Zane Pella: Fanchon_s Book

"And you want to play again?"

"I'd love to. Any part that suits-"

"Please, ma'm, don't mix me up. I'm not talking about any other parts. Just the game you made up. The princess and the love-slave. Would you like to play that one again?"

I nodded, tense; somewhat bewildered by the repetitious interrogation, but aware nonetheless that she was leading up to something. Something not quite kosher. The tilt of her lips had turned the stoic smile into a challenging smirk; was she teasing me? Trying to get me aroused only to shrug me aside again? I wouldn't put it past her. Not now. This was the devil half I was seeing, not the angel.

"Remember what you said, ma'm? About begging me? Well, if I'm going to be your princess, don't you think you ought to?"

"Hmm?"

"Come on, beg me a little."

What a coquette! Did she really expect me to beg? But of course she did; wasn't it all in the game? Oh, how clever! shifting into our play-acting scene so deftly, such a smooth transition-and how crass of me to have suspected her of trickery: the child was a nugget of purest gold. But at least I had sense enough to pick up her cue and get into the spirit of the thing. I dropped into my school-taught curtsy again, paused for a long moment and then-in a deliberately theatrical manner-sank all the way down upon my knees. "See how humble I am, princess? I'm begg-"

"No, don't call me that. I'm not your princess yet. I'm still just Kristi. If you want to play the game, you'll have to beg me first."

"Kristi… " It was more than I could grasp. But I was already kneeling before her and I simply couldn't get up arid quit, it would have been too embarrassing for both of us. "I'm begging you," I said and was amazed at the throaty, choked depth of my voice. "On my knees I'm begging you. Please?"

"Oooh, I like that. Yes, ma'm, I'll be your princess." A fleeting frown marred her radiant features. "Hey, that doesn't sound right. Ma'm. No, I can't go on calling you that. Not if I'm a princess."

"I understand, princess. My name is Fanchon."

"Yes. Fanchon. Very good. Now tell me, Fanchon, just what are you begging for?"

"I-I'm begging for a second chance. Let me kiss you and prove I can do it without hurting you."

"Well! You might say please."

"I'm sorry, princess. Please let me kiss you?"

"Yes. Here, you may kiss my hand."

Her imperious gesture stunned me. The little monster-sticking her hand out like that-wasn't she carrying the charade a bit too far? But how beautiful she looked sitting here, how bright and piercing her eyes. Emeralds, truly. I knew she was stimulated: And hadn't she told me about getting all wrapped up in her acting role?-I should have expected something like this. What else could I do but humor her?

I kissed the extended fingertips lightly. They wriggled in a peremptory request for more; my lovely little princess was getting hot-how nice! and I parted my lips and bathed her hand with kisses. A finger slipped into my mouth; I sucked on it, quivering in a warmth of my own as it squirmed a small duel with my tongue.

"There now, Fanchon, you've kissed me. Satisfied, "Princess… no-oh, you know. Not just your hand."

"Umm, I suppose not. All right then, you may help me undress. You do want to see me naked, don't you?" My eager compliance was sufficient reply. Hastily, although rather awkwardly, all thumbs in anticipation, I tugged her clothing off. And once again, much as I should have been accustomed to it by this time, I went numb with intoxicated fascination at the sight of her nude body. The sheer splendor of it!

"So beautiful," I murmured. "Hmm? You like?"

"My beautiful princess… "

"Am I beautiful? From my head to my pretty toes? You said that, Fanchon, remember? I didn't even know my toes were pretty until you told me so. But you did say it, even though you probably didn't mean it."

"I-I meant it. You're beautiful. All of you."

"I'm glad you think so. It's the way a slave should feel about her princess. Would you like to kiss me now?"

"Please… yes, darling princess."

"Then kiss my toes. My pretty toes."

In the murky whirl inside my skull there was a bubble of clarity. Such a diabolical little scamp! taking my words and twisting them to suit herself; even the idea of the worshipful slave had been mine (maybe I should have copyrighted it?) and she was stealing the whole plum right out from under my nose, taking over like a petty tyrant.

"What are you waiting for, Fanchon? You don't want to be my captive slave? The beautiful slave I bought in the marketplace for my pleasure? But you do, you know you do. And I want you to. So come now, obey me-kiss my feet!"

A tyrant, no less; ah, but what a lovable tyrant, a spoiled and saucy child, willful, outspoken, afire with brash vivacity, so utterly free of adult inhibitions. The shell of shyness was gone. I crouched low and pressed my mouth to one bare foot, then the other-beautiful feet, slender and high-arched and without a single blemish-but I couldn't stop to admire them, no, I couldn't stop for anything: two kisses weren't enough. Her toes pried my lips apart-forcefully; the command was implicit-and my only concern was to please my princess.

And please her I did. Nor did I have to be told how. Her little sighs and squeals and giggles kept me in line, informing me of my progress; I wondered if I would-have done all these bizarre things without that joyous pattern of noise to follow. Would I have opened my mouth like this? Licked the soles of her feet with my tongue? Sucked the pretty toes that wiggled between my lips? I didn't know. I didn't care, really. I just knew I was doing them-worshiping the beautiful feet of my beautiful princess-and adding every possible fillip that might bring another sigh, another giggle, another surge of heat in the already molten pit of my loins.

Then, quite abruptly, she rose from the chair and moved over to toss herself upon the bed, leaving me on the floor, still kneeling, avid for a greater intimacy and yet almost afraid to ask for it. But I had to. The hunger within me had grown too insistent to deny.

"Princess? May I kiss you some more?"

"No. Not yet. Let's just relax awhile. Uh… I think I'd like a cigarette, Fanchon. Are there any around?"

I scurried to fetch the pack. I lit one and placed it between her lips, hoping to keep her in the "princess" mood. Holding up the ashtray in both hands, I went down on my knees beside the bed, letting her know that I was still her slave even though she had interrupted my caresses. Oh, it wasn't difficult to figure out the reason for her sudden coolness. She was punishing me.

And I deserved it. This time when the moment came for me to bury my face in the lush sweetness of her flesh, I would know better than to bite. I had lost my head once, I had actually hurt that delicate treasure but never again! Oh no. Trembling in my need to prove myself, I prayed that she would hurry and finish the cigarette and give me my second chance. But she leaned back against the pillow and smoked lazily.

"Fanchon… "

"Yes, princess?"

"You like it? The way I play? It's not too much for you?"

"I'm your slave, princess. See how I'm kneeling and worshiping you even now? Nothing my beautiful princess could do would be too much for me."

"Don't be so sure about that. I might really get carried away some day. But we'll see. Meanwhile, though, let's just chat a little bit, shall we?"

"If you wish, princess."

"I do wish. But you don't seem very chatty, so I guess I'll just have to ask and find out what I want to know. Remember the other night when you got so excited? Tell me what you were thinking about. I'd like to hear it."

"I-I don't understand. You were my princess and I was a slave making love to you. Is that what you mean?"