Zane Pella - Fanchon_s Book

Beside me, naked legs gracefully askew, Kristi slept. I bent and sniffed deeply, filling my flaring nostrils with the intoxicating musk-aroma. Need surged in my loins: awake, my darling, awake and let me love you but she remained untouched by my plea, the loosely tossed limbs quiescent, their beauty a temptation, their pose a challenge.

Did I dare?

I dared. With more bravado than bravery, I slid to the foot of the bed, tense, breathless; aware of the possibility that she might wake up angry. But it.was a calculated-risk that struck only minor terror in my ambitious heart-even in anger my beloved could be captivating: she wore the-mood like a royal mantle. Anyway, the consequence could hardly be more dire than my need. And if I drew her from sleep slowly enough, carefully, delicately, she would probably be pleased…

Her feet were soft. My lips paid a lingering tribute. Soft and clean and perfumed; hadn't I bathed and scented them myself? So dainty-but cruel too at times; last night she had crushed me to the floor with her foot on the back of my neck, not once but often; it was one of the things I recalled most vividly. That and the finger-snapping, the peremptory signal she had used in conditioning me to instant obedience-all part of what she called my "training"-nor could I forget how she had finally united both tokens of servitude to evoke the groveling ritual with no command other than the wordless snap of her fingers. The thought turned me hot with humiliation; such a shameful thrill! and almost instinctively I ducked my head and relived it, rubbing the nape of my neck against the sole of her foot.

"Mm… Fanchon?"

"Oh. I-I didn't mean to disturb you."

"It's all right. No, don't stop. I like that. Hmm, I must have trained you well last night, you do it so naturally." She flexed her knee and stroked my face with her toes. "Ooh, your skin is warm. Are you excited, dear?"

"You should know. I'm always excited."

"How nice. Oh, Fanchon, I do love you. Sweet… such a sweet, sweet slave-and so devoted, yes, do that, kiss my feet, my pretty feet-and my legs too after a while; then maybe I'll let you suck me. Would you like that?"

"Darling… "

"Kiss, kiss-ah, what a mouth you have! Don't you wish we could wake up like this every day?"

"Umm, every day. I'll do it."

"But you can't, of course. Too bad."

"I'll do it, I'll do it. You'll see."

"Oh, sure. But only while we're on vacation-and then we'll have to go back home and… well… you know… "

"I'm sorry. I'll try to make you happy."

"Happy? But you can't afford it, Fanchon, that's the trouble. You've spoiled me-and now I get the chills when I think of your nasty old husband hanging around. He'll be in the next room every night and-oh, I just hate him! How can I be happy living there? I do wish we had money. Enough so that I wouldn't have to work. Enough for a little place of my own so that we could be together whenever… " Her voice faded despondently. "Just a dream, I guess."

"Please angel don't be sad. This is our holiday. We'll worry about it when the time comes, shall we?"

"Uh-huh. I suppose so…"

I lulled her with my caresses. And I lulled myself too, after a fashion, letting the detergent tide of passion lave away the ugliness of my poverty and her discontent. Until, almost reluctantly, she heaved a small sigh of appreciation and came out of her doldrums to whisper the word, the all-important word, indulgently at first and then with increasing urgency as I dived between her legs and began to suck; but soon there were more words, other words, lewd, lewd, and I was relieved when her thighs clenched convulsively and deadened the noise. Even so, the soundproofing was only partial, and through the soft flesh clapped to my ears I could still hear dots and dashes of scurrility. But somehow it didn't bother me as much now; she seemed to be enjoying her outburst immensely, synchronizing the shrillest oaths and obscenities to the lustiest tremors and twitches of her body; it was all rather quaint, in a way, and how could I feel antipathy toward gutter argot if it gave the ferocious little hellcat such apparent glee? Let her spout the dirty words, I was too busy to care, too busy mouthing my own hot-tongued silent imprecations-and besides, I just couldn't see myself resenting something that simulated her sexually and kept her mind off the querulous view she had taken of our future. I only hoped the gnawing grievance, would slither away and be forever forgotten. I didn't even want to talk about it. At least not until it became absolutely necessary.

As it turned out, though, the problem had been shunted aside only temporarily. We spent the rest of the afternoon in bed mostly, calling room service for sustenance and resuming our lovemaking with restored vitality. Then, toward evening, we bathed and dressed and went downstairs to the main dining room. That was where she brought it up again, right in the middle of the soup course. The money issue.

I hadn't realized how much it was upsetting her. Nor could I find any means of circumventing the discussion, now that it seemed so portentous. So we got involved in some serious talk-and I soon gained a better understanding of what I had feared might be a clear-cut case of avarice. Nothing of the sort; it hinged on jealousy, rather: Kristi didn't really object to low-paid housework, but the nearness of Oliver was simply too much to bear. She wanted me-and no one else. Our romance would wither and die without privacy, she insisted, and we needed the same kind of seclusion that had made last night so perfect. A hideway, then. A place where we could be together and not have to worry about a husband on the other side of the thin wall. A little love-nest all our own.

So it was more than "just a dream"-and how quickly I agreed with her! Even as she outlined her proposal, I had shimmering visions of what it would be like. My tender tyrant in a cozy apartment, living the role of the petted and pampered mistress, lounging in a negligee while I came every day and served her. Waited upon her, attended to her wants and whims, amused her if she got bored, caressed her when she turned amorous, yes, and I would even look the part-like a vivacious maid, perhaps, dressed in one of those outrageously sinful soubrette costumes: high heels, short skirt, tiny cap and apron (hmm, hadn't I once considered buying just such an outfit for her?), all of it for effect, more theatrical than practical. But there would be menial chores to perform, too, the dusting, the cleaning, the bed-making (if she ever got out of it long enough!) and I might rinse her undies and hosiery or do her hair and fingernails. Toenails too if she so ordered, although that would reduce me to the status of a body-slave, almost, and I'd have to wear thong sandals and a skimpy tunic-unless she fancied her slave naked. Oh, the times we could have! the wild and wicked revels, the crazy stunts and games, the hot sex; was there anything we wouldn't dare if we had a place of our own? The possibilities were as infinite as my darling little dreamer's imagination, and the prospect held me spellbound.

But I snapped out of my trance in a hurry. Now that Kristi's dream was my dream, something had to be done to make it come true. Couldn't we figure out a way to get the money?

One way was obvious. She mentioned it; I demurred emphatically-and she must have recognized that persuasion would be futile. Despite the simplicity and success of the surreptitious venture, I had no intention of filching any more secret information from Oliver's files. Not that I didn't give it some thought. But as a last resort, that was all, in case none of my other ideas worked out.

Oh yes, I did have ideas. But weak ones, hardly more than faint flashes; all through dinner they kept flitting around in my mind like errant fireflies, a confused tracery of ephemeral notions, maggoty concepts, all entailing some form of skullduggery-and all consequently worthless. Nevertheless, they gave me confidence. Something feasible was bound to turn up in my fertile brain; hadn't I always regarded myself as a creative person?