The Word Master (17 page)

Chapter 30.

On Wednesday evening I let myself into Nancy’s apartment before heading in to work. She had just arrived home from the office. Her handbag was slung over the arm of the sofa and she had kicked off her shoes in the hallway. I stood for a moment. The living area was empty but from the bedroom I could hear the faint sound of humming. I went stealthily towards the sound. The bedroom door was open.

Nancy’s blouse was crumpled on the bed beside her skirt and underwear. I heard the sound of running water and followed it to the bathroom.

She was in the shower, singing quietly to herself. I could make out the shape of her figure through the billows of steam and the frosted glass of the shower stall. I stood leaning in the doorway with my arms folded and watched her with fascination and the first stirring of lust.

She was shaving – I could see her smudged silhouette bending at the waist as she drew a razor up her legs. She started singing, and her voice wasn’t bad. She was never going to release a record, but she could carry a tune.

I went into the bathroom towards the vanity mirror and wrote a message on the steamed glass…

I’m waiting to fuck you.

Your Master.

I went back into the bedroom, pulled back the covers and then drew the blinds, blocking out the last of the afternoon’s sunshine and enveloping the room in cool shade. I heard the water in the shower cut off abruptly, and a moment later the sound of the shower door closing.

I peeled off my t-shirt and stood bare-chested beside her bedroom dressing table.

It was an old piece of furniture – an antique, with ornate legs and dark polished wood. It was covered with tubes and small jars of lotions and potions, and above the countertop was attached a framed oval mirror. There was a photo of Nancy with her arms around an elderly couple wedged under an edge of the frame, and beside it was a small blue envelope.

I stared down at the brew of facial creams and cosmetics on the dresser, and then heard Nancy give a sudden shocked gasp of delight. She came running into the bedroom, barefooted, with a white fluffy towel clutched to cover her breasts. Her hair was wet, her body still beaded and glistening and rosy pink from the hot water. She stopped when she saw me, a happy-you-are-here smile across her face.

“Drop the towel.” I gruffed.

Nancy dropped the towel. It fell around her feet and her hands went obediently behind her back like she was on a parade ground. She stared straight ahead of her. She pulled her shoulders back to display her breasts.

“Get into position.”

Nancy dropped to her knees. She flicked me a glance to be sure it was the way I wanted her.

“Open your mouth.”

Nancy obeyed. I drew down the zip of my jeans.

“Come to me.”

She moved, feline and sensual, and I watched the sway of her hips and ass as she crawled on her hands and knees. She took my cock between her lips and sucked me into her mouth.

Nancy groaned around the fullness of me and then began to bob her head in rhythm with my thrusts. Her eyes watered. I pushed from my hips, using the pressure of her lips and the fluttering rasp of her tongue to ignite sparks of sensation along my shaft. When I was hard and slick with the adoration of her mouth I fisted my hands into her hair and lifted her to her feet.

“Get on the bed,” I said tersely. “I want you lying down. Reach back with your hands and grip the headboard. Don’t dare let go until I give you permission.”

Nancy flattened herself on the bed, hands clinging to the headboard as if I had tied her wrists there with invisible threads. She spread her legs without command and then looked up to where I was standing.

“Like this?” she asked with a provocative pout.

I nodded and kicked off my jeans. I went to the bed naked and knelt so that my mouth was close to the slice of her pussy. She smelled of powder and perfume. The mound of her sex was smooth and soft.

I blew a warm breath of air across the top of Nancy’s thighs. Her legs inched wider apart. I flicked my tongue across the button of her clit and her whole body spasmed. She was wet and glistening, ripe and already aroused. I covered her pussy with my mouth and drew my tongue in long slow swipes across the folds of her flesh.

Nancy bucked her hips then seemed to settle deeper into the mattress. I could see the tight strain of tension in her thighs. I worked the tip of my tongue inside her and felt the sweet taste of her arousal. I heard Nancy groan – a long low sound like all the breath was spilling from her lungs. I took the nub of her clit gently between my lips and hummed.

“Oh, fuck…!” Nancy cried out. She lifted her head off the pillow and looked down between her legs. I saw the stunned look on her face from the corner of my eye. I deepened the sound I was making so that the vibrations rumbled in the back of my throat.  Nancy began to tremble.

With her clit trapped between my lips, I eased two fingers deep inside Nancy’s pussy. She was slick with her desire. She took me deep inside herself and her muscles clenched. I kept my fingers still, enjoying the spasmodic pulse of her grip. Nancy grunted and then threw her head to the side. Her mouth fell open in a silent ‘O’ of pleasure.

“Roll over, onto your hands and knees,” I said at last. “Bury your face in the pillow.”

Nancy moved obediently. She lowered her head and turned her face to the side. Her bottom was high up in the air, her legs spread wide. I could see the glistening trail of her juices and I ran my finger through them and then sucked the taste of her into my mouth like I had been gifted a rare and precious delicacy.

“Bite the pillow,” I said.

She looked at me with a curious, questioning expression.

“So no one will hear you scream,” I explained… “Because I promise you, you
are
going to scream.”

I knelt behind Nancy on the big bed and slowly eased myself inside her. She started to pant. I gave her a moment to become comfortable and then began to drive forward with my hips. There was no finesse – this was about dominance and power. Our bodies collided together like waves crashing on the shore until I saw Nancy’s hands fist into the bed sheets and her body began to tense.

I dug my fingers into her hips and marveled at the way her body shuddered to each crashing thrust. I felt a trickle of sweat on my brow. I leaned over Nancy’s back and bunched my hand in the tangles of her hair, holding her face down against the pillow. She bucked her hips and then seemed to rock from side to side. I could hear her breathing become great gulps of air as she teetered on the edge of an orgasm.

I stopped suddenly – went completely still, my cock buried deep inside her, and the muscles of her pussy clamping in fierce spasms.

Nancy was tensed – her nerves drawn tight and on the point of breaking. I left her there for long seconds while her body convulsed and her pussy rippled around my shaft.

“I am your Master,” I said calmly.

“Yes.” Nancy groaned.

“And you will serve me with your body.”

“Yes!” she gasped.

“And you will surrender your mind to me – submit in every way.”

“Yes!”
she hissed – the single word an exclamation of her desperation and her desire. Her body was on fire. She squirmed her bottom against me.

I thrust my hips and she cried out in relief.

I thrust again and her cry became a long satisfied moan.

I thrust once more, and Nancy began to come.

The sound was like an old warning siren, starting somewhere deep within her as a low moan and building in volume and pitch until Nancy was keening into the muffling sound of the pillow. Her fingers clawed at the sheets and her back heaved. She fell forward on the bed and my cock slid from inside her.

I swung my feet off the bed and began to dress. Nancy lay for a long time in the trance-like afterglow of her orgasm. She rolled over with limp lethargy. Her eyes were distant and dreamy. One of her hands drifted lazily down to her pussy as though the aftershocks of her release were still rippling within her.

She closed her eyes and seemed as though she might drift off to sleep. I tugged on my jeans. Nancy’s eyes fluttered uncertainly open.

“Did you…?” she asked softly.

I shook my head. “This wasn’t about me,” I said. “And I don’t need to come every time we’re together. This was about you and about submission. There are going to be times when you give yourself to me, and other times when I reward you. That’s what this was about.”

Nancy frowned. She sat up slowly. There was a lingering flush of warm color across her chest and neck that only now was beginning to fade. She came up onto her knees and reached out for me. She rubbed at my cock through my jeans. I was still hard – and I would be for some time yet.

“Are you sure?” she asked. In her gaze was an ache simply to please me.

“I am sure,” I said. I stepped away from the bed, pulled on my t-shirt. I had a piece of paper in my jeans pocket. I brought it out and handed it to Nancy. “That’s a list of things I need you to get.”

She scanned the note, her gaze moving down the page quickly. At the last item she stopped and looked into my eyes with utter incomprehension.

Her voice faltered with confusion. “I can get the ball-gag and the spreader bar,” she said confidently. “And I already have handcuffs and plenty of silk scarves. I can pick up a riding crop tomorrow on the way to work… but what’s
this
?” her voice became kind of tremulous and awed. “What’s
Vegemite?
Is it like… like a special BDSM contraption that is inserted into a submissive woman’s vag–”

“No,” I said. “It’s a breakfast spread. Australians put it on their toast. You need some in your refrigerator if you ever want me to stay overnight.”

Chapter 31.

Wednesday night’s program went well, although I admit to being distracted by thoughts of Nancy. I wondered if she was in bed, and if she had pleasured herself since I had left.

I wondered how she would look blindfolded and handcuffed…

By 3am – heading into the last hour of the program – I had made up my mind to return to her apartment after the show.

Through the window behind where April sat I could see Cecily going about her work with quiet efficiency. It was different to the way Grover had run the program – everything flowed smoothly without the occasions of chaos. It was good to have her back. I watched her work the phones and wondered how I could ever have presumed that she might have been Sondra.

Maybe she sensed my eyes on her, or maybe it was just coincidence, but Cecily looked up as I was watching her and our eyes met. She smiled shyly and gave me a brief wave. I nodded and smiled back.

“She has a little crush on you. You know that, right?” April said.

My gaze flicked to April. “Who?”

“Cecily.”

“How did you… do you have eyes in the back of your head?”

She shrugged. “Women are sensitive,” she said with enigmatic vagueness. “We know things – like when another woman is making girly eyes at a man.”

“Girly eyes?”

April’s expression changed. She tilted her head a little, widened her eyes, and softened the smile on her lips. “Girly eyes,” she said again. “It’s the flirting face we make when we don’t want to come across as flirtatious.”

I smiled and shook my head. “You’re crazy,” I said. “Cecily doesn’t have a crush on me. She’s too…”

“Nice?”

I shrugged. It wasn’t the right word but it would do. “Yeah. She’s too nice.”

April smirked and pointed a warning finger at me. “It’s the nice ones you have to watch out for. They turn out to be the real tigers.”

I couldn’t resist. “And what about the loud annoying, irritating women? What do they turn out to be like?”

April’s gaze hardened – became suddenly serious. “You mean women like Nancy Collett?”

There was a long moment of tense silence. I stared back at April.

Did she know that I was seeing Nancy?

Did she suspect?

“Yes…” I said slowly. “She will do as a theoretical example. What do women like Nancy turn out to be like?”

“Trouble,” April said emphatically.

I said nothing for a long moment – April and I stared at each other across the desk. Suddenly there was a haunted, distressed look in her eyes. I read between the lines.

“Are you and Renata getting along?”

April’s lip quivered. She blinked quickly and her eyes became glassy. She became preoccupied with a flashing light on one of the monitors and I waited in the silence until her shoulders suddenly slumped and all the tension went out of her. She tried a brave little smile but it trembled off the edge of her lips.

“No.”

April was on the verge of sobbing. She took a long shuddering breath to compose herself then buried her hand in her bag for a tissue. Her expression began to crumble.

“Want to talk about it?”

April jerked her head up, then gave a hollow laugh through her tears. “Sorry!” she said. “This must seem stupid to someone like you.”

“Not at all, “ I said. I glanced at the clock on the wall again. “Let’s take one last call for the night. While I’m talking, can you schedule songs to carry us through to the end of the show?”

April nodded. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the tissue and took a couple more huffs of breath. “Sure,” she said and then tried a lopsided smile.

April spoke to Cecily through the two-way intercom while I tugged the headphones back over my ears. I heard the end of a song and glanced up at April as her voice filled the empty space. She chatted to the incoming caller for a moment before giving me my cue.

“Hello, Wanda,” I said. “This is Jericho. How can I help you tonight?”

The woman whose voice came down the line sounded intelligent, educated, and confused. I guessed her to be in her early thirties. She said she was visiting from out of town. I doubted Wanda was her real name.

“Hi, Jericho,” she said. “I just have a question about submission and what it actually means. I have the feeling it means totally different things to men and women.”

I arched an eyebrow and nodded. “I have the feeling you could be right in many cases,” I said. “Why don’t you give me a little more detail about how you’ve come to this conclusion.”

There was a sound down the line like the caller was changing the phone into her other hand. Maybe she was walking around her house as she called.

“My guy and I have started experimenting with various aspects of the lifestyle,” she began, “but I feel we’re on two different wavelengths. We talk about BDSM and we’ve done some reading about the subject… but I always feel like, to him – my guy – this is just about sex… about how he can use me for his sexual pleasure whenever he wants.”

I was nodding as I spoke. This was not the first time the subject had been broached since I had started the program. “And for you, it’s deeper than that, isn’t it? Submission for you goes well beyond just the act of surrendering yourself to his sexual commands – and that’s why you’re not feeling the connection to the lifestyle… right?”

“Exactly!” Wanda sounded breathless with her relief. “Finally someone understands!”

I sat back in the chair, pulled the microphone closer. “Wanda, what you are feeling is not uncommon, especially if the man you want to be your Master is inexperienced. A lot of guys claim they are dominants simply because the idea of sex with a woman who will obey and submit to them sounds like an easy way to get laid. And perhaps it is… for a few days. But sooner or later the woman realizes that she is not being fulfilled… and that’s different to being satisfied.”

Maybe Wanda didn’t quite get the distinction. I spelled it out for the listeners.

“Often in the very early days of a BDSM relationship it is easy for the submissive women to enjoy powerful orgasms. That might be because of the man’s technique, but usually it is because of the thrill of a new adventure – the realization of a long-held fantasy,” I explained. “Sooner or later though, many women begin to wonder if there should be something more – and there should. Women are complex characters and so much of the fantasy of submission is emotional for them. It often goes beyond sex… and sometimes the sexual aspect of submission is the facet they are
least
interested in.”

“It sounds like you are describing me,” Wanda confessed in a soft voice. “For me submitting myself to a man is not about the sex at all. Sex is something I accept because I see it as one of the ways my submission can be reinforced, but I also want it to be deeper. I want the complete package where I can surrender my body
and my mind
to a man. That’s not happening with my guy at the moment, and I need to know if I am the only woman who feels this way.”

I shook my head, and glanced at April. I wondered if anything I was saying to Wanda was resonating within her.

“You’re committed to your guy because you’re in a relationship. Submitting to a man is a different kind of commitment. It can be a deeper connection than the ones of traditional relationships because often the women who submit to men surrender their independence. Being told by your boyfriend that you can’t go out tomorrow night may be the kind of thing that would normally cause conflict in a relationship. If you have submitted to a man, you accept those kinds of decisions because you trust him to know what’s best for you. That’s one of the reasons I encourage couples that want to explore BDSM to go slowly. You might find that your boyfriend is not the kind of man you can trust on such a profound level – especially if his interest in the lifestyle remains superficially sexual.”

Wanda made some sounds like she was thinking hard. She sighed down the line, and when she spoke again she sounded almost frightened… like she was afraid of what I would say next. “So what should I do?” she asked in a small voice.

I tried to sound reassuring. “Talk to your boyfriend first – not just a discussion about where to buy BDSM toys and how hard you want to be spanked. Tell him what you believe submission is for you. I assure you, you’re not alone, but I want to also be clear – your version of submission will be different to every other woman’s. Some come to the lifestyle purely for the sex. Others want emotional rewards. No two women will be exactly the same because fulfillment means something different to everyone.” I hoped I was getting through to Wanda. I hoped beyond her disappointment, she could see some glimmer of potential. “So start with a heart-to-heart talk and hold nothing back. If you can’t tell your guy everything you need from this lifestyle, then either he’s not the guy you could ever trust enough to surrender to… or you’re denying him a real chance to be the man you need.”

Wanda sounded a little brighter. She thanked me for the advice and I thought she was going to hang up. I saw April with her fingers poised above her keyboard.

“Can I ask one last question?” Wanda’s voice changed tone.

“Sure,” I said, and then shrugged my shoulders at April.

“Are you in a relationship, Jericho?”

I paused – long enough for April to flash me a curious glance – before I gathered myself. “I never talk about my personal life on the air, Wanda.”

April took her cue and we went into a block of music that would carry us through until 4am. She spun in her chair to face the producer’s booth and gestured. Cecily nodded her head and then turned her attention back to the phones. The remaining callers on line would be asked to call another night.

I took off the headphones and set them down on the desk. April combed her fingers through her hair. She stretched her back so that her breasts bulged full against the fabric of her dress, and then yawned.

“Good show,” she said.

“Thanks. You too.” I got out of the chair and paced around the studio, then stopped abruptly by the closed door. “Do you still feel like talking about Renata and what’s going on in your life?”

“Do you have the time?”

I thought about my intention to return to Nancy’s apartment and then nodded. “Sure,” I said. “I’ve got nothing planned that can’t wait.”

April gave me a bright smile of relief.

“You want coffee?”

I looked a bemused question. “Will I need one?”

April tried to smile again. “Maybe,” she said ominously. “I know I do.”