Anne spent the next several days in a shocked stupor, just perfunctorily going through the motions of performing her job. In class she forgot the answers to the most basic of questions and neglected to collect assignments for three days running, which surely would have occasioned complaints except for the fact that she forgot to make them as well. She had lost her concentration and struggled to focus on the simplest of tasks. She told her students to study during class periods, and while they buzzed in the background, she stared absently through the clerestory windows at cloud formations assembling and dispersing on the far horizon. She daydreamed of Cletus and Nadeen and the boys and waited for Rufus to summons her, and, from time to time, when she thought no one was watching her, she would brush a tear of shame, or indignation, or hopelessness from her cheek. She was strong and resilient, qualities that were unwittingly instilled in abundance at the Caruthers' Children's Home for Orphans, and she maintained her facade, but within, on the inside, all was turmoil and tumult, and she was buffeted by compulsions over which she had no control.
The days passed in a frantic blur of sex, and she was unable to sort her actions out in her mind. Her memory failed, and she had difficulty recalling events that had happened the day before. She was looking through a glass darkly and everything was out of focus, slightly out of kilter, and she waited for Rufus to reach out for her. She trudged through the days with Rufus' specter hovering over her, and the constant knowledge of the photographs locked in his desk drawer haunted her every waking moment. At night, when she got home, and it would be late because he had detained her, she would collapse into bed exhausted and fall instantly to sleep, and she would dream horrible, cruel dreams of bondage and torture, and Rufus would loom over her in the darkness to torment her with steely knives and ropes and chains, and when she cried or begged him for mercy, he would sneer and show her the pictures again, and the ropes and chains would tighten on her wrists and ankles.
He would summons her in the mornings, during her class' recess periods, or during the lunch period, or in the afternoon, after school had dismissed and the halls were empty and quiet. Sometimes it was all three in the same day, and when she finally was allowed to leave at night, she would barely have the strength remaining to turn the key in her car's ignition.
He was insatiable, but she was determined to satisfy his every need, to yield to his every whim. She could deny him nothing, and made no effort to resist him in anything. At first, she had yielded to his blackmail and threats, but quickly enough she had succumbed to her own desires and the restless quaking in her loins. And so, those tears of shame that coursed her cheeks were born of her inability to resist herself and the sweet, hot compulsion of her depravity, and, thus, when she waited lost in thought, detached and absent, she thought of him and of her desire, and when, at last, he called for her, she would rush to him down the long dark corridors and throw herself into his arms with ardent recklessness. She gave herself over to him to be used as he saw fit and gloried in the excesses of his creativity. And, in her submission to him, she was not passive, but read his moods and learned his traits, his strengths and weaknesses, and she played to them willingly to bind him to her.
Rufus loved the photographs of her and he loved to have her look at them with him. It became their routine to meet in his office and sit together, side by side, behind his desk. He showed her the pictures while she stroked him and described all the details the photo failed to disclose. She would identify the participants and describe the activities, but most of all, she told him how she had responded, what felt good and what did not, and with each word his excitement would expand and grow, until at last overcome with need he would take her in some manner.
One afternoon, when she judged him ready, she passed him a note and asked him to meet her after school in the infirmary. Nurse Hazel, she knew, was on extended absence, so the infirmary would be deserted. She slipped in early, while the students were clearing out after last period, and locked the door. She quickly undressed and listened while the racket of departing students diminished. When all was quiet, she unlocked the door and lay down on the examining table in Nurse Hazel's examination room, like one of Titan's recumbent nudes. She lay on her side supporting her head with her hand and plucked at her nipples to make them tight and hard. She knew she was beautiful, stretched out there on the table like a feline huntress on a limb, and she was confident in her appeal. She heard the click of the door latch, and Rufus appeared. He gasped at the sight of her, and rushed to the table. His hands moved over her undulating curves, and she rolled onto her back to facilitate his caresses.
"Why here?" he questioned, looking around skeptically at the sterile surroundings. "Are you tired of my office?"
"Not at all, darling," she cooed. It pleased him when she used terms of endearment like that when addressing him, and he smiled at her warmly. "I have something to give you that I think you'll like, and this is the best place I could think of to give it to you."
"You do?" He was intrigued by the notion of a gift, but puzzled a little as well, and his hands paused in their exploration of her familiar nooks and crannies. "What on earth could that be?" He rose on his toes and stretched to look behind her as if he thought she was hiding something there.
"You can't have it yet, silly; you have to get undressed first."
Rufus scrambled to strip off his clothes, and in short order he was down to his shorts and tee shirt. She watched him undress and giggled, when, in his haste, he flung his shirt and tie past her head.
He peeled off his socks, and said, "How's that?"
"Just fine," she said tacitly acknowledging his modesty and pushing aside the nagging questions about why he always kept his shorts on. She crooked her finger at him, and he stepped to her side. She reached for him and slipped her hand into his shorts. He was hard, ready for her, and she drew him into the light.
"My, my, just look at you, Rufus," she said softly with just enough suggestion of admiration to make him feel proud. "You've been looking at my pictures again haven't you, baby?"
She held him as she spoke, and he grinned sheepishly when he answered her. "Yes."
"Which ones were you looking at, Rufus? You must have some favorites." She was being coy; she knew perfectly well which were his favorites, because he invariably choked up and started trembling whenever they rotated to the top as they went through his collection. His shyness and embarrassment endeared him to her and softened her heart towards him, but, even more than that, she knew that a man's fantasies held the keys to his soul; understand his secret desires and you can unlock his mind and possess him completely.
"Oh, well, ah, uh," he stammered nonplussed in response, and blushed.
"It's alright, Rufus. You can't tell me, I understand." Her voice was gentle, reassuring like a mother comforting a child, and her fingers cradled him tenderly. The keys to the catacombs of his depravity were jangling loosely on the key ring in her hand, but he had neither the sense nor the wit to hear.
He looked at her expectantly and tried to speak, "I, uh..."
"Shhh," she hushed him softly, "I know what you want, Rufus. I know what you like best." She smiled suggestively as she spoke and increased the pressure of her hand on him to assure him of her meaning. A key, long and slender, hand-forged from ancient iron slipped into a lock in the dim, cobwebbed corridors of his mind and began to slowly turn.
He looked at her inquiringly, dumbfounded, and, she pointedly glanced at an emesis basin that was sitting on a neatly folded towel atop a small table against the wall. She had placed the basin there earlier while preparing for his arrival. His eyes followed hers to the table and to the basin and seeing nothing of erotic interest there returned to her face. His eyebrows rose in bewilderment.
"It's your gift, Rufus; it's there on the table."
She continued to hold him as he reached for the basin and picked it up. Lying within the kidney shaped bowl was a tube of KY jelly that she had found among Nurse Hazel's supplies. He jerked when he recognized the well-known substance, and the implications of her gift began taking shape in his mind. The ancient key, notches and teeth filed and honed to perfection, smoothly rolled the tumblers of the lock and the long untested mechanism released.
He held the tube of lubricant in his hand uncertainly, and she stroked him suggestively. "That's what you want, isn't it, Rufus?" Her voice was husky and seductive, and her hand burned him like fire. Far away and deep in the passageway of his most secret longing, beyond the raging fires of Hell and damnation, beyond memory, hope and desire, an ancient, black oak door began to open on creaking hinges.
His face was red, his hands were shaking and he could not look her in the eye, but he croaked out, "Yes," in spite of himself. The door opened a crack, emitting a shaft of white-hot light, illumination from the blast furnace of his lust roaring just beyond the threshold.
He held the tube with both hands high up near his heart, a precious gift to be treasured above all else, and she gently tugged him closer. "You know what to do, then, don't you, darling?" Her words were soft and gently soothing to his ear and they calmed him.
"Yes," he whispered, and his eyes gleamed with excited anticipation. The old door swung wider; unoiled hinges shrieked.
"Like the pictures, Rufus, just like the pictures of me you like so much. You know the ones, don't you, darling?"
"Yes, yes." His head bobbed as he answered. The door swung wider, and he was bathed in hot light, squinting, shaking, mouth dry as desert sand, and he peered irreverently, like Lot's wife, into the flame and his pillar turned to hot stone.
"Do it then, Rufus. Do whatever you want to do, anything, anything you want. Do you understand?"
"Yes," he grunted. Perspiration was shining on his lip. His palms were moist, and his hands trembled. He stepped past the protesting door and into the conflagration of his darkest desires, sucked like a moth into the flame by her clever manipulation of his cravings.
"Anything," she said again and released him from her grip. She pushed him back a step and rolled off the side of the examination table. The paper cover crackled under her as she moved. She stood in front of him, then turned around and with her back to him, she bent over, and laid herself across the middle of the table. The paper crackled again as she placed her face and breasts on the flat, cushioned surface. She reached out to the opposing ends of the table and gripped the rounded edges with her hands. She waited for him, bending before him like a supplicant and offered herself to the fulfillment of his desire.
He stood behind her, shaking with excitement, astonished at the extent of her understanding of his needs and her willingness to accommodate them. Her full, rounded buttocks rose before him enticingly. Her powerful legs were spread in invitation, and the dark cleavage of her haunches pulled at him with the irresistible primal force of a rising tide. He clutched the tube and twisted the cap with anxious, trembling fingers.
He primed her first, and then himself, and she whispered encouragements to him to sustain his courage. "Oh, yes, baby, touch me there," she moaned when his timid fingers teased her crevice. She wiggled her butt for him, and he spread her cheeks so he could find her better. She heard the heavy panting of his breathing as he crouched behind her fumbling amateurishly with the tube of lubricant, and she waited for him with burning impatience while he oiled his fingers.
"Come on, Rufus, please, baby, I want you so bad, I can't stand it much longer," she coaxed breathlessly.
