Picture yourself doing a watercolor painting on a piece of pebble board. You aren't sure what you are doing, so you use the backside, which has a light, yellowish tan cast to it. The board is about 12" high by 30" long. You draw a faint pencil guideline horizontally about a third of the way up from the bottom. That is the horizon. You sketch in a light triangle with a horizontal line starting just above the lower border and just below the horizon. You sketch in a triangular shape that stops halfway between the horizon and the top of the page. You wet the ocean area, from the horizon line do the bottom of the paper with clear water from a small sponge. You let it start to dry.
While it is drying, you float in some ultramarine blue; dark in the foreground but fading at the horizon. On the triangle, you start with the castle walls and battlements along the bottom of the island; building small blobs of houses that go up the island within the triangle. All of the stonework is a yellow ochre, burnt umber, and a mixture of other blues, reds and yellows. You let the colors set and flatten the bristles to get dry brush strokes to imply a clay tile roof.
At some point, you show a big flat plaza way above the houses. Above that a big church erupts out of the top of it, with a huge narrow steeple. Quickly you sponge down the rest of the area to create a sky. You dip some burnt umber in the top right hand corner; guide the color in diminishing amounts of pigment down to the ocean at the horizon. You add heavy amounts of ultramarine blue into the burnt umber at the right and try to drag it into the slowly drying sky. You try to get it all onto the paper at just the right times so the right amount of the church steeple bleeds into the sky to create the effect of rain at the top.
The focus of the painting is on the battlements, and the intricate pattern of buildings; the wonder of those monks and serfs who built this structure without any architects or engineers over a thousand years ago; yet the part of the painting that is the hardest to do is the sky; steeple and water; getting the right mix of color and water to create that effect.
That is why it is done on the back of the pebble board, because you won't necessarily get it right the first time. A painter needs to try many things to get the small things right; to make it look effortless.
These were some of the thoughts passing through Guinevere's mind as she sat in the small skiff taking her to the island; to a future she was not looking forward to, nor did she feel good about. She was being taken to her date; her date with the devil. She was doing it to fulfill the wishes of her husband, Joe, who had set her up for her "Confirmation Ceremony; her initiation into "The Family." This was not an activity of her initiative.
She had been through a lot lately in order to preserve her marriage to her husband. She had been attracted to him because of a number of attributes he had. When she was young, she had been attracted to the older boys in school or recently graduated that had the beginning of a beard; head scarf; tattoos; rode Harleys or crotch rockets; rice burners; or in some way seemed exciting or un-obtainable. Slowly, she had come to realize that these men were not capable of being faithful to one woman. She had dated several of the older boys on the basketball, track and football team. They were just too popular to pass up all the groupies.
Guinevere had some disappointing years while she worked on her doctorate in Psychology and Social Anthropology. She wasn't sure whether she picked these careers because of a true interest in this field or to just better understand what she was struggling through in her own personal life. Because of all her disappointments, she decided to change her approach in her personal relationships.
She ended up dating a rather mousy looking, and very religiously minded older man who had an established career in computer technology. He was not around many other people, and was less likely to be a philanderer. In fact he was rather insecure around other people.
Guinevere, on the other hand, was a different story. This was a couple who seemed to be the opposite. She had blossomed at the age of fourteen. As a freshman in high school, she had become the poster child of teen magazine; long-legged; athletic; long haired; slender hipped; with a smile that left her teachers speechless and tongue-tied like the young boys in her class.
The young cheerleader at the football games was the reason so many of the boys in town came to see the games. There were an inordinate amount of fathers too. The next day, she would roll out of bed at five in the morning to get on the bus for the cross country meets nearby. When cross country was not in season, she was either running the high hurdles or part of the distance or relay events. There were always a lot of pictures being taken with lots of long lenses.
When Guinevere got to the end of her high school career, there were a number of small colleges that offered her great scholarships for her efforts in track and cross country. She had been very popular with everybody all through college.
By the end of college, she had had enough with her disastrous romances with all the popular boys, and began dating Joe through a mere coincidence.
She had left her USB flash drive in a computer in a photography class and he had inadvertently found it. He was able to find out who she was and returned it. She had offered to buy him dinner for returning the flash drive to her. She had dated him mostly in an effort to change her dating habits. She was not that much in love with him as she was determined to change her social patterns.
Most of the men she knew were very demanding sexually. Joe was not near as insistent, and so she seemed to take the initiative out of curiosity. She had changed from wearing long loose slacks and hooded sweatshirts, to dresses; from dresses to shorter dresses; from shorter dresses to shorter dresses with sleeveless tops.
There is only so much resistance a man can put up. Once he responded, Guinevere knew how to apply the brakes. Their relationship was like watching a fourteen-year-old girl trying to learn to drive a four-wheel-drive full-size pick-up with a manual transmission. There was a lot of lurching forward and squeaking of brakes.
It didn't seem like they had been married that long before Guinevere had a fourteen-year-old of her own. By then, things had gradually changed. Guinevere had been slow to see the changes over the years. From her paying the bills, he had started to take over control of the finances. From her telling him what color tie went well with his coat to Joe telling her what to wear. The roles seemed to be shifting. Joe had his own consulting business now. He started to dress better. He had gone to Dale Carnegie and Toastmaster meetings for many years now.
Slowly, the roles changed with their difference in incomes. Joe had shifted from being a moderate income person to one of the upper 2% wage earners. Guinevere had grown accustomed to the higher income. Like the proverbial analogy; A lobster thrown into boiling water will try to escape, but a lobster thrown into cold water will sit there and get used to the change until it is boiled to death. So to was Guinevere. She would have been content to live in a hovel at the beginning of their marriage. Now, she had seen the difference in their daughter. She was blossoming in private school. She was enrolled in expensive acting, singing and dancing classes. She was doing well on the track team. She was thriving in summer camps for track and violin. Guinevere was addicted to the benefits for her fourteen year old daughter. Joe was putting away money for her college, master's and doctorate program.
Guinevere was now locked into her husband; for better or for worse. The worse was his changing beliefs in religion. Joe had gone from being a devout Methodist to a man with very intense secular beliefs. He was continuously searching the internet looking for stronger religious direction. His religious fanaticism seemed diametrically in conflict with his relationship with Guinevere.
He seemed to be more and more interested in showing her off. The older he got, the more it took for him to get sexually stimulated.
He continuously challenged her to dress more provocatively. A few months ago, it had been his birthday. She had inadvertently offered to take him wherever he wanted to go for dinner on Friday night. She said the evening was his to do whatever he wanted.
She had dressed according to his wishes. He had come home from work with a box from Dolce & Gabbana. The dark silk stockings had tight elastic lace that stopped just below her crotch. The high boots that zippered up the side were the matching texture and color as her stockings. Her button front dress had a high neck with a hem that stopped at the middle of her palm.
Guinevere was excited and reluctant at the same time as she came down the stairs to a husband she did not recognize. All of a sudden, she was the fourteen-year-old girl on her first day of school who had stepped out of her father's four-wheel drive Toyota pickup with short-short cut-off levis, logging boots and a blue oxford men's button-down collar dress shirt and Royals baseball cap to hold back her waist-length reddish-brown French braid.
They were fourteen again, with the house to themselves. Joe's eyes sparkled with a devilishness she had not seen in a long time. Guinevere, you are more beautiful than the day we married. A mischievous smile came over him. "You know, I don't think that dress was meant to be worn over a bra and panties. What do you think?" Guinevere had seen the light in his eyes, and didn't know quite what to do. She was almost petrified with his words; on the other hand, what could it hurt, if it made him glow like that.
Guinevere turned to go back up the stairs to change. Before she could get up the stairs, Joe grabbed her hand and turned her. He guided her hands down to her sides. Their eyes met as he reached for the top button. Slowly he unbuttoned her dress to her waist. After he peeled the shoulders of the dress down, Guinevere reached behind to undo the clasp. The bra was made of the clear stretch fabric that didn't really hide anything anyway; but it did keep her long-stemmed pink nipples from straining against the soft thin dress fabric. When Joe buttoned the dress back up, he didn't button all of them. He left the top unbuttoned down to the level of the beginning of her cleavage. It didn't show anything, but it kept the fabric tight enough that it was obvious she did not have a bra. The long pink nipples strained against the fabric to telegraph their obvious size, location and color.
Joe reached for the hem and lifted it. He unbuttoned it to her waist and pulled down her panties. Guinevere put her hands on his shoulders as she raised each boot to step out of them. Joe backed her up until she had the back of her legs against the glass coffee table. He took her hands and guided her to a sitting position on the corner. She was not sure whether to cross her legs for modesty or not. Crossing them just caused more of the dress to fall open and expose her further.
Sitting with her legs open just did not feel lady-like; on the other hand, he was the one exposing her. Joe went to the kitchen cabinet and came back with a "No, No" type of miniature electric razor. He knelt between her legs and spread them. Guinevere was both shocked and intrigued with his audacity.
Joe shaved her labia bare. Guinevere was dying of embarrassment, but was reluctant to stop him. He crossed her legs and buttoned a couple of buttons. When she stood, she was covered. If she sat down, she knew modesty would be a challenge. He held her hand as he guided her to the front door.
Guinevere was starting to have second thoughts as he guided her to the passenger door of his toy. Normally, she drove the four-wheel drive Durango. He normally drove his Miata. Today, he must have got his little toy out of the Mini-Storage. She stood apprehensively at the door of the 1955 red Porsche Spyder which he rarely took out. She liked the car normally, but this dress made the ride impossible.
She sat down and scooted her legs up and over the high rocker panel. The entire car barely came to her waist. She didn't like the five-point safety harness before; this was another story. Joe bent down to help her strap in. The lap band was ok. The shoulder straps pinned her straight up and her shoulders back. Her lack of a bra left the already snug fabric even tighter; making the long-stemmed nipples strain out even farther from her melon sized breasts. The most embarrassing part was having Joe bring the floor strap up between her legs and lock it into the clasp in the middle of her lap.
The strap between her legs kept her from crossing her legs or folding the unbuttoned material back over herself. She felt naked on a spit with her breasts sticking out and away; her legs splayed and the whites above her silk stockings peeking out around the safety harness.
"I hope the fuck there are no red lights to stop for. I hope he takes the freeway to wherever we are going." She thought. Things didn't quite work out the way she wanted. Joe took the main streets through town to the upscale garment district. The boys who were all looking with envy at the red Spyder were in for an additional treat when they spotted the middle-aged nearly naked beautiful woman in the passenger seat. The driver was grinning, so they knew it was ok to look. Guinevere tried to raise her hand of her right arm to shield her face. It was hard to raise her left arm to discretely cross it over her breasts. Instead, when the wind blew, she just seemed to be framing one of the alabaster breasts as the breeze exposed its long pink nipple.
This was almost like that first day of high school, except she was not really enjoying the attention now.
Joe pulled up to the front of the restaurant of "Guinevere's." Joe was smitten by the name. The coincidence of names did seem to match both the sophistication of the woman and the dining establishment.
Joe pulled up against the curb in front of the restaurant. When he got out, the car rose up enough for the valet to open the passenger door above the curb. The valet almost ejaculated when he swung the door open. Guinevere was still strapped in, with her shoulders pinned back against the seat, arms at her sides, legs parted with the safety harness coming up between them, and her nipples trying to escape through the thin form-fitting top.
He tried to conduct himself as discretely and professionally as possible, but when he saw the glint in Joe's eyes, he understood that the sight in front of him was meant to be enjoyed. He bent down on his knees and stuck one hand under the center latch as he slowly unbuckled the strap below her legs. When he was done with the other straps, once her shoulders were freed from the harness, her breasts seemed to snuggle back into her dress. Her nipples seemed to retract to a more respectable position.
The valet stood and grabbed her right hand. As he started to pull her up, Guinevere swiveled her legs up over the rocker panel to get her feet on the ground. She had to make a decision of whether to try to feebly keep her dress together, or use her left hand against the dash to guide herself up.
She was hopelessly out of balance and had no choice but to use her left hand to steady herself. When she swiveled her legs out of the car and up onto the curb, her feet and knees were above the seat level she was sitting on. Her dress parted when she turned, and she was unable to keep the sides together as she and the valet brought her to a standing position.
It was a very short but erotic scene that most men live for. Once she was up, the valet placed his left hand around her back to steady her. Her dress came together. Once the men who were staring, passed, the realized that for that one brief millisecond, they had seen something, they had seen that alabaster white triangle with the cleft in it at the top of those dark silk stockings. "What an incredible sight." They thought.
Joe escorted her into the restaurant. The hostess took their names and let them know their reservation table would be ready in a couple of minutes. They sat in the bar, waiting for their table to be ready. There was no modest way for Guinevere to get up on the high barstool. Joe knew it. Guinevere new it. Joe watched her as she approached and sized up the barstool. Guinevere made eye contact with her husband as she stood by the stool. He was watching. She could see that he wanted to see the show. Guinevere turned briefly and noticed that most of the men in the room had stopped talking and shifted in their seats as much as diplomatically possible. Guinevere was getting embarrassed as she knew what her husband was expecting.
Guinevere swiveled the seat to her. She placed her purse on the counter and put her right hand on the seat. She put her left hand on the counter as she raised her right leg to get up onto the stool. When she did, the dress parted. The hem seemed to climb up her leg in order to part at the top. As her right leg stretched to get up above the stool, the hem rose and fell to the side, exposing almost all of her leg to the view of the customers. She scooted over as gracefully as she could and brought the fabric back over her lap. It was a very brief movement from the floor up to the seat, but what a sight.
Guinevere had maintained eye contact with her husband and knew exactly what he was looking at. He was watching lustfully as the tops of her silk stockings came into view; and the skin above it; he turned and caught the admiring and enviable glances of the nearby customers.
"What a lucky mother fucker" seemed to be the prevalent message being sent back through eye contact and knowing smiles.
Every man in the audience was willing to stand and applaud this seemingly insignificant movement. Somehow, it was about as an erotic assent of a barstool they had seen. Nobody was going to leave until she did.
Before their table was announced, a tall well dressed gentleman approached them. He smiled at Joe. Guinevere realized her husband knew him. Joe extended his hand to greet him. Joe turned and introduced the man to Guinevere.
"David, I would like to have you meet my wife, Guinevere. Guinevere, this is David." Guinevere swiveled her seat and extended her hand. She was not about to dismount the barstool in another embarrassing display of herself.
Guinevere realized she had heard the name before. His name had come up more and more in the previous months as her husband had grown increasingly more and more into his religion. He had been looking for something more than he had been accustomed to. He was looking for something more and more spiritual.
The three of them sat there waiting for the table to be ready. During the conversation, Guinevere became more aware of who David was. He had been in the news a number of times recently. There had been stories of investigations into a cult called "The Children of God." They were being investigated for a number of things.
Guinevere finally realized that this David was the subject of the investigation. She was vaguely aware, that a number of fanatical worshipers had joined the church and were getting in trouble. The problem was that David had begun to demand sex from most of the women as a sign of their commitment to the church. The investigation began about speculation that the church was ordering the wives and daughters of the congregation to use sex to raise money for the church and recruit new members.
Once they were seated in the regular dining room, the discussion became more and more involved in the matters of the church. "Guinevere, your husband is excited about becoming a member of our church. He cannot be a member of the church without you. Are you as committed and excited to be a member of this church as he is?" David asked.
"I am deeply committed to my husband. We are partners in life. I am committed to doing whatever I need to help him succeed in life. His success is my success." The words seemed rehearsed, sincere, but guarded. Guinevere meant what she said, but in the light of his association with David, felt much more reserved at the real meaning of what she was saying.
"We are going to have a Confirmation Ceremony for the two of you. It is sort of an Initiation for Membership for new members. We are going to fly the two of you to the island of Loch Linnhe, which is near Scotland. I have a small place there, called Castle Stalker. It is a four-story tower house. We will have some special members there to induct the two of you into our membership. Actually it is not the two of you in the initiation; it is you, Guinevere who is to be initiated." Guinevere swallowed, trying to get her throat back down where it belonged.
Things were falling into place; the newspaper stories, the late night phone calls her husband had been making; his growing interest in the church called "Children of God."
She had heard that this Gaelic structure had been built over a thousand years ago north east of Port Appin, at Argyll, Scotland. It is accessible from shore at low tide. The name "Stalker," in Gaelic meant "falconer" or "hunter." The ancient words took a new meaning with respect to the rumors about David and his church.
The church was coming under closer scrutiny from the government. David had left a sacrificial congregation in town to take the brunt of the legal consequences. He was reforming and renaming the church to "the Family," and moving the headquarters abroad. This was the first anybody knew about where it was going to be.
Guinevere was divided on what to do. On the one hand, polygamy was deplorable to her. She knew that sex with David was going to be unthinkable. On the other hand, what was her responsibility as a citizen? She felt she needed to find out more about this new religion and where it was being moved to.
"I love my husband very much, and I will do whatever it takes to prove my love for him." Guinevere said as she choked on the words. She forced a smile she did not have.
When the conversation slowed down, David got up to excuse himself and headed to the bathroom. Joe looked over to Guinevere who was seated beside him. He looked down through the glass top table and saw how she had been holding her very short skirt together with her left hand while she pushed her food around the plate with the fork in her right hand.
"Guinevere, honey, you look positively fantastic tonight, but you are being too shy and modest. David is our guest. I want you to be friendlier with him; like he is a guest in our home. You need to forget about this false modesty. You need to let go of that dress of yours." Guinevere looked up into his eyes. She searched them, trying to see if she had misunderstood something he had said. She hadn't. His steely gaze made it clear; she was to be much more accommodating to him. The words that hadn't actually been said hit her like a couple of bricks from the top of a scaffold.
When David came back, they were still locked in eye contact. Guinevere, trying to make him take back his words; Joe, staring her down with a slight smile, insisting that she comply. Guinevere swallowed as she brought her hands down to her sides. She maintained eye contact with her husband as her dress parted, and fell to hang open, down from the top of her thighs.
She refused to look away from her husband as she felt the air from the fan above them remind her of what he could see. David looked down through the glass table to see the dress fall. He could see the top of her dark stockings. He could see some of the bronze suntan that stopped at the edge of her bikini line. He couldn't see quite everything, but could tell clearly that she was shaved.
Guinevere shivered with the humiliation of being exposed to the two men. It was bad enough that she had exposed herself this much in front of her husband. It was worse that it was being done in public. The fact that David, a stranger, was being presented with this exhibit was devastating. Why was she going along with it?
Guinevere thought about her humiliating situation. What if her husband left her? What if they decided to use her daughter? There were many possibilities. None of the possibilities seemed favorable to Guinevere acting defiant or indignant.
"Guinevere, honey, aren't you going to invite David home for a drink or desert? He is staying at a hotel here in town. We are going back to Scotland, to the Castle Stalker tomorrow morning." Joe asked in a voice that was not really a question. Guinevere did not look at either of them.
She felt like a judge had just handed down a sentence to her for humiliation in front of your husband. She knew David had heard the question, and did not feel it had to be brought up again. There was a long silence. David looked at her. Joe looked at her. "It has to come from you, honey. It isn't my place to order you to do anything." Joe said softly.
"But I want to hear you ask David as nicely as you can. I want to hear you say it like you mean it."
He may have said it softly, but it wasn't said as a comment for discussion. It wasn't meant as a comment she could dismiss. It was an order; a command; it was a decree from the man who dictated everything in her life if she knew what was good for her.
Guinevere looked at her husband as she forced the words out of her mouth. Making eye contact with her husband, she said: "David, we have some ice cream and apple strudel in the refrigerator. Would you like to have some desert and a cup of coffee before you go back to your hotel?" She choked on the words, knowing he had his eyes on her crotch which was shielded only from the other guests because her back was to them. David stared at her. His eyes rose slowly from her alabaster "wonder down under" to the long-stemmed pink nipples jutting out against the thin fabric.
He moved his right hand to cover hers. "I think that sounds like a wonderful invitation. I can hardly wait to see your house."
David rose, pulled her chair out to let her stand. He wrapped her arm through his as he guided her back out of the restaurant. Joe followed behind. When the car came, Joe got in the driver's seat. David sat in the passenger seat, and pulled Guinevere down in his lap. She was devastated at her position. There was no way to sit with any modesty. She tried to fold the fabric over her lap and hold it in place, but David reached around her and pulled both of her hands to her sides. He pulled her against him. Her nipples were close to his mouth as the valet shut the door. David let his left hand slide to the opening in her dress.
Guinevere was humiliated, knowing that several of the valets had lined up along the car to watch as David casually slid his left hand between her legs and under what little cover was left of the dress.
As they pulled away, one of the valets said: "Good evening Mrs. Jenkins. I hope you and your husband have a good time tonight." Too late, Guinevere realized that the voice belonged to one of the older boys that she had seen her daughter with. Her heart sank and she shuddered against David. "Will this get back to her daughter?" she wondered; horror-stricken.
When they got back to the house, Joe walked around the car to open the door. He extended his hand to help his wife out. Once David was out, he again took Guinevere's hand and guided her towards the door behind Joe. Her husband opened the door to let them both in.
Joe walked in; grabbed the remote; and sat in the big leather chair. David went over and sat down in the middle of the couch. Guinevere stood at the edge of the couch, not knowing quite what to do.
"Aren't you going to get us some desert and coffee, honey?" Joe asked as he flicked the remote. The remote came on softly
The music sounded like the wailing thumping of Louie Armstrong's "St. Louis Blues" with Sam Cook's voice singing:
Draped in white velvet, silk and dark lace.
Her gown rustles along the marble staircase
The guards settle down while the young lady sleeps
It's too dark to fly, but the raven he peeps
Through the dark foreboding skies of the royal domain.
Clear-colored wine from the vineyards of Charlemagne
Such is the silence o'er royal Camelot.
It's too dark to fly, but the raven he peeps
The song is about Guinevere of King Arthur's Court, but anybody looking at this woman thinks it is truly about her.
Guinevere turned to go to the kitchen. "No, wait honey. I think you need to create a setting more suited to the mood of the music. Guinevere is getting up from her sleep to serve the king. Guinevere would not be wearing her dress at that time of night. We want to imagine you like the Guinevere of old, coming down the dark corridors of the castle. The guards are asleep. The torches line the halls giving only faint light and long shadows. Guinevere is naked. Set the scene for us."
Guinevere chokes when she hears the words. David raises his arm and extends his hand. He guides Guinevere to stand before him. He grabs both of her hands and guides her down to her knees in front of him. The position of servitude is intoxicating to the two men.
Guinevere is hesitant, defiant as she makes eye contact with her husband. "Is this what you want?' her eyes seem to be sending to him. Joe's stare is firm. "Yes. Take it off." No words are spoken, but they have been married long enough to be able to pass messages of this magnitude. Guinevere is sad. She is humiliated. Guinevere knows she has no choices as she turns to make eye contact with David.
Guinevere is on her knees and reaches for the lowest button. With trembling hands, she pushes it through the eyelet. Her face flushes as she feels the breeze against her cleft. She goes to the top and starts down; slowly opening the buttons with fingers she can hardly hold up. When she is done, she holds the sides together, reluctantly unable to drop her hands to her sides.
The soft cloth in her fingers still drapes open at her lap, revealing the alabaster white shaven cleft at the top of her dark silk stockings. Reluctantly she accepts the silent orders from her guest's eye contact and slips the garment from her shoulders.
Guinevere bows her head as she silently folds the dress and lays it in her lap. She cannot adjust to making eye contact with two clothed strangers. She does not seem to recognize the man she married as her husband now. No husband would subject his wife to the company of another man like this. She crosses her arms in front of her as a reflex. She knows she is not allowed to hide herself. Her arms cross across the bottom of her breasts. Her long-stemmed pink nipples peek over the tops of her arms like puppies looking out of the back window of a car.
Both men stare silently as the song plays;
Such is the silence o'er royal Camelot.
It's too dark to fly, but the raven he peeps
When the song fades away, David grabs her hands and guides her to stand. Gabrielle turns to the kitchen to hide her humiliation and embarrassment. Her high heel boots click across the honed limestone floor and keep the men's attention framed on the only un-tanned part of her body; the ivory white tantalizing space between the tops of her silk stockings and her Coppertone back.
Guinevere can hardly see through her tears as she loads several slices of apple strudel and two cups of coffee on a tray. The men turn when they hear the familiar clip-clop of her boots. Guinevere is humiliated to be facing them; arms bent to hold a large silver tray. She has no cover.
Her long-stemmed pink nipples flutter like manometers measuring the impact of each boot as it strikes the stone floor. Her pouty shaved cleft seems to have an unashamed proud dignity of its own. It is not humiliated. It is not embarrassed. It struts proudly below the tray. This is a thing of beauty and wonder to the two demented men.
The tray is too big to handle with one hand. She stoops down on her knees in front of David to let him pick up his plate of strudel and cup of coffee. When he is done, Guinevere pivots on her knees in front of her husband as he takes his food and coffee. Guinevere is not about to stand there, bending over and pass the food from the tray on the coffee table to the two men.
It would leave her ass in the air winking at each one of them.
When the men have their food, Guinevere remains on her knees, with her head down slightly, unable to look at the clothed men while she is naked. She know that being naked is probably only the beginning of her humiliation. Guinevere plays nervously with her fishtail braid that hangs down her front and covers her labia.
Joe finally puts his clean plate and empty cup down on the end table next to him. "Well Guinevere, it is getting late. I don't know why David should have to drive back to his hotel so late when we have room here, do you?" Guinevere is silent. She looks up at her husband reluctantly. She understands where this conversation is going.
"What do you want me to do, Joe?" Guinevere knows, but she is not going to do anything without being expressly ordered. She is not about to show any initiative in her own humiliation and embarrassment.
"I think David is looking forward to a long peaceful night of sleep. But I don't think he will be able to get right to sleep unless he is a little more tired. I think you can make him much more comfortable upstairs tonight. But before you go up, I would like to see a brief demonstration of what you can do. Guinevere I think you should show him how good a hostess you can be."
It was all too clear to her what the evening was coming to, but she was still hoping she was wrong. She was still hoping against all hope that she would be free of these embarrassing commands.
David reached down and took her right hand. He guided her to turn and reposition herself between his knees. Being on her knees, naked, in front of a man only meant one thing.
Her husband Joe had set this up. He had been upset for all the years they were married, because this one act was beneath her dignity. She had been willing to accommodate him in almost any other capacity, except for this one issue. It was an issue that had been festering in Joe's psyche for some time now.
"This is the leader of our church. We have to join their church for our salvation. Our church beliefs require us to share our love with each other, regardless of who we are married to. David is the symbol of our religion. As a prelude to our Confirmation Ceremony, you need to show David your commitment. He is a symbol of the church. You can start by undressing him honey."
Start? She was on her knees, naked. She had gone out in public with her husband nearly naked. Start? Tears were starting down her face as she reached up to unbutton his shirt. Start? She thought about how she had made a spectacle of herself when she got up on the barstool and spread her legs to get up onto it as she reached up to open his belt buckle and unzip his fly. Start? She thought about how she had paraded around naked serving them food as she removed his shoes and socks. David raised his hips as she put her thumbs over the top of his slacks and slid them down. Start? She thought about how she had lovingly disregarded her own embarrassment and given in to her husband's orders to remove her bra and panties.
David was a big man. His six foot six height; his athletic body; his dark complexion had a lot to do with his success in recruiting people into his religion. He was a very persuasive speaker, but his personal appearance had a lot to do with it.
Guinevere nervously folded the man's slacks and slid them under her knees, which were killing her on the honed limestone floor. She sat there, with her head down for a minute or so, trying to mentally prepare herself for the unspeakable act she was required to perform.
Guinevere looked pleadingly over to her husband one last time; pleading for leniency; pleading for sympathy; pleading for a reprieve from this humiliation and embarrassment. Her husband was not about to let her out of this. She had denied him all these years. If she wouldn't do it for him in a warm bed in a gesture of love, she could damn well learn to do it in front of the leader of their church. She could start in front of God and everybody as a sign of their commitment to salvation; to absolve their sins.
Guinevere was still making eye contact with her husband as she rested her right forearm on his left thigh. She was still looking at him as she reached up with her left hand and wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft. She was still looking at him as she squeezed it and pulled the loose skin towards the crown.
The semi flaccid monster seemed to be waking up. Each slow motion stroke seemed to provoke another inch or so length to the growing length. Even without looking at it, Guinevere could tell it was not going to fit. "This is going to hurt" she told herself.
She now turned her attention to the evil monster in front of her. She had to blink her eyes to confirm what her hand had already told her. The length and girth was beyond anything she or her friends had giggled about as young teenagers. Yes they had gone to porno sites out of curiosity. The things they had seen on screen were aberrations, they told each other.
She had grown used to the length of her husband. This was another whole world. Was this the sign of his status in the church? Was he somehow endowed with this size because of his leadership in the church?
Guinevere looked up into his eyes; searching for something; searching for sympathy; searching for atonement for previous transgressions? She didn't know herself, but knew she didn't see it in his eyes. Guinevere tried to force a smile she didn't have in her. It was an attempt to force an image of assurance both to David and her that this was ok. The tears down her face gave her away.
Guinevere turned the phallus straight up and against his chest; and while making eye contact, puckered her lips and kissed it on the underside of the tip. She tried not to gag at their contact. It wasn't so much the taste as the idea of what she was doing. It brought back so many bad memories.
All of a sudden she was fourteen years old again. All of a sudden she was in an upper bedroom with some boys from the football team. A spin the bottle game had gone out of control. They had taken her clothes off, tied her with her clothes and tied her into a chair. She was being forced open her mouth while one of the boys had forced it into her. They had left her there; tied and with sperm in her hair, eyes, nose and dripping from her mouth onto her breasts.