Evocation (29 page)

“And what was that? To be some kind of tramp?”

The icy calm flowed through her. Eileen looked directly into her mother’s eyes, unflinching. “Yes!” she said. “To be some kind of tramp. As a matter of fact, there are men out there who like women who like sex. That perfect gentleman I married is one of them. And a good thing, too, because it turns out that I like being a tramp.”

Horror crossed her mother’s face. “You! You are…” she sputtered. “You’re just saying these horrible things to upset me.”

“No, Mother, I’m really not.” Eileen felt a surge of adrenaline. She spun around. “See?” She lifted her hair, exposing the back of her neck. “Do you see what it says there? I like sex. Anthony likes that I like sex. I don’t know what kind of men you’ve met, and I’m sorry if they taught you some bad lessons. You don’t know Anthony, and you don’t know me.” A part of her, somewhere deep inside, stood aghast at her words.

“Oh! Oh!” her mother said. “What have you done to yourself, child? Defiling your own flesh! And with those…words! Oh!”

“I told you,” Eileen said calmly, “I am not a child.”

“Oh! You are a pervert, that’s what you are! You will never—”

“Never what? Never find a man? I think I’ve already done that, haven’t I, Mother? Not only have I found a man, I’ve found a man who recognizes me for who I am. I found a man who has helped me be happy. Isn’t that what you want for me, Mother? A relationship that lets me be strong and confident and sexy? I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to tell me how to conduct my relationship with my husband.”

“You—how dare you! I will not talk about this with you any more.” She stormed off, up the broad flight of stairs. Somewhere up above, a door slammed.

The adrenaline faded. Eileen went back into the bedroom, shivering. She sat for a long time on the bed, not moving, emotions roiling inside herself. Deep inside, some part of her felt relieved that she had finally confronted her mother, that she didn’t have to tiptoe around any more. Another part of her felt guilt at the sense of relief. In still another place, she felt angry with herself for feeling guilty.

Somewhere up above, she heard muffled shouting through the ceiling. The chill calm returned. It seemed that, for the first time she could ever remember, her mother was no longer hovering invisibly over her shoulder, judging everything she did. The sense of relief grew stronger. It occurred to her, for the first time in her life, that perhaps her mother’s approval wasn’t as necessary as she had always thought it was.

Her mother spent the rest of the day refusing to come out of the guest bedroom on the second floor. When Eileen made lunch, her father came down the stairs, looking sheepish. “Your mother is a bit upset. What did you say to her?”

“Nothing she wanted to hear, I guess,” Eileen replied. “I told her that the relationship between Anthony and I really isn’t her business.”

“Well, good for you,” he said. “It isn’t.”

Eileen fixed a tray for him, sandwiches and juice with a cup of fresh fruit. He accepted it contritely, carrying it back up the stairs with him.

When Anthony came home that evening, Eileen explained the confrontation. He nodded gravely. “We will take them to the airport in a few hours. Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I feel like it should bother me more than it does.”

He drew her close, hands stroking her hair. “You have lived under her shadow for a long time. In the last year you’ve stepped out from under it and found a world that’s different from what you’ve expected. I think you’re a lot more confident than you used to be.” He kissed her cheek. “And that’s a good thing.”

Eventually, Eileen’s parents came down the stairs carrying their suitcases. Her mother scowled at Anthony. “You keep an eye on my daughter. There’s something wrong with her.”

“Mrs. Miller, I assure you, I keep a very close eye on your daughter,” he said. “There is nothing wrong with her at all. She is a strong and lovely lady who I love very much.”

Her mother’s scowl deepened, but she said nothing. They rode to the airport in silence.

When they returned, Anthony squeezed Eileen’s hand. “How are you doing?”

“Did you mean what you said? About me being strong?”

“I did.” He grinned. “And about how much I love you. What do you need?”

“I need…” She paused. “I need you to fuck me like a sex slave.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No. But it is what I need.”

“I see,” he said, looking thoughtful. “Well, nothing for it but to fuck you like a sex slave, then, I reckon. Strip.”

When she was nude, Anthony bound her spread out on the kitchen table, ropes tight on her wrists and ankles, and lingered over her for the entire evening. He drove thick dildos uncomfortably deep into her pussy, ass, and mouth, each held in place by a twist of rope. He left them there while he focused his attention on her breasts. These he alternately pinched, slapped, and caressed, working her into a state of arousal until she was right at the edge of orgasm before twisting her nipples savagely, denying her release.

Eileen squirmed and moaned. She felt stuffed, the rubber phalluses all just a little too big to take easily. He seemed to know exactly how to stroke her breasts until she was certain that nothing could stop her from coming, then exactly how hard to slap or pinch to steal the orgasm away.

It continued until time had no meaning for her. She writhed on the hard wood table, helpless and filled, until the pain and pleasure burned away the last remaining bitterness from the confrontation.

Eventually, Anthony removed his hands from her. He unfastened his slacks, revealing his thick erection. Eileen’s eyes widened as he positioned himself over her. He stroked himself rapidly, in short sharp jerks, until his cock twitched. Thick spurts of white come jetted over Eileen, splattering on her breasts, neck, and face. She tried to turn away. “Nnnngh! Nnnngh!” she cried. More come sprayed onto her cheek, dripping down into her hair.

Without a word, he turned his back, leaving her bound on the table. She heard him moving around, pots clanging as he prepared dinner. Without his attention, the dildos shoved inside her soon became a cruel torment. Her jaw ached. With every beat of her heart, her ass tightened around the intrusion within it. Her pussy, wet from all the near orgasms, throbbed around the hard rubber phallus bottomed out inside it. The come cooled and dried on her face and body. She whimpered continually, small helpless noises muffled by the dildo in her mouth.

When he came back, Eileen expected him to untie her. Instead, he gently set a plate down on her stomach. “Don’t move,” he said. “If you spill my dinner, I’ll punish you.” He pulled up a chair, a glass of wine in one hand.

Eileen whimpered. Remaining still was a difficult struggle. Her need, the throbbing ache from the too-large dildos, and the exhaustion from all her interrupted near-orgasms conspired to send little shivers through her body. She closed her eyes, moaning. Anthony ate his dinner leisurely, ignoring her discomfort.

Somehow, Eileen managed to hold herself stationary enough that she did not send the plate crashing to the floor. Anthony finished his dinner and drained his wineglass. Only then did he turn to her with a smile. “You must be terribly uncomfortable, my darling little whore. What should we do about that?”

Eileen looked up at him impotently. “Hnnnnugh!”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?” Amusement sparkled in his eyes. He leaned over her. “I bet I can think of something appropriate.” She felt his warm breath on her thigh. His tongue flicked against the piercing pressing against on her swollen clit. A bright, sharp jolt of pleasure flashed through her.

He stayed there, tongue moving rapidly over her clit. Eileen felt her arousal soar. As she neared the peak, he licked more and more slowly, his tongue stroking lazily around her clit, pressing the hard metal barbell against it.

She realized what was going to happen just an instant before the orgasm hit. When it took her, he slowed still more, his tongue swirling slowly, prolonging the orgasm. She felt herself contract painfully around the too-large dildos. She arched her back, thrashing and sobbing, her screams choked and muffled.

His tongue kept working, sending powerful surges of pleasure through her. Every one was followed by another hard contraction and a strong wave of pain. She fought against the ropes, desperate to escape.

He gave her no relief. When the orgasm was over, Eileen lay limply in the ropes, bathed in sweat. Aftershocks trembled through her body. Anthony continued the torment, his tongue not leaving her oversensitive clit. She panted, helpless. Her own juices leaked around the dildo buried in her aching pussy.

His tongue moved faster. Her eyes flew open. She shook her head frantically. “Nnngh! Nggh!”

He kept her there through two more orgasms, each more violent than the one before it. By the end, Eileen was moaning and weeping in anguish, longing for more and desperate for it to stop at the same time. When at last his tongue finally stopped moving, she lay twitching in the ropes for a long time, unable to think.

Anthony slowly, lovingly untied the ropes from her wrists and ankles. She let out a muffled “hngh!” when the dildo slid from her ass. The second dildo slid out of her clenching pussy with a humiliating wet slurp. Finally, he untied the rope around her head and took the dildo from her mouth. He looked down at her lovingly, eyes glowing with pride. “Did you like that, little whore?”

She nodded silently. He pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around her, and held her until her shudders stopped.

“You have my come all over you,” he murmured softly in her hear. She blushed and held him fiercely.

The days progressed. Winter swept through the city, draping it in snow. Anthony’s workload increased, and his trips home for lunch became less frequent. On those days where Anthony did not have the time to come home in the afternoon for a quick, forceful use of her body over the coffee table, her need consumed her. Those evenings, she would greet him naked at the door, and beg him for the most filthy things she could imagine. It still surprised her to hear herself asking, in graphic language, for him to perform the most sordid acts on her.

The snow receded. A chill lingered in the air, the last tattered remnants of winter holding out against the lengthening days. One evening, as a light rain misted against the windows, Anthony smiled at Eileen. “It’s time to get dressed. We don’t want to be late.”

“Late? For what?”

His smile grew. “Did you forget? Today is our other anniversary!”

She looked at him blankly.

“On this day, exactly one year ago, you were certified to be my sex slave. Don’t you think that deserves some celebration? I’ve made dinner reservations for us.”

Eileen blushed. “Oh! I didn’t…I didn’t know you wanted to celebrate that.”

“Of course I do!” he beamed. “It’s an important milestone in our lives together. Now let’s get ready, shall we?”

Anthony dressed in formal attire—dress shirt, tie, slacks, jacket. For Eileen, he chose a simple black dress, low in the front, ending just above her knee. “For this evening, I want you to wear your hair up.”

Her blush deepened, crawling over her ears. “But that means—”

“Yes.”

He watched as, flustered and biting her lip, Eileen tied her hair up, revealing the words written on the back of her neck. When she was finished, he offered her his arm and escorted her outside to the car. The chill touched her, raising goose bumps on her skin. “Isn’t it a bit cool for this?”

“Don’t worry, we won’t be outside,” he said.

They drove along streets already tinged with red and gold from the evening sun. When they had parked on the side of the road, Anthony opened an umbrella against the light rain and helped Eileen from the car.

They walked for about a block. By the time they reached the place he was looking for, Eileen felt goose bumps standing on her skin once more. She shivered lightly against the cool air.

“Ah, Mr. Porto, Mrs. Porto, so glad to have you. You’re right on time. This way, please.”

Eileen blinked in the dim light. A smartly-dressed, white-gloved maître d’ stood behind a deeply-polished wood podium. As Anthony folded his umbrella, she looked around, and realized they were in a restaurant. Thick carpet lined the floor.

“You have our reservation?”

“Of course, Mr. Porto,” the man said. Another man, younger and wearing a vest with a bright red tie, materialized at his elbow. The maître d’ turned to him. “Please show Mr. And Mrs. Porto to their table.”

They followed him to a table in the far corner of the restaurant, next to a picture window that offered a beautiful view of the setting sun. He pulled out the chair for each of them. As Eileen sat, a third man, wearing the same vest and deep red tie, appeared with a wine list. She looked around while Anthony read.

“Anthony, how come we’re the only ones here?”

He looked up. “Well, I’ve heard great things about this place, and…” He looked slightly guilty, like a schoolboy who’d just been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. “I wanted to make sure we’d get a reservation, so I, err…” He coughed. “I bought the place out.”