned
sporting the pot of yogurt. What now? His fingers
disappeared into the pot and then reappeared trailing its
contents in a steady stream. This rivulet fell and splashed
around my pussy. "God," I thought, suddenly finding four
from a pair of twos, he's going to lick me out.
He placed the yogurt pot onto the small cabinet in front of
a blue lamp alongside the bed. "So if this is your darkest
fantasy," he asked, slowly spreading the splattered yogurt
onto my pussy hair. "What is it that you have to arrange for
Sophie?"
I sucked in my breath. Having his hand on my mound was
driving me crazy. He was massaging me steadily with the tips
of his fingers. The same way that my shampooist massages the
shampoo into the hair on my head: that's also quite nice but
this was in a different galaxy. How could he expect me to
talk if he was going to continue doing that?
"I don't know," I puffed. "Sophie and I haven't really
discussed it yet."
"No? That's not what she told me."
"What did she tell you?" The warning bells were ringing and
I knew that this was a bad question, but he was distracting
me and it slipped out.
"She told me that you had agreed for her to sleep with
Richard. He's your fiance, yes?"
"I haven't agreed to anything."
He was pushing the yogurt down towards my clitoris, and then
further inside. He was pushing as far as he could reach. I
couldn't believe how far in he was pushing it. Surely he
wasn't going to lick there!
"No? So what did you say?"
He slapped some more yogurt on me. What did I say? I
couldn't be bothered to think. "I don't remember."
"That's a convenient memory, you've got. She told me that
she hoped to get her chance today or tomorrow while you're
away."
That was impossible. "Richard isn't there," I said with
confidence. "He's in Manchester."
He pulled my legs wide apart. I saw his eyes searching,
scrutinizing my open cunt. His hands released my ankles and
my legs remained passively where they had been placed. I
squirmed under the heat of his burning gaze and let out a
few quick breaths. Never had I known myself to be this naked
and vulnerable; never had my skin been so sensitive to a
man's touch. Rather than soothing, the skin where he was
rubbing the yogurt was on fire. He wiped it around each side
of my slit and then into the area between my cunt and my
anus. God! How could I concentrate on conversation while he
was doing such things?
"You're wrong," he said. "Richard came home yesterday." Very
deliberately the stranger placed a large dollop of yogurt on
my clit. "Strange, that. Him coming home while you're away.
Doesn't it make you wonder what may be going on between
those two?"
Try as I might, I couldn't think of any reason why Richard
would have come home early. However, I also didn't
understand why the stranger was trying to incite me to
jealousy. He was stirring such nice feelings in my lower
parts and then souring them with his talk.
"Do you think Richard will fuck Sophie?" he asked, quite
nonchalantly, rubbing the stuff around another lap of my
clit.
I glared at him and held my tongue. Not only was I angry,
but also this question was deliberately provocative. Why was
he spoiling things? What was his motive?
I ignored him. Although, having said that, I have to admit
that it's very hard to totally ignore someone who's got his
or her hand inside your genitals, especially when that
person decides to use that situation to their advantage by
squeezing hard where flesh is tender.
"Ouch!" I cried.
"I was talking to you," he pursued. "Do you think they will
fuck?"
"I don't know," I howled. My answer was hurt and terse. I
was ruing my stinging pussy.
"Never mind," he consoled, rubbing where he had just
attacked. "They tell me that yogurt is very soothing. This
will make it feel better."
My arms ached too.
"Sophie is an attractive woman," he added.
"Yes," I mumbled. I wasn't prepared to be pinched again.
"She's got smaller breasts than you," I felt him
scrutinizing my nakedness and immediately my juices ran and
conjoined with the yogurt in my pussy. "On the other hand, I
love her ass, and she has the tightest pussy."
He put his finger up inside mine and began stirring the
yogurt around. "Do you think he will enjoy doing it to her?"
I gasped: that finger! "He wouldn't... I couldn't say."
"She'll enjoy doing it to him."
"Oh." I bit my lip. I could taste the blood oozing inside my
mouth from the cut.
"She's attracted to Richard. She told me so herself."
I wanted to deny it, to tell myself that it wasn't true, but
how could I? I remembered how she had told me that her
darkest fantasy was to fuck him. She wanted to fuck my
Richard. My voice was hoarse. "What did she say?"
"She told me that often she has to change her panties after
she's been in his company because he makes her so wet."
I pulled my head off the bed, straining against the cuffs to
get a better look at him. "I don't believe you," I cried.
"Sophie would never have told you that."
Ahhh! His tongue had just darted into me, flicking round my
clitty, scooping off a little of the white stuff.
"Delicious," he murmured.
"Oh god. I do so hate you," I groaned, falling back onto the
bed. But God, that was good! I stared heavenwards, my eyes
watering. He was teasing; the stranger was teasing. I told
myself that time after time. Sophie wouldn't do anything
with Richard until I gave her the green light.
His head appeared momentarily from between my legs; his face
was smeared with yogurt. "Sophie told me that the two of you
have come close a couple of times. True?"
I blushed.
"I think she would be happy for things to go a little
further," he said. "Know what I mean?"
My blush deepened. I remembered being in the kitchen with
her that time. She had unfastened my bikini top and her
hands were massaging my nipples. Her mound was rubbing
against my ass and her breasts pressing hard into my back.
She had turned me round to plant her kiss on my mouth. "Come
to bed," her eyes had been saying.
"That doesn't mean she's after Richard," I blurted. "Sophie
knows that he's already taken."
"Hmm. You seem very sure. How can you be so certain when
you're up here with me and she's down there with him?"
"Because I trust them both. Have you never heard of trust?"
The stranger disappeared between my legs. I heard slurping
as he sucked hard on my love tunnel. If only my hands were
free, my breasts were crying for some attention. I wanted so
much to caress them. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore
their pain.
"You'd trust a mountain lion with the gazelle? They're alone
in the house with no need for you ever to know. I would
rather trust human nature." I clung on to him with my legs,
my thighs clasping his head to me, pushing his face into my
cunt. Maybe he would suffocate, the bastard, that would
serve him right.
"You're fishing."
He pulled my thighs apart and clambered out of my cunt and
on top of me. Please, I thought. What are you doing? Finish
me! Please finish what you started.
"Maybe. It must be tempting for them both. I guess he sees
her quite often in informal dress, if you know what I mean?"
"You're trying to make me jealous." My cunt was now
screaming as loudly as my breasts. I closed my legs,
pressing them together, trying to make something happen.
"Perhaps."
"It won't work. I'm not the jealous type," I lied, wriggling
my ass as I tried to bring myself off. I just couldn't get
enough friction.
"That's sad. Very sad."
"Why's that?"
"Because the opposite of jealousy is indifference."
"I'm not indifferent either." But I was frustrated. As my
excitement waned it left me irritable and disappointed.
"Are you sure about that?" he asked.
"Yes. Why?"
He bent down and picked something from the floor. At first I
couldn't see what it was. "Look what I found," he said,
holding it up. It was a phone, a mobile phone. "Recognize
it," he asked.
"Is it mine?" The knot had returned to my stomach filling
the vacuum so recently vacated by arousal. Although it
looked like my phone, I couldn't understand how or why he
would have my mobile. Sophie had promised to answer my
calls. She couldn't do that if the phone was here.
"Sure it's yours," he said. "Nice phone. You seem to have
forgotten it when you left London."
"I left it with Sophie."
"Did you now? Well, it's here now. Nothing's where it should
be, is it? Richard's in London, the phone is here: whatever
next. Shall we see if there are any messages?"
I didn't understand. Why did he have my phone? I couldn't
understand why Sophie would have given it to him. It was the
fact that I didn't understand that was worrying me. What was
this all about?
There were several calls. One from my mother, a couple from
friends, the rest from Richard. He couldn't understand why I
wasn't answering my phone. Was I okay?
The stranger was most impressed. He sat down on the bed
beside me. "We should call him, don't you think? Let him
know how you are?"
For a moment I didn't understand the significance of what he
was suggesting, but as soon as I did I went into a blind
panic. "No," I cried. I couldn't permit him to call Richard!
Richard would never understand. It would spoil everything. I
just couldn't allow this man to ruin my life in this way!
"What's his number?" he asked.
"I don't remember," I lied. My mind was racing and yet it
could find no thoughts. He couldn't phone Richard, he just
couldn't. The only chink of light I could perceive was the
vague certainty that Sophie must have put something about
this in the contract, I knew she would. I had faith in her.
I told him so. "Please, this isn't part of the arrangement."
He rebuked me gently. "No rules," he reminded me. "That was
the arrangement."
"But that was for sexual stuff. I didn't mean for you to
ruin my life!"
"This is sexual. Haven't you heard of phone sex? We're going
to have some phone sex: with Richard. What's his number?"
I was panicking. I couldn't let him ruin my relationship
with Richard. I couldn't believe what this man was doing to
me. My arms ached; I felt such a fool, totally visible to
him, my breasts and cunt on display like I was in a
butcher's window.
I groaned. He was going through my purse, through my address
book. He was searching for Richard's number. How could I
stop him? I knew I had to but still I couldn't think. My
brain was paralyzed.
"Never mind, I've found it," he said, tapping in the
numbers. I prayed. I prayed to all the gods of the disparate
religions I knew. "Please don't answer," I prayed. "Please
don't be there," I prayed. "Please be switched off."
I held my breath and then discovered the terrible certainty
that there can be no god. I heard the tone of a phone
ringing.
End Of Part Four
