Page 32 of Fire Under Glass
Rossi met the demand, forcefully ramming her ass, and the somewhat revived doctor moved to her hidden breasts, and thrusting his hand under her chest, pinched a nipple firmly between his fingers until the final spasm shot through her, her ass thrashing back and forth.
Rossi’s climax finished them all—almost like an afterthought, but nonetheless, producing a resounding bellow from the satisfied man.
After he withdrew, the used woman collapsed forward, while the two men disappeared.
What was left was the tumultuous heat receding, the remnants of the scene—dildos, probes, the enema bag and the grease that soothed her narrow pathway—and a limp, empty and surrendered woman who slowly recovered in the white-tiled room, as the exotic ferns wavered back and forth beside the window.
I was nearly as exhausted at the end of my story as I’d been that day. Oddly, the telling seemed as cleansing as that amazing enema. I had little desire to say more, but there were loose ends to tie. I wanted a neat bow on this package of the past, one I had no plans of opening again. “Two days later,” I started speaking, “another unexpected gentleman appeared at Rossi’s house as I was arriving back from classes. Rossi motioned me into his main living room. Justine, his cook, was there, as well as John—a man who tended the gardens on the property.”
“‘I know we’ve not talked about this, but the propriety of our situation is likely to be called into question—soon.’ He sounded unusually formal, which made me puzzled by the unexpected scene. He introduced Judge Iverson who would be performing the ceremony. Ceremony? I asked him. We were getting married. Right there! No proposal, no ‘I accept’ from me. But married.”
KC’s normally unruffled face looked almost as aghast as mine had that day.
“’It’s not so unexpected, is it?’ Rossi said. I can hear him now. He had this sort of silly serious look on his face. Of course, it was unexpected, but I was too flabbergasted to say anything. We’ll get it handled right here…he just babbled on.
“Not much for romance… Oh, when we were making love he could be decently romantic, but not for our wedding. We exchanged a few lines, repeated a few statements to the Judge, Rossi put the ring on my finger, and we were pronounced husband and wife.” I stopped to take a breath. “I think he kissed me on the cheek, I tried to smile like a happy bride, and the whole thing was over in five minutes. Justine went back to the kitchen, John to his gardens, the Judge left. Rossi resumed his reading while I worked on some architectural drawings. The fact that we were married was no more than a minor blip in his regular routine.
“After my final inaugural into the depths of Rossi’s sexual desires with Dr. Dwyer and the wedding ceremony, there were a few distinct changes in our lives. I didn’t see the doctor again—I sort of wondered if he just went around initiating women to enema sex. But, as with most questions I had, I let it die. Rossi hated me probing about anything. He did, however, find other occasions to put me through the same sort of scenes. At least once a week, often twice, the enema ritual repeated. It was never quite as long or formal, but it normally ended with sex—sometimes anal, sometimes vaginal with a dildo in my ass. Every few months another man would join us as the doctor had. Then, the event would last an entire evening. I’d go through an elaborate anal ritual—enema, dildos, often a paddling and always sex. Rossi didn’t ask if I enjoyed myself, he presumed I did.”
“And did you?” KC jumped in asking.
I waited to answer because I wasn’t sure what to say. I had to think back again and that was often tough, especially after I’d dumped my story and the memory faded. It only took seconds for me to return to real life, I was desperate to quit that other place. “Orgasmically, I’ve never been more shockingly satisfied,” I realized. “Emotionally, I felt…” what word would do? “…dispossessed, denuded…how’s that for a feeling?”
“Probably honest,” KC replied. “You want to be treated that way again?” he asked.
“No. I won’t go down that road again, not with anyone.”
“Then I won’t ask you to. We’ll just skip over that and move on to something else.”
Was I relieved? I think so. But why was it so important to tell him this sordid tale?
The more I confessed to KC Gable, the more I needed to be close to him. The ride home on his Harley was a reckless thrill. The evening was beginning, the shadows long, and my fear had turned into exhilaration. The buzz in my pussy was so intense as he walked me to my door that I pulled him inside the loft and attacked him.
We made love in silence. His hands were tender, some kisses miniscule, others wide open and wet; and the beat of his body was like a drum inside my crotch. The punishment came as his hand smacked my ass while we groped bodies. He raised a good sting, leaving my bottom smarting, but there was nothing but love coming from that hand, and a lot of lust. I imagine that the tales of Rossi were becoming as arousing for him as they were for me. We had to fuck it out of our system to be free of him. At least that’s the way I felt. I suppose KC didn’t think him the demon I thought he was; but he didn’t have a crude past to hate and love the way I did. Then again, I knew very little of KC’s past. It seemed that our entire relationship was focused on me. In that light, it seemed terribly self-centered.
Chapter Nine
My clothes changed; my mode of transportation was as often a Harley hog as much as my baby blue Mercedes; my free time was free, not a brooding wasteland of worry and senseless wondering. I fit my career into the spaces allowed. Thought about it less, and did a better job when I was working. I spent more time at the theatre, sometimes just watching KC direct, get angry, cuss and fight with his brood of malcontent fellow actors. When he was happy, the emotion seemed to turn the place into a Technicolor wonderland. If I’d have told him that, he would have turned up his nose and rolled his eyes. Black was still his favorite color. Because of that, I wore pink and yellow to the theatre thinking that as blatantly rebellious. I’m sure he understood and thought this little mutiny apropos—and charming.
Spankings? They were regular, lots of fun
and mostly sexual. Though, there was one late in the spring, that jarred me loose from a mellow and contented mood of lazy bliss. I arrived at the theatre Friday afternoon with the intention of doing some freehand drawings of sets for a play KC would being doing in the fall. It was KC’s idea for me to do some design work, since his intern was quitting and he wouldn’t have time before the season ended to find another one. My mind was flying. I’d read the play, visualized the possibilities for several days, and nervously began putting down my thoughts as his actors were rehearsing scenes for a special performance of the final play. I could ignore them, I’d seen Shakespeare enough to make it background music along with the thoughts in my head.
“Gail!” I didn’t hear his voice to start. “Gail!” KC repeated with a decided urgency I hadn’t heard from him in a couple of weeks. I hadn’t been “bad” in so long that the mood of punishment and surrender had sort of drifted away. Yes, I would still shiver if I heard a reprimand directed at someone else. But his irritated tone—directed at me, suddenly turned my juices free, pursuing those other twisted paths of fantasy.
“Something wrong?” I looked up, seeing him standing below me on the stage floor—I was on a riser, a few feet above. He’d been working with two actors, who were now standing to the side.
“Tell me, what are you feeling?” His voice cut my core with knife-like precision.
“Bewildered,” I answered truthfully.
“What else, bitch?”
Oh, this was rare! “Frightened,” came immediately to mind.
“Front and center.” He’d never used that command on me, but I knew the required response. A little of Rossi’s dictatorial verve was recalled in that moment—almost like a flashback of feeling, though it was KC I focused on.
Putting my paper and pencil down, I moved to the theatre floor. “Get a chair,” he said immediately.