Two Short Stories and Three Very Short Stories Page 3

  When he was spent, I lifted my mouth, wiping it on the sheets before I looked up at him. He was breathing heavily, eyes closed and a smile on his face. He seemed more than content to sleep in my bed, but that I could not permit.

  I arose and, donning a satin wrapper, brought him a glass of wine.

  “For you,” I said, “to restore your strength.”

  “I have none left,” he replied.

  Putting my arm behind his shoulders, I eased him to sitting. “Drink deep, mon brave,” I told him, “the night awaits us both.”

  He drained the glass and I dressed him. Moving fast so he barely noticed what I was doing. No doubt he sensed a breeze or a draught in the room. “Don’t you have a home to go to?” I asked, when he was clothed.

  “Paris is my home,” he replied, “the theaters, the boites, the clubs.”

  Maybe, but he did not inhabit the streets. “I’ll walk you back to the club where I found you.”

  He made some mild protest but since I was already tying on my bonnet, he agreed and I walked him back to the smoky club, knowing full well he would not remember the way to my rooms. If indeed he even remembered me. We can take liberties with mortal minds that way.

  “What do you do,” I asked, as we neared a corner near the nightclub. “when you are not downing bottles of wine?”

  “I paint Paris, her life and her lovers,” he replied.

  Another painter, Paris seemed full of them these days but this one had more depth more passion than most of the would-be artists. A better tailor too. “Farewell, lover of Paris,” I told him and disappeared into the arms of the night.

  I never saw him again; it does not do to frequent the same mortals, and shortly after I took my little servant with me and we left Paris.

  But from time to time over the intervening years, I have thought of that man, his air of despondency, his crippled legs and a most unforgettable cock.

  Next I have a trio of very short shorts. The first one I sold to a magazine that wanted sensual, rather than explicit stories. Unfortunately (as happens too often in this business), the magazine went out of business before the story appeared. However, I liked my character Annie, and later, just for fun, wrote the other two. Eventually, Annie morphed into the heroine of Power Exchange. After I changed her lover’s name to Mark, and bolstered the rather vague setting. I think in these three stories, I pictured her in an old, rather dilapidated house in the Loire Valley or the Auvergne. Yes, I admit, the Story of O had to have been simmering at the back of my mind, but things changed as I wrote Power Exchange. And, if I’ve piqued your curiosity there’s an excerpt from Power Exchange at the end of this collection.

  Getting Dressed

  ©2014 Madeleine Oh

  His alarm woke her. Not the shrill jangle of the rising bell she remembered from school, or the pipping bleep of her own digital alarm clock. Jean Luc apparently woke to a carillon, the bells fading, after the initial peal, to a perfectly pitched coda. The last notes hanging like an echo on the edge of her drowsiness. What a way to wake. Why be surprised? So far, nothing about Jean Luc had been ordinary or commonplace. Wasn’t that what attracted her to him and brought her here at his invitation? The certain assurance of excitement, pleasure, and a stretching of her limits and horizons.

  Jean Luc had been more than right. The nap cleared the last traces of jet lag, leaving her refreshed and more than ready for whatever he had planned. Annie raised her head off the linen pillows and looked around Jean Luc’s bedroom. The afternoon sun cast slashes of light on the bedclothes, the floor, and the dress spread on the gilt chair. She swung her legs out of bed and stood up, the terra cotta tiles cold under her feet.

  Time to get ready.

  A red dress and a pair of lace-topped stockings were all he had left out for her to wear. Getting dressed wouldn’t take long, once she got up the nerve. The prospect of meeting a bunch of new people wearing nothing but a few yards of silk and half an ounce of super sheer nylon, made her nervous as hell, but she had no doubt she'd do it.

  Soon.

  First she'd take a shower.

  The perfumed soap was heady with a rose scent that grew stronger, not fainter, under the hot water. In the steamy heat of the shower, Annie imagined herself in an old rose garden in high summer, perhaps cutting dark, scented blooms to arrange in the silver bowl on the hall table, or gathering petals from full-blown roses to dry for potpourri. Annie rubbed herself gently with the loofah, spreading the perfumed bubbles all over her body. She even shampooed with them, letting the foam sit on her hair a minute before standing under the stream of water to send rose-scented suds running off her shoulders and legs, until she stood clean and refreshed, and shivering a little as she stepped onto the deep-pile mat.

  Jean Luc’s towels were sized to wrap around like a blanket and thick and heavy enough to dry in moments. Annie towelled her hair and then ruffled it with her fingers. Short as she kept it, it would dry quickly in the air. She couldn’t miss the jar of body lotion of the same heady perfume. She slathered herself with it, rubbing the lotion into her legs, smoothing it over her breasts, and spreading it gently on her hips and belly, avoiding her naked pussy that still tingled a little from shaving last night.

  Annie’s face shone from the heat and the steam. Pity she couldn’t use a little powder, but Jean Luc’s directions had been clear enough. “Just what I put out for you, no jewellery, no makeup, no extras of your own.” She really would feel naked without lipstick.

  Putting stockings on legs damp from the shower and slick with lotion was a pain and if she wasn’t careful, she’d shove a finger though the sheer nylon. Annie didn’t fancy going out to dinner with a whacking great ladder up her leg. Gingerly she eased one over her ankle and calf, smoothing the fine mesh over her knee and up her thigh so the band of lace elastic circled her leg leaving a couple of inches of pale skin. The second one rolled up more easily or maybe she was getting the knack.

  Fingering the heavy silk of her dress she wondered if he’d chosen it knowing red was her favorite color, or perhaps to deck her out as a “scarlet woman”. No, she doubted his English was good enough to understand the idiom. She pulled the dress over her head and smoothed it over her body. Jean Luc’s choice of attire left nothing to the imagination, the bias cut silk clung to her breasts, showing clearly her peaked nipples and every curve she owned. Thank heavens the skirt was full, swirling to her calves and rustling as she moved. But… Annie turned, watching her reflection in the gilt pier glass. Where had he bought this dress? The skirt had two separate gathered panels, overlapping at the waist front and back so nothing gaped as she walked, but if she bent over, they fell apart exposing her nakedness. He hadn’t found this in Laura Ashley. Last were the shoes, matching red leather with four-inch stiletto heels. Annie stood up tall, getting her balance and just hoped she wouldn’t stumble and spoil the effect.

  She was ready. Annie glanced at the clock. She even had a few minutes to spare. Jean Luc would to be pleased. A last comb through her hair, a final glimpse in the mirror, a slow, deep breath to calm her stuttering heart, and Annie turned the ormolu doorknob. Stepping into the marble-floored hallway, she walked across the apartment to wait for Jean Luc in his study.

  Leather Love

  ©2014 Madeleine Oh

  Annie set the carton on the kitchen table. She hadn’t expected to find a large package waiting when she got home but she’d been getting used to surprises since meeting Jean-Luc. A kitchen knife soon took care of the sealing tape and from inside the heavy, brown carton Annie lifted out a blue box. It was almost the same pale shade as the Tiffany’s box that held her godmother’s graduation gift but, size and shape aside, Annie doubted Jean-Luc had bought gold hoop earrings. Nipple rings were more his line. She shivered at the thought. Would she agree if he asked? Jean-Luc wouldn’t ask.

  She pushed that thought aside and lifted out a shiny box, the color of a summer sky reflected in a still pool. She ran her fingers over the smooth gloss of the cardb
oard, hesitating before opening. Wanting to know what Jean-Luc had picked out. Wondering what he expected. As she lifted the lid, Annie caught a soft whiff of new leather from the mass of black tissue paper scrunched up like ebony foam. Her pulse quickened as she reached into the dark tissue, touched the silky softness of expensive leather, and pulled out a corset: a metallic, leather corset, soft as heavy satin and with a sheen like polished copper. The supple leather warmed under her fingertips. With a slow shiver of anticipation, she ran her hands over the soft animal skin and traced the twin lines of stitching that encased narrow strips of whalebone.

  She’d seen corsets before, in the books Jean-Luc loaned her, and the videos they watched on the nights they stayed home. She’d noticed satin and latex corsets worn at the two fetish parties he’d taken her to. But she’d never held a corset in her hands, much less ever seen anything as beautiful, as obviously expensive, and as intimidating as this. It looked tight-fitting and encompassing and her breath quickened as if she were already constricted.

  The phone rang.

  She just knew it was Jean-Luc even before she glanced at caller ID.

  “You’ve opened the package?” Goose bumps skittered down her spine.

  “Yes.”

  “Put it on.”

  “Okay, I just got in and…”

  “I’ll call back in ten minutes. I miss you, Annie,” he added, before hanging up.

  And she missed him. Six weeks was a long time but he’d made darn sure she didn’t forget him. Between calls, emails, faxes and the occasional package like this afternoon, Jean-Luc had never been far from her mind.

  Upstairs, Annie slipped out of her sensible pumps and stripped off her clothes, hanging her jacket over a chair and leaving her skirt a crumpled circle on the carpet.

  The corset still lay in the nest of tissue that rustled as Annie reached for Jean-Luc’s latest gift. Up here, under the slanting roof of Annie’s cottage bedroom, the scent of leather brought back memories of sex…and more. She smiled as the glove-smooth leather brushed her skin. Warm as a caress, the corset wrapped around her ribs like a lover’s arms. Like Jean-Luc’s hold on her.

  Twelve hooks fastened down the front from between her breasts to just above her now-hairless pussy. The corset almost met at her waist. It took just a little tug to fasten the first hook. The second closed easily enough but with the next two, one above and one below, the tightness grew like a pair of strong, warm hands gripping her waist. Annie held her breath as she fastened the corset up to breasts, exhaling gently at the last hook. Looking down at her breasts, shaped now into tight globes, she closed her eyes a moment, savoring the constriction, the sense of encasement, the feeling of being surrounded. Her ribs enclosed, her waist compressed, her breasts high.

  And she had five more hooks to go.

  Those were easier. It seemed the manufacturers expected less than skinny hips. Why not? Jean-Luc knew every inch of her body. The leather wrapped as closely as a new skin. She found herself breathing gently at first, then deeper, feeling the corset give with her diaphragm, just as it gripped her.

  Annie caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror Jean-Luc had insisted on hanging opposite the foot of the bed. She was encompassed in iridescence. A wide beam of afternoon sun caught the gleam of the leather as she moved and turned. It seemed she stood taller, back straight and shoulders back. With her body constricted, her limbs felt freer than usual. Her legs moved with an ease and confidence that amazed her and her arms swung comfortably. She raised them slowly and one by one removed the pins that held up her neat French pleat, smiling to herself as she shook her hair free.

  Her heart beat a little faster behind the leather and whalebone. If only Jean-Luc were here instead of across the continent.

  The phone began to ring.

  Waiting and Aching

  ©2014 Madeleine Oh

  Annie grasped the ormolu doorknob with a hand that almost didn’t shake. As expected, the room was empty. She’d half-hoped Jean-Luc had returned while she was in the shower but welcomed the chance to calm herself and prepare for what would follow. Except she had no idea what was coming next. Jean-Luc was a master at the surprise, an expert at the unexpected.

  Closing the door behind her, Annie looked around the now-familiar room, at the shelves of elegant leather-bound erotica, the antique armoire with painted doors that concealed a DVD player and the drawers holding Jean-Luc’s toys, the soft Kilim covering the waxed parquet, and the wide, brick fireplace, now filled with a beaten brass urn of dried eucalyptus that scented the room with the perfume of a tropical night.

  The shutters stood wide open, giving Annie a view of the building across the street. The late-afternoon sun spread a warm apricot glow across the room, shining on Jean-Luc’s mahogany desk and highlighting the dark green leather that had felt warm and smooth against her cheek when she’d darkened it with her tears. Balancing as best she could on her spiky heels, Annie stepped across the deep red and gold geometrics on the rug, pausing a second by the velvet upholstered fainting couch, where she’d first tasted the wild passion that comes with total surrender. Her body remembered in a flash of need. She wanted Jean-Luc here. Now. But he’d come in his own time and anticipation served only to heighten her yearning.

  She resisted the temptation to touch the articles set precisely on the desktop, but she looked. Closely. There was no mistaking the leather manacles, red to match her dress. Her body softened and ached. She knew how the warm leather tightened around her wrists. She’d worn a white set all night a few weeks ago. But what sent her pulse racing was the velvet jeweler’s box, not much bigger than a small paperback. The black velvet lid lay open, revealing the satin lining and a gold herringbone chain, wide and heavy looking but short enough to fit her neck as a choker. Annie’s mouth went dry with apprehension. Would Jean-Luc? Tonight? Or was it a test? She’d practice the patience her grandmother used to preach.

  With every effort to be graceful, she walked to a spot in front of the brass fender and knelt on the soft rug, settling back on her calves, as she focused her mind on Jean-Luc.

  As always, his timing was impeccable. Minutes after she’d taken up position, she heard his key in the lock and footsteps crossing the marble foyer and pausing outside the study door. She willed her eyes to stay down as she sensed the knob turning and felt the floor vibrate with each approaching step. A pair of hand-stitched cordovan wingtips came into her line of vision. She exhaled slowly.

  “My love.” Jean-Luc’s voice sent a warm thrill through her waiting body. “Look at me.”

  And now the “extra”: an excerpt from Power Exchange, the very first book I ever sold to Ellora’s Cave. This book grew out of the “Annie” stories but I changed the hero and the setting and made it far, far more explicit. In this excerpt, Mark and his friend, Alan, make one of Annie’s secret fantasies come to life. Enjoy.

  Power Exchange Excerpt

  © 2014 Madeleine Oh

  Mark put his cup down and smiled. “Your turn.”

  “For what?”

  “To share a fantasy. I told you one of mine…now you. Don’t tell me you don’t have any.”

  “Most of them involve Mel Gibson or George Clooney.”

  “Annie.” He sort of growled that. “I won’t oblige there. Try again.” He really meant it. She’d have to come up with something. “Stop acting coy!’”

  His irritation riled her. Coy! She’d show him coy! Maybe she’d manage a blush from him. That would make a nice change. She raked though her mind for something good, or bad, enough to shock him. “Would you refill up my cup please?” That would give her another minute or two.

  “My pleasure.”

  As he set the pot down, Mark looked across at her, expectantly. “Well,” she began. “I can’t claim it as an original. It’s a scene from a film I saw. I was in Florida on holiday with a friend, and the motel offered adult movies. There was this scene in one of them… She paused to wet her dry throat with tea and catch her c
ourage of the next bit. “The girl had been sunbathing in a field—that’s not the important bit. Anyway these two men come riding in on a horse, and they both made love to her…together…the three of them…in the field.

  “I thought it was exciting, Sarah, the friend with me, thought it was naf. But she has a lot of hay fever problems, and hates the countryside.” Annie said the last bit at break-neck speed, and swallowed half a cup of tea in relief.

  “You find the idea of two men at once, exciting. Want me to clone myself?”

  “You asked for a fantasy. Doesn’t have to be possible, does it?”

  He smiled. Slowly. As if appreciating the joke, or something else. “How did they do it?” he asked. “The two men. And how about her?”

  “She was on all fours. One knelt in front and she sucked him. The other one took her from behind.”

  Mark grinned. “‘Annie your fantasies are as wild as mine.” He drained his cup. “And with that image in mind, I’d better get dressed and leave, or I’ll have you back upstairs again.”

  Closing the door after a slow and steamy embrace, Annie pushed back the melancholy that enveloped her every Sunday. Heck the weekend was over. Mark was back to London and Merchant Banking, and she’d better get her mind ready to face Latin with 3A right after assembly Monday morning.

  * * *

  Annie made it through the front door, to a ringing phone. It was Mark. “I got held up a bit but I’ll be there. Hopefully in a couple of hours. I’ll bring dinner.”