Chapter 8

Lie Down, I Love You

I tell you of this following affair-or whatever you like to call it-with reluctance. It seems so odd that I sometimes wonder if I dreamed the whole thing up. But I knew I didn't! The whole adventure was right out of character for me and out of keeping with my life, but it is one of the most extraordinary things that has ever happened to me.

I hit the south of France before the main season of very hot sex and sun had started so it would be comparatively quiet. Therefore I decided I must have an adventure that would make up for the lack of excitement. I packed my clothes carefully. They were chosen to hide as little of me as was decently possible. I also packed four bikinis that you could hardly see. Thus armed, I set off. The first two days were lovely, so I had a quiet time and got myself a beautiful golden tan. Then I was ready for action. The question was where and how.

I have always been one to play along with hunches, so I decided to put my finger at random among the advertisements in Nice Matin and follow my fate. When I opened my eyes I nearly closed them again, for my finger was squarely placed on the casino at Monte Carlo. I don't know if you've ever been to a funeral parlor: if you have not, but have been to the casino at Monte Carlo, you need never bother, for the two are identical; half the people look as if they came in to die, and the other half look as if they are already dead. However, I had placed my faith in fate, so I decided to give it a try. I came in from the beach and had my hair done. I had something light to eat and decided to sleep until eleven p.m., at which time I had ordered a taxi. At ten p.m. my alarm went off, and I awakened with a start, thinking it was morning. After a moment I got up, showered, and stepped into a yellow silk dress which enhanced the golden color of my skin.

I arrived at the casino trying to fight off my gloominess. I walked in through the great doors and looked around. The roulette tables were sparsely attended by women who looked as though they had been sitting there for the past sixty years-and probably had been. I was convinced one of them had a cobweb on her nose!

I cashed twenty pounds and put fifty francs on number seventeen. I was testing my luck. I collected my earnings and moved on to the blackjack tables. In no time at all, my twenty pounds became a hundred. The omens looked good, but I still had not set eyes on a man under a hundred.

The baccarat table was the last chance. I walked over. A huge game was in progress. If there is anything I hate in books, it's detailed descriptions of card games. To begin with, seventy-five percent of the readers don't play the game, so the description is double-talk to them. I'm not going to inflict that on you. It's enough to say that the play was dominated by seven players. Two of them were old hags whose hands were so heavy with rings that they had difficulty in holding their cards up. One was a rich young playboy who would soon have only himself to play with. Two were Greeks who were happy to lose as long as they lost more than anybody else. The sixth was a hard-faced woman who looked as if she would always win at cards. And the seventh was a man aged between forty and forty-five. He had slightly wavy iron-gray hair and was one of the best-looking-but slightly hard-faced-bastards I have ever seen in my life.

I was sizing him up when he looked at me and with a charming smile moved back the chair beside him for me to sit down. When he smiled, his whole faced changed. The contours softened. He still looked domineering, but his smile made me think that being dominated by him would be a very pleasant business. I went and sat down, and he introduced himself as Richard. I examined him out of the corner of my eye. He was wearing an impeccable tuxedo obviously from Savile Row, a very plain but expensive white shirt, and a large black bow tie. His hands had long tapering fingers. I could criticize nothing, but it wasn't his obvious good taste and richness that appealed to me. (Good taste can be sickeningly snobbish, and money often accentuates a man's faults and conceits.) It was the aura of power which he exuded that fascinated me. Here was a man with whom one couldn't have an equal relationship. He would insist upon domination. The question I asked myself was, would I be dominated? Normally the answer would have been no, but I was bored stiff after two days on my own. I was ready for anything so I thought, why not?

I was putting the pros and cons to myself when something decided me. A man in evening dress suddenly appeared by my companion's shoulder and was given instructions by him. I could see they concerned me, and I knew they were talking in German.

Richard turned to me and asked, "Have you the key to your hotel room?" He went on to explain this strange and unexpected request. "I am sending my chauffeur to collect your luggage and settle the bill. Please let me do this," he added intensely and urgently.

It was this last sentence that made me accept, for I thought it showed not only that he would dominate me, but that he would do it in a charming way, and that would be interesting. So I said yes and gave his man the key and the address.

Then Richard said looking at his watch, "I think it will take him an hour and a half before everything is ready for you. Would you allow me to play a few hands on your behalf?"

The sums they played for were alarming, but Richard seemed like some gambling hero from fiction, calm and fearless. At the end of the hour he had won two thousand pounds for me.

"I'm sorry," he said, "it is not more, but my cards have not really been good, and I think if I go on, I shall lose it all. I'd rather you had it than the casino! Let's have a little champagne, and then we shall leave."

A black convertible Bentley stood at the door, and as we drove away it seemed to me that things were far too good to be true. I had won over two thousand pounds. I had found a very attractive man. It was a beautiful night. The stars were shining, and I was in an open Bentley on the Cote d'Azur. At one point when we reached an open space at the side of the road we stopped and looked out at the moon shining like a bar of silver on the sea. Richard leaned toward me, and I let him kiss me gently to begin with and then harder until his tongue was against the back of my throat. His hand cupped the back of my head and held it firmly. I felt trapped and excited.

For obvious reasons I cannot say exactly where Richard's house was, but it was located a few miles west of Monte Carlo. We drove through great stone pillars up to a large house covered with ivy. He got out and opened the door for me. He helped me out carefully. There was no fumbling or clumsiness about him. The kiss over, he behaved as normal again. (If only more men knew when to stop fumbling a girl.) We went into a long and beautiful room with Impressionist paintings on the walls. More champagne was on ice.

"Would you like to see your room?" he asked, leading me upstairs to a large room with a balcony from which I could see Monte Carlo shining in the moonlight. A large white four-poster bed was in the center of the room.

"I'll leave you to change into a swim suit," he said, "and then we can go for a dip in the sea:"

I went into the beautiful white marble bathroom which was en suite and looked at myself in the mirror. I asked myself what the snags were, but seeing none, I changed into a white bikini, which always looks best at night. I went down. He was pouring himself a whisky and soda, but offered me champagne.

"Why not?" I said and drank it straight down in one gulp.

He smiled, gave me another and said, "We can take the bottle down to the beach. Nothing is more refreshing than a little cold champagne when you come out of the water after a swim.

The beach was small, but private, with a little summer house behind a stretch of soft sand that led to the sea. He took off his toweling wrap, and I could see in the moonlight that he was wiry and strong with a flat belly and long legs.

Once again, he behaved in a civilized manner, swimming a bit away from me and lying on his back. The water looked inviting and felt lovely. Swimming was such a pleasure without somebody trying to spoil it by giving me water kisses. Men can never leave you alone if they're intent on fucking you. Richard, however, let me enjoy my swim in peace, and my swim was all the nicer for knowing he was near, but ignoring me. Besides, I knew I had only to show the slightest sign, and he would take me to bed.

After about twenty minutes more I swam ashore, took off my bikini, and returned to the water. I did this because I love the feel of the water swirling around my cunt and to give him a sign that I was ready when he wanted me. He understood and swam up to me in the water and reached out and touched my breasts. I replied by taking hold of his balls. A firm hand stopped me.

"I'm sorry, but I like no movement when I make love," he said. "I like to touch, not to be touched," and then he smiled his charming smile. "I do hope you understand."

I understood all right what he wanted, and we moved back to the beach.

"Come into the summer house," he said. The spider must have said something similar to the fly. "Have a shower, Fiona, and then I will dry you. Please do nothing yourself."

I obediently did as I was told and had another glass of champagne. When I had been dried he led me into a back room which had a sofa and chairs, but no bed.

I looked surprised. Where was the action to be? I saw a protruding cupboard against the wall. He opened it and let down a shiny leather contraption covered with odd straps. He pulled it down until its legs rested on the ground leaving it about a yard above the floor and two yards out from the wall. The more I looked at it, the odder it seemed, for there was a big round hole in it about a yard from the end. I won't deny that the thought ran through my head that I had shacked up with a madman who was about to cut me in half, but I decided to play it cool.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Thank you," he replied. "I knew at first sight you were one in a million. Please lie with your head near the wall. Have no fear and do exactly what I tell you to do. And thank you once again for being so understanding."

I lay down with my head near the wall, and Richard came and inserted two pegs in holes each side of my head. Then he put a mesh over my face and connected it to the pegs. I felt as I imagined a butterfly must feel under a collector's net. I couldn't move my head an inch under the taut meshing. I could only look straight up at the ceiling. I fought to keep calm. After all, one should try everything at least once, but I had a funny feeling at the same time that I wasn't going to like this one bit!

I felt him take hold of my arms, stretch them out level with my shoulders, and tie them up tightly with straps at the side of the bed. I couldn't help thinking of an Italian film I'd seen about the crucifixion. I had to try and steady myself again, and I was doing all right.

I said, "I have never been fucked this way before!" (I thought I might just as well try it, not that I had any choice at that moment!)

"You are perfect," Richard said, "but please do not speak again. Although I like you to cry out with pleasure, I want to hear no other sound from you. And you can be sure I will make you scream with sheer delight." He added, "I have never beheld such a body. Your waist is the slenderest I've ever seen. I can assure you I will satisfy you."

It takes all sorts to make the world go around, I thought. Having finished with my arms, he started on my feet, holding me more like a masseur than a lover. He parted my legs first and then strapped them firmly down, my ankles about twenty inches apart. Then I heard him sit down and take his shoes and clothes off.

However much I tried, I couldn't move, and if I had given in to fear I could easily have been overcome by claustrophobia and could have started screaming for release. The next thing that happened was hardly reassuring. It seemed to me that the bed was moving, and my legs were being drawn apart gradually. I felt them widening and widening until they were more than a yard apart. I must have looked completely spread-eagled. What I couldn't understand was how he was separating my legs and how he was going to fuck me. Later I saw that my cunt was at the edge of the round hole and that he had by the use of mechanical devices divided the bed-and me with it!

It is odd to look back on what I was worrying about. I don't think that I was basically terrified. I had some sort of trust in him, and he was and is too well known to go around murdering girls. My thoughts, I remember clearly, went along curious lines. I started to wonder how one would go about ordering such a contraption. Would one go into a shop and order one, or visit a carpenter with the details for one to be built? For several quite illogical moments I thought about nothing else. It even began to worry me.

I must say I wasn't feeling the least bit sexy by now, but suddenly this situation changed. Something soft, yet rough, was very gently stroking me. It started at my cunt and went down to my right foot and then to my left foot and up to caress my pubic hair. From there it went to my navel and to each nipple and then down again. It was unbelievably exciting, especially as I didn't know what sort of weapon was being used on me. I tried to move, but found that I was bound rigid. I was defenseless and at the mercy of this thing that was stroking me. I began to long for a cock inside me to relieve the pressure. Suddenly it stopped. My nipples were now being gently kissed instead, and the kissing trailed down my tummy to my bush. I felt I was going mad with pleasure. I strained and strained to no effect. Above all I wanted Richard's cock inside me.

"Fuck me, fuck me!" I screamed deliriously, almost beside myself, but the kissing continued.

Finally the kissing stopped, and I felt him move away from me. He returned in a moment and dropped some warm oil on my breasts. It smelled so good that I wanted to lick it up as it spilled onto my titties. He gently massaged it into my breasts. How can I describe the softness with which he did it? I cried out for him again and again. Very gently I felt his fingers touch my bush and part the moist lips.

A feeling of exquisite torture then came over me that made me want to break out of my bonds and fall upon him and pull his cock into me. The pain then started again. Something that felt as big as a spear was entering and reentering my tiny tunnel. Each thrust was making me wilder. I couldn't tell if it were from pain or from pleasure. My heart began to beat as if it would burst, and all my body seemed to throb with it. I wanted to cry out to him. Nothing in the world seemed to matter except that he should bring me to a climax.

Suddenly it was happening! My clitoris began to feel like my cunt, and quite convinced that his cock was in me, I came with a great rush of relief. Nothing deterred him from going on. If I could have moved, I would have seized his hand and stopped him using this spear which was sheer torture to me after I had already come. Straining and crying once more I got caught in its rhythm. I came again, and it seemed to me again and again, but how could I tell, for I had entered a state of mind in which the whole world seemed to be my cunt, and the whole of life this terrible spear which went on thrusting into the heart of my very being? Time became meaningless. It may have been only minutes, but it seemed like hours before I was released from this terrible alternation of pain and pleasure. I lay there and felt as if a steam roller had driven back and forth over my body. I was straining no longer. For the first time in my life I had absolutely surrendered myself. I felt almost as if I would welcome him killing me.

Whether I slept or fainted I don't know, but I certainly lost consciousness. I came around to find him kissing my pussy. He was licking it gently. It seemed to me as if this kind of healing action were designed by him to make up for the terrible battering he had inflicted upon me. I found myself relaxing again and letting the tension escape from my body. If my arms had been free I would have flung them around him and pulled him to me, holding him so that he knew he belonged to me and had to surrender in his turn. The kissing stopped with one long kiss in which he drew my clit into his mouth and masticated it gently. Something else was rubbing it: although I couldn't see, I knew that at last he was drawing his cock slowly up and down between my legs. I didn't believe I could come again. However, Richard inserted his cock, and as he gave one long thrust which I thought must end in my mouth, we came in a great flood together.

This was the end. Nothing could have revived me now. I was barely conscious of his untying my arms and legs and pulling out the pegs which together with the mesh had held my head in such a vice. Dimly I remember him lifting me up while I flung my arms around his neck and cried out that I loved him and kissed him as he carried me out of the little house and through the garden into the big house where cool lavender sheets enveloped me. I then fell into the deepest, most satisfying, sleep I have ever known.

I awoke in the morning without having any idea where I was. Dazed, I walked out onto the balcony. Suddenly every detail of the previous evening came rushing back to me. Taking a deep breath and inhaling the wonderful smell of the pines that came up from the garden, I went back into my room and sat thoughtfully on my bed. Looking at the telephone, I saw a note telling me to ring with instructions for breakfast. This at once made me feel very hungry, and I was soon drinking coffee and eating bacon and eggs as if I'd been starved for weeks. A maid had taken my clothes and returned to say that Mr. Richard hoped I had slept well and would see me directly after he had finished his business. I sank back onto the sheets and thought things over. The emotion I had felt the night before was different from anything

I had ever known before. I believe the basis of modern lovemaking is equality of approach and technique, and there's not much equality when you're strapped to a torture rack! Yet I had honestly found it as sexually exciting as anything that had ever happened to me.

Richard entered the room. He was good-looking and neat, an entirely different man from the one who had tortured, teased, and loved me the night before. He kissed me good morning and sat down on the edge of my bed. I said I had slept well, and he told me his motorboat was coming at ten-thirty to take us water-skiing. I said I thought I was much too stiff, but he insisted it would do me good.

It was such a lovely day. I only fell over once. Richard said I was very good, all of which made for a fabulous morning. We sat down to a late lunch about three o'clock. I felt relaxed enough to question him on something that was puzzling me. Over chilled champagne and cold lobster I asked him quite simply and directly, "What did you stick up my pussy last night?"

He smiled and replied, "I know it felt like a sword, but you will be amazed when I show you what it was."

He went away and came back a few seconds later and put something into my hand. I looked down and saw a tiny brown feather, very fine and slim with a pointed end. I burst out laughing.

"It felt so enormous and sharp!" I said.

He told me it was a pinfeather (whatever that may be) from a woodcock. Richard had been taught how to use it by a very old French count who had told him it was an ancient custom in parts of Normandy.

After we had finished lunch, we sat in the shade and drank coffee. I began to feel pleasantly fatigued, a feeling produced by the drowsy sounds and sweet smells of a Mediterranean garden.

"You go and rest," he said.

The thought of that cool, comfortable bed was too much to resist. Richard made no attempt to come with me. He merely kissed me and told me to ring if I wanted anything. Tact had again won out in the end. Had he pressed himself on me (literally or otherwise) I would have left immediately. I woke up at seven-thirty p.m., slipped into a robe of white silk embroidered with lace and walked down the steps to the sea. My favorite time of the day in countries with a hot climate is the evening, and as the heavy heat of the day evaporated the soft-scented evening air-a heavenly mixture of pine, flower petals, and the sea-appeared in its wake. I felt life flowing back into me, and a sensuousness came back into my limbs. The time, the place, the perfumes were all too perfect and would have stirred all but the most insensitive among us. I began to look forward to what this evening would bring.

We dined at the Chateau Madrid, and Richard calmly accepted as his due the deference paid to him by the waiters, as well as the best table in the place with a view of the whole coast. He ordered dinner with great care, having consulted me as to what my favorite dishes were. He asked if I would leave the wine to him. I remember it so well. We drank an ice-cold Chablis which was so light and good that we polished off two bottles, and by the time coffee came I was pleasantly high, yet aware that I had told him everything about myself and learned not a single thing about him.

As I realized this, I looked at him, and as if reading my thoughts he said, "I would like to thank you for asking me no questions and for accepting everything on face value. I am grateful and would like to tell you a little about myself. Even as a child, I knew I was going to be very rich and decided very early on that I would devote a large part of my life to beautiful women. The other part of my life concerns making money and doesn't interest you. By the time I was twenty I had made love to perhaps fifty beautiful girls, but I loved none of them. What drove me mad about them was that while I was immersing myself in their loveliness they would say something silly that would make me want to jump out of bed. Irritation and desire for perfection have prevented me from marrying (I am now forty-two) and the longest liaison I have ever had was with a famous film star. She was an idiot, but she had the great virtue of silence on all occasions. When I made love to her, for example, she just lay there like a beautiful corpse looking up with expressionless eyes and saying nothing-except at the moment of passion when everything is excused, and the aura of her perfect body was shattered. I was very, very sad when she died, and my life has been one of constant change since then."

Reading this must make him sound very cold and hard, yet I didn't find him so. There was a great gulf between what he was and what he said he was. I found that he still had two qualities that were irresistible-his charm and his certainty. These carried me along with him. To put it in very basic English, I still found him fascinating and attractive and immensely fuckable! But how strange rich people are ... they have an air of unreality about them which makes any life I have ever tried to have with any of them unreal, as well. To be quite honest, I like people to have both feet (and if it were possible their dicks, too!) on the ground. However, I found him interesting and different, and that is what a girl's basically looking for in a man.

As we drove back, I felt a real thrill of excitement looking at his handsome face and wondering as to the night's performance. It was as if I were dreaming and looking forward to the next dream. We bathed in the sea again, but naked from the outset this time. I felt close to him and was pleased when he kissed me as we came out of the surf together. But I felt the slight reservation of one who doesn't quite know what is expected of one and so fears making a mistake. This time he took my hand and led me past the little house and up the steps until we reached my bedroom. We had a shower together, and then having dried my hair and myself I lay down on the bed.

He came in and lay down beside me and said, "Fiona, you are a remarkable girl to make love as you did last night. Tonight I want you to lie quite, quite still when I make love to you. Cry out passion words if you will, but nothing else. This is important, and if you can do that I would like you to stay here."

I didn't want to stay on (not on those terms, anyway), but I wanted to please him and meet his challenge.

"All right," I said lying back and opening my legs. "I will try."

Then he went down on me without any other preliminaries. His tongue licked, and his lips sucked. I lay as still as death. I wanted to shout out how much I loved him and his tongue, but restrained myself. He parted my pussy, and once again I felt the touch of his little feather like a terrible electric shock. I couldn't keep still, but writhed and moaned, and the feather was once again inserted into the center of my nervous system. However, I moved again and then fought against my determined will power to stay still. I wanted to beg and implore him to give me his cock and to fuck me. I lay back and reminded myself that unless I could rationalize this I'd go completely mad, seize his cock in my mouth, and spoil everything.

I told myself it wasn't a spear between my legs, but a little woodcock's feather that was tearing me apart. Then a terrible thing happened. I felt nothing except that a stranger was touching me with a feather. I felt completely detached, devoid of any passion, lacking in lust. He did some more things to me-God alone knows what. I didn't care. I was cold. He lay on top of me, fucked me and came, and it was all over. I felt as though I had drunk a glass of ice-cold water. He got up. I never spoke a word. I saw him go out with a look of total satisfaction on his face. He came back and put something in the little leather box on my dressing table. I felt so detached I cared for nothing and no one.

I slept a dreamless sleep, awoke at nine a.m., rang for a taxi, packed my things, and left the house without seeing a soul. I drove to Nice and booked on an aircraft that afternoon. Then I went to a small restaurant on the beach and sat in the sun.

I was back in England that night and rang up Adam. When he answered, I asked him if he would help me.

"How?" he asked.

"Come 'round and fuck me," I replied.

He came around. I fucked, I shouted, I yelled, I bit him, I bounced on him, and finally I left him in such a state that he staggered off shaking his head. I felt better for having screwed and fucked the way a man and a woman are meant to.

I felt ill again the next night, for on opening my little leather box I found an emerald bracelet so beautiful that I could hardly bear to look at it. So I didn't-not for a long time, anyway. I sent it to the bank first thing the following morning, and I pretend I don't even own it. For otherwise I might feel I have to answer in the affirmative to the occasional polite letters I get from Richard asking me to return. I fear that if I went, I'd get into the habit of not moving in bed, and that's not the sort of reputation I would ever wish to acquire. Richard, thank you and good-bye!