My life vanished three years ago, the winter I moved to Charleston. My first semester as a college junior, I transferred to be near Chris. We had broken up earlier. My ambivalence about his lifestyle shattered our relationship. This time I had vowed to make it work. Still, our renewed lives proved tense.
Chris suggested a weekend on the coast. We dined at a café near the beach. Chris's cousin owned it. A buff, hearty man with a thick Greek accent, he wrapped me in his arms when we arrived and introduced himself to me as Yannis. He escorted us to the patio.
The evening was crisp with a slight chill in the air. The ocean breeze combined deliciously with the scents of autumn. Chris seemed distant for the first time since we reunited.
Yannis showered me with praise and smiles. Perversely, my stomach clenched, my temples tightened for I was afraid Chris might take it wrong. But he hardly seemed to notice. So I smiled as Yannis spent half the evening at our table. We talked and drank.
When Yannis saw me shiver, he went in the back and dug up a wool sweater for me to use. A perfect host, a steady stream of lamb dishes, roasted vegetables, and stuffed grape leaves flowed onto our checkered table. Yannis forced me to try Retsina. I grimaced but choked down the resinated wine. He laughed. Even Chris, who stood off talking into his cell phone, spared me a wry grin.
Eventually, the café closed. Yannis locked the door. We drank more wine and Ouzo. Finally, we had to leave. I excused myself. The restroom was blue tile and green towels. In the mirror, I examined my body trying for answers in the mirror. My skin is soft and smooth, so fair, like a baby's. My face looks wan.
I wore a conservative white blouse and plaid skirt. Underneath was a black silk corset with ribbons. It encircled my bust, and tapered my already narrow waist, accentuating my hips. My breasts are small, but shapely underneath the corset that squeezed them tightly together. I wore shoes with stiletto heals, giving me stature. I dressed for Chris's pleasure.
Pulling lipstick from my purse, I colored my soft, succulent lips. I thickened my eyelashes with mascara, and brushed my long hair, leaving it to lie softly around my shoulders. I sprayed vanilla perfume between my breasts and behind my ears. His chosen scent, it once seemed odd, but now wearing it is as natural as breathing.
I loved him so. We left the café to walk along the beach on our way back to the motel. Chris pulls me off to the side and points up into the hills. I can barely make out a half-built construction. I think the wood and concrete frame is intended for someone's home.
We walk up to it. It is empty. He leads me onto the darkened concrete foundation. I am nervous. He moves close. His hand sketches the contours of my body. He gently caresses my shoulders. I look up, eyes glistening, nearly in tears. He moves his hand to my neck, caressing my delicate skin. With two fingers, he encompasses the circumference of my neck, pressing gently, possessively, a lovers touch. My eyes burn with desire, for what I am not sure. "My princess under glass," he says.
I look up curiously. My hands caress his back muscles, his warm, broad shoulders. I inhale his scent. I swear eternal love.
He turns me in his arms. He holds my wrists behind me. And I shiver as he snaps handcuffs in place, knowing I must prove my love. I feel his arousal press into me from behind. I feel helpless, scared, excited all at the same time. I know the risk. We trespass on another's property. But I want to show him my faith and trust. When we reunited, I signed a covenant for him. I granted him complete control over my body. Now I prove those words to him.
He guides me to a beam. I rest on it, balancing as best I can. He slides my skirt up around my thighs. His fingers caress my buttocks, sending a shiver through me. He unclips my silk stockings. My breath constricts as I feel a cold blade against my skin. He slices my panties away. He blindfolds me.
I listen as he brushes the area where I stand clean of debris bound. He removes my shoes. I step from my stockings. The concrete chills my feet. I curl my toes against its roughness.
I gasp when his fingers slide into my sex, but then bite my lip. Despite the cold, my skin feels feverish. Sweat rolls down my back and pearls up on my face. His fingers ripple over my body as if he played a piano. He kisses the back of my neck. I turn toward him. He pulls at my tongue gently with his mouth. His hands continue there magic. I pant, my sighs grow loud, and my knees buckle.
He catches me. His breathing is labored. He leans into me. I press back. I smell the starch of his shirt, his aftershave. He has me kneel. I look up questioning. He whispers, "You aren't done yet." His hands go to my ankles. He chains them together.
"Open your mouth," he whispers. I obey but I want to cry. I want this to be over. When he slips something soft and rubbery into my mouth I briefly panic. The gag reflex kicks in as he twists something underneath my hair, snapping it into place behind my neck.
He never silenced me before.
I hear his steps fade away. His scent lingers. I tug futilely at the cuffs. I feel abandoned. I toss my head. I cry softly.
Time stretches as I wait for his return. I don't know if twenty minutes or an hour goes by. The cold cools whatever ardor remains and I shiver. I think I hate Chris. I may not forgive him after he frees me.
Suddenly, I hear the rustling of falling leaves. I tell myself the wind kicked up. Footsteps? I freeze. Yes, footsteps sound on the concrete foundation.
My sudden hope turns to terror though. I bite my lip, causing a drop of blood to well up, mixing with the moisture of my mouth. The salty, metallic taste spreads like a visceral foreboding over my tongue. Chris wears loafers. These steps sound heavier, like work boots.
