Chapter 3: Sodomy

I arrived, at 9:17, at the residence of Mr. and Mrs. J. Carlton Brevard.

"He's gone," said Mrs. J. Carleton. "His flight just left." She was wearing a dressing gown.

"I hope he has a nice trip, Erica. The Folk Arts Museum thanks you both for this generosity. Did he sign the check?"

"Oh he signed it, Ed. But you have to earn it. And in honor of Sunday, all the servants have the day off." Here we go, I thought.

Erica Brevard thinks she's something special. In her own way, she is. She has a lovely body. Men still hit on her and she loves it, but that isn't what makes her special. It's her enthusiasm. Bill would be disappointed, I think, because I did nothing to get into her pants except have a wiener and work the Brevards up for donations. Her type seems to be represented among the arts people and the moneyed elites-- how to put it? --disproportionately. She isn't the only one, although she's the only one I'd call a nymphomaniac. She's probably the least discreet. Once I asked if any of her friends knew about me. "I couldn't ever let anyone know I did something like this," she protested. "I have a reputation to protect." But I had inside knowledge. At least one of her friends knew -- one who liked the same forbidden fruit.

She hit on me the very first time I went by their estate, and she let me know she expected good service. She flirted right in front of J. Carlton, who thought it was funny. After he left she came on seriously. "We help you, Ed Hyde, you help me." She pulled my face down and gave me a wet kiss. She wanted to be in charge. That time I did what she wanted. Afterwards, while we were lying tangled in each other and the air was permeated with the smell of cologne released by the sweat between her breasts, I told her what I liked. She breathed rich, hot air into my ear and said, "I pay the bills, dear, and I call the shots." She is a challenge.

"What if I have HIV?" I had asked that when she first asked me to strip. She wanted me naked while she was still dressed. An interesting power game that I decided to win.

"I have condoms."

"Many?"

"Dozens of all kinds. Colored. Flavored. Ribbed."

"I don't use condoms."

"You have to."

"If you want me, you take the risk. I tell you I'm clean, but you have to trust me."

"I don't know."

"What about toys?"

"Vibrators, beads, dildos, whatever you want. I need condoms, Ed, but I like to play."

"Silly me. I was always told women didn't like sex all that much."

"Whoever told you that doesn't live where I live."

Erica wants orgasms almost every day, but she doesn't like to masturbate. She's obsessed with having men make her come. Unfortunately, she's limited by her social position, which is especially tough for a woman who wants to dominate. So she took me on without condoms. Poor girl, we all have our problems. This Sunday morning it was time to use that against her again.

We went up to her bedroom and stripped. While she pulled out a box of her sex toys I played with myself to keep it up, and I palmed a plastic ointment tube. This whole thing could fall apart. It could lose me a big donor. Well, life should be played on the edge.

"Come here, sex-goddess. We're going to play 'The Master and His Slave Girl.'"

"You mean 'The Queen and her Page.'" She lay down beside me on the bed and tried to pull me down to her.

"Oh? I get what I want. Who got you to give up condoms?"

"You know I get what I want. I made an exception because I felt sorry for you."

"Not anymore. Now you get to learn how to serve." I knelt between her legs. "Try this new lotion." I put something from the tube onto my fingers and spread it up and down through her lips, all around her hood. She began cooing but it changed to a yelp.

"Oh! That burns!"

"It's just for a minute."

"Ed! What are you doing?" She sat up and pushed me away.

"Be still. Wait." I held her. "There. Is it stopping? I told you." I pulled her arms behind her back. "Kneel down. You have something to do." Erica sat cross-legged. "On your knees." She did. "Now, today you get to give pleasure, not get it."

"What do you mean?"

"Suck me. Do me all the way."

"You know I don't do that. If you want that check you do what I want."

I slapped one of her breasts. It knocked into the other one. Knockers. I had a flash of Elizabeth's small breasts. It would have hurt her to slap a breast like that, but Erica hardly gasped.

"This isn't about money. It's about you. And sucking. If you want to play it your way we can stop all this right now. You can always find some pussy-whipped guy like J. Carleton, who'll do just what you want. You want me, you play by my rules."

"Do you want that check?"

"Don't be too impressed by your money. There are other donors, or I can get it from hubby at the office. He likes me. I'll tell him you and I have had a disagreement. That will have the advantage of being true. And remember -- your precious reputation is hanging by a thread."

That threw her.

"Ed! Don't!"

"So do it now."

"Ed!"

"Do it."

"Maybe. I'll think about it. But will you get me off, first? I was thinking about it all night."

"Today you only give."

"You've got to help me get off!"

"I don't think so. Feel your pussy. Go on. Feel it."

Erica touched herself. She got the most dumbfounded look and felt again. She jerked her head down toward it, then looked back to me. "It's numb! What did you do to me?" She rubbed herself again, hard. No good.

"Anesthetic cream. You don't get off this morning at all."

"Ed! You bastard!"

"You can frig in a few hours. Or, if you're a very good girl, I'll take you all the way there tomorrow. But you have to wait."

"Ed!" By now Erica was almost crying, a big change for a blousy, arrogant woman used to getting her way. I could almost like her like this. She has enough breasts for Bill, and enough brains for me. She simply needed an attitude adjustment to make things worthwhile.

"Now!" And in the end she did it. She leaned forward and pulled me into her mouth and began jacking me. She has a wonderful mouth, hot and wet, all lips and tongue and throat. Whatever she said about not sucking, she has plenty of technique. It took awhile to get me there, since I'd just done Elizabeth the evening before, but I didn't mind.

Let her get used to working at pleasuring someone, the bitch!

In the end I had a satisfying orgasm. Dear me, yes, Ms. Erica! I held onto her hair and ejaculated nicely. I had her hold me in there for a few minutes, catching the dregs while I caressed her face and told her what a sweet, obedient little bitch she actually was. I found excuses to use the word 'bitch' about three times. I half thought she'd be vicious afterwards, but everything worked out perfectly.

"Can I come to your place tomorrow? Ed? Can I? I need you to help me get off! Please?"

Her eyes were wide and her voice was shaky. Do dominant women have a submissive side? I'd always been told that, and it could be true.

"Will you be a good girl?" I folded the check carefully.

I didn't call Elizabeth Sunday or Monday.

Monday morning Erica came by my apartment. I made her strip and kneel in the middle of the kitchen floor while I puttered around. This was better than I had imagined. I made her stay that way a full half hour. Damn, it was hard to wait! No pun intended. After awhile she called to me: "Ed? Honey?"

"You want to get off?"

"Ed?"

"Then you'll be a good girl! When I'm ready for you, you're getting punished!" What a great game. Erica didn't seem to realize we really were playing 'The Master and His Slave Girl.' After I'd spanked her and reamed her out and let her have her orgasms, she lay curled against me with her face to my chest, licking my nipples, and she said, "Ed, you're such a complete asshole." What could I do but laugh?

I didn't call Elizabeth Tuesday morning.

It had been long enough now, with no word, to make her worry, even with the flower. The tactical question was: should I let her twist in the wind a couple more days? The flower would have held her most of Sunday. By Sunday evening she would have begun to get concerned.

She'd think, why doesn't he call after we made such sweet love? I thought he liked me. I was sure he did. Maybe it's because I didn't use my mouth?

It wouldn't be long before her heart would fall into her stomach. I know a guy who will torture women with uncertainty about his feelings, who will string them along, make them wait, and generally cause them to obsess about him. He swears it addicts them. Maybe so. There's a fine line between not letting them take you for granted, and being cruel.

I told you. Elizabeth was just a girl I was using. I wasn't done with her yet, but she didn't get in the way of other things. Tuesday morning, Anne was at the door. Poor, dear, desolate Anne. I sucked her in.

She hadn't buzzed my apartment and I hadn't heard the elevator. She must have crept up all six flights, avoiding people, ignoring the old fixtures, missing the ceiling lights reflected in the hall floors. No light heart or dancing feet for sweet Annie. She probably stared at the stairs the whole way. I put my mouth to her head to inhale her, ran the fingers of one hand through her hair, and stroked her back with the other one. We stood in the hall, just holding. How many times has that happened, maybe at this very door? How many people, filled with lust or need, people who are now aged and decrepit or dead and largely forgotten, people who once spilled into each other, who came alive with flesh on flesh?

"My Annie." I wanted to comfort her, and I wanted to fuck her. "Come in."

"I shouldn't." We were still holding and rocking a little, back and forth. I was half erect. She couldn't miss it.

"Do you want to go to lunch?"

"I'm not very hungry."

"Then come in."

Inside I held her hands. I kissed her forehead, a cheek, finally her mouth. "Don't Ed. Please. We can't." I ignored her, and this time she kissed me back, but then she broke it off. "Ed! I shouldn't. I can't."

"So you can continue your joyless little life?"

"You know why I can't."

"I know why you think you can't." I pulled her back in and kept giving her little kisses. She looked up at me.

"Please don't." More kisses, all over her face, a different spot each time.

"When was the last time he made love to you?"

"Oh, you're evil! Don't take advantage of me."

"How long has it been?"

"I don't know. It's been so awful."

"I'm going to take advantage."

"You know I can't resist you, not now. Please don't."

"Yes, I'll please you."

We went into a deep, sweet, slow kiss. I sucked her tongue in. I remember caressing her face. She was brushing her palms on my chest, the pads of her fingers touching my nipples, pushing her body against my penis. She finally ended the kiss and rubbed her cheek on mine. Her cheek was wet. So much for giving her comfort. She spoke in a sigh: "Why didn't I stay with you?"

"Because I'm the Devil." I didn't say, "And I'm not a novelist."

I played a memory of being with her. I've never run across another woman who'd fuck so hard or so long. I could still hear her growling and panting while she jerked her mound at me. She was the first truly multi-orgasmic woman I'd known, and she'd wanted them all.

"At least the Devil pays attention to his subjects. He seduces them and holds on to them. Not like Paul." She wiped her face against my shirt. I didn't mean to make you cry again, Annie, just to sex you.

In a minute, she was better.

"I play with their desire. You were always one of my best subjects. I'll capture you again and again, whenever you're weak."

She laughed this time. Maybe I could make her happy for a while. "Only one of them? You evil man. I could be your best subject." She brought her hands up to my cheeks and pulled me down into another slow kiss.

We went into the bedroom where I took off Anne's clothes, slowly, one piece, another piece, until her soft body was completely available to me. I fucked her the rest of the morning. She slammed her pubis against me, again and again and again.

"Edward!" Even on my cell, I could hear Elizabeth collect herself. "Hi. How are you?"

"I've been thinking of you."

"Me too."

"You've been thinking about yourself, too?"

"Edward! If you were here I'd have to hit you."

"Then I should come on over, shouldn't I? To get my punishment? I'd like to see you."

"Now's not a good time."

"Oh." I let it dangle.

"No, I want to see you. I just have a job tonight. I have to leave in a little bit."

"Can I drive you? I could pick you up afterward and we could get some coffee."

"Okay." There was hesitation in her voice. Maybe she was worried I only wanted sex. Or maybe I was a complication.

"Or we could go out, maybe this weekend? The Museum of Fine Arts has an Art Deco exhibit."

"We could do both..."

But she wouldn't let me in. Was she more into games than I'd thought? Was it more complicated? After her gig, after coffee and a pastry (on which she scarcely nibbled), after the drive to her apartment, holding hands all the way and feeling her up at stoplights, Elizabeth left me at the front door.

Oh she didn't reject me there. She didn't put me out like old newspapers or beer cans for recycling. That's not what I'm saying. Something was amiss. And amiss is as good as a mile.

I'm sorry. Sometimes these things just come out. My mind generates them on its own, little word plays that help take it off... what I want my mind taken off. Elizabeth is what I want my mind taken off. I'm sorry. It comes like a flood. Not about that night. No. That was funny in its way. I could tell she was concerned well before we pulled up. What I don't want to think about is later, long later. I do things to forget, but it's no good.

That night there were leaves skittering across the streets and the street lights had that glittering quality they get when there's ice in the air. The look was perfect, but Elizabeth had her own look, a worried one, while she told me she had work to do and had to get to bed early.

"So you're sending me away?"

"I'm sorry, Edward. I love being with you. It's just... I can't tonight."

"Then let me make out with you here."

"On the steps?"

"Against the wall will do nicely."

Making out was nice. There was nothing cold about her except her cheeks. I can still see it, feel it, remember the whole experience. Everything. I can see so many scenes from my time with her. My left arm was between her neck and the wall and my right was, usually, at her waist. I ran my mouth up and down her neck and I felt her up some more, and she pushed her body out against me. Her breath was tinged with coffee when we kissed. She broke the kiss to move her mouth over my neck, to give me back the chill bumps I'd given her, on the way giving me a hickey, then licked me all the way up to my ear. Her breath was loud, rich, full. It shared my ear with her tongue, and then with her voice. I had a hard time making out what she was saying, with that susurrus. "My Edward. Think of Saturday. We'll have so much more time then." It was the most sensual rejection I've ever experienced.

I didn't call her the rest of the week, to punish her a little for Tuesday. I had to maintain my advantage. Don't let her get too confident. I began to think she was more experienced than she'd seemed. Almost everything made sense, except for the two words she'd said that would have been fine if they'd been separated from each other: "my" and "Edward."

Saturday happened. Elizabeth loved the exhibit, and the dinner, and the drive through Beacon Hill at dusk. Her hair was unbraided, pulled back in a long ponytail she used to tickle my face while I drove, until I grabbed her hand to make her stop. After that she lay her head on my shoulder and rested her hand on my thigh. The evening was building toward the inevitable. I was ready to push far beyond where she thought she was willing to go. Step by step it was unfolding, up the steps to the porch, to the door. Then,

"I have to tell you something. I don't think we can... you know... tonight."

I must have looked stunned.

"I'm sorry. You know how much you mean to me. And I want to do things with you. It's just that I'm... well... I'm..." And I knew.

"Having your period."

"Yes!" She hugged me. Wait a minute!

"Since Tuesday?"

She stepped back. "Well, I was spotting then."

"Why is that a problem?"

"Edward!"

"Elizabeth!" I put my hands on my hips like I was going to scold her. "We can do everything."

"I can't!" She got a look. It was almost like panic.

"There are other things we can do, too. Hot things."

We're going to have fun, you and I.

"I don't know..."

"Trust me." I tickled her neck with my lips. "We'll lay a towel across your bed, to protect your sheets."

She looked away, then back, then away, considering something. She gave me a one of those sweet kisses that mean something, if you could ever interpret them properly. Finally she took my hand. "Come in."

We kissed all the way up to her floor, in her tiny elevator. I didn't try to touch anything. Sometimes you make more progress by letting things develop on their own. Direct things by indirection.

Elizabeth went around lighting candles again. I poured two glasses with a Riesling and turned off the electric lights as I followed her.

She insisted on stripping me. She was as inexperienced at this as with everything else. She unbuttoned my shirt, then had to stop to unfasten my belt and slacks. She started pulling them down but had to stop again, to untie my shoes. She didn't want me to help, except to lift my legs or shift my body a little. When there was just my underwear she stared at the impression of my penis. Had she made her decision yet? She pulled them down, getting my dick caught in the elastic for moment. When I was finally completely naked, standing almost on top of my clothes, she asked me to climb onto the bed.

"What about your clothes?"

"I'm keeping mine on tonight."

"Oh, no, cello girl. We don't do it like that."

Finally she gave in. She stripped for me while I watched, but she stopped at her panties.

"They go too."

"No. I can't."

I knew why. "You're wearing a pad." She colored as she nodded. It was almost as though the movement of her head, atop that lovely neck, set off the coloring. Yes, that was it. A pad. It embarrassed her to know I knew about it. Damn, she was sweet!

"Next time, use a tampon. It won't get in the way as much."

Eventually we knelt facing each other. I'm sure Elizabeth was working up her courage. When she thought she was ready she pushed against my chest with both hands, and leaned down to take me in her mouth. She did it like the other night. I held her hair and pushed my meat into her a little and we set up the dance of face and cock.

She began to jerk me. "Don't." She looked up, my penis still in her mouth, the question coming from her eyes. "Slow down. Suck more. Yes. Like that. Slower. Yes." Shit, yes. I told her to go slowly because I wanted to stretch out the time.

Her mouth grew hot and so wet she occasionally slurped. It was coming, it was coming. I gave her warning. Just as the pleasure took over I grunted to her. "Now," and it came over me and I came into her.

She handled it smoothly, no cough or shudder, no noises. I thought it had been easy for her. But when she let me slip from her lips and raised up, she had an odd expression. She was opening and closing her mouth, and pursing her lips. She held the back of a hand in front of her mouth and looked me in the face.

"Was I okay?"

"You were wonderful!"

She laughed, suddenly, into her hand.

"Here, love." I handed her the wine. She sipped it and swallowed. She did it again. She had a bizarre grin. She laughed again, something between a giggle and a guffaw.

"I did it, didn't I? I gave you a blow job!"