Anna

"All things are possible," she said, "if only one follows proper protocol."

To Justin, Anna's words were loaded with innuendo. They often were, it was one of the things that made her intriguing, but this time there was a hint of reality in her voice, and in the way she arched her eyebrows. She knew something. A small, dimpled, slightly nervous Cheshire cat smile accompanied her words.

"What do you mean?"

Justin was a student of literature, studying in London. Anna was an art student. They had first met during a life art class his literature seminar class visited during the term. There was something about her he noticed immediately, in the way she delicately held her pencil, by the fingertips of her angular hands. Completely absorbed, she leaned into her work, as if scratching these simple lines to paper was the most important thing in the world. She sat with the chair reversed, her slender jeaned legs straddling the back, leaning on the bent wood with one arm, sketching with the other. Sitting in this fashion, he

was later to find, was her custom always whenever available chairs allowed it. Her dark blond hair hung in a single thick braid to her waist, and a long scarf was wrapped around her neck. As he studied her, she turned very deliberately and looked directly into his eyes, catching him watching her. The blue-violet spotlights of her eyes illuminated his act. He felt suddenly exposed, a role reversal of voyeur to reluctant exhibitionist, made all the more uncomfortable because he knew they were searching eyes, observant eyes, artist's eyes, missing very little. He averted his gaze, looking away to her work.

The model had been male, a bodybuilder, with rippling muscles and an enormous penis. Her work was beautiful, clean and expressive. She had caught him perfectly. His pose, the tilt of his head, the arrogant, self-absorption of his manner, she caught it all except for one small detail. She had drawn the model with an erection, and that particular portion of the drawing was the most detailed, the most complete.

He looked back at her. There was the smile. The dimples at the corners of her mouth grew, and as she turned her attention back to her work, she looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. He caught her glancing in his direction several times during the lecture and plotted to talk with her after the session. To his chagrin, she looked at her watch, packed up her belongings, and rose to go. She spoke briefly to the instructor as she left, and with a final glance in his direction, was out the door and gone.

"I mean the things people write about, the writings of Anais Nin and De Sade, these things are possible, if done in the proper fashion, with the proper protocol."

This was food for thought, if not fantasy. He had imagined all sorts of things to do with this woman, finding her as he did, beautiful. Unreachable, but beautiful. This thought was a fantasy of a dim glimmer of reality in an otherwise empty landscape of hope. He tried to hold his voice steady.

"How do you know?"

She glanced at her hands and back up at him. "I have a proposition for you. An instructor has offered me a kind of, well, life experience, for lack of a better word. Something to see. I want to go, I want to see it, but if I can't find a companion, I probably won't, I'll chicken out. I'd like you to go with."

"What kind of life experience?"

"Nothing dangerous, just different. Please come, and don't ask too many questions. That's part of the protocol."

"And the other part of the protocol?"

"Meet me here at 10:00 tonight, and wear quiet clothes."

"Quiet clothes?"

"Quiet clothes, no rustling. Please?"

He was silent for a moment. "All right."

She smiled quickly, biting her lower lip and hugged herself tightly for just a moment. "Great." She got up, talking, gathering her things. "I'll see you tonight then." She touched his shoulder for a moment, squeezing it, and was gone.

She had never touched him before. Such a small thing, but nice. He found himself thinking of quiet clothes.

That night, Justin was wordless as the car sped to an unknown destination via the motorway. She had picked him up as promised, arriving in a black London cab, relief flooding her smile as she reached over to open the door. She was dressed in a long skirt and soft boots, something he had never seen her wear.

Nice. After initial hellos and exchanges of smiles there had been silence. His body was stiff, primed for action, but at this moment he could think of no action, no word he could offer without his seeming impossibly dull and provincial. What seemed required was relaxed nonchalance. The nonchalance he could feign, holding himself still. The relaxation was harder. It didn't seem to matter, though. Anna seemed as stiff as he, her long fingers tightly intertwined across her knees.

Leaning forward, she tapped on the glass and spoke softly to the driver.

"You sure, miss?"

"Quite sure."

The cab driver's face gave a little shrug. "Righto." The cab took the next turning.

Anna reached over and took his hand, squeezing it, intertwining his fingers with hers. He squeezed hers gently in return, acutely aware of his excitement, trying not to squeeze too hard. He did not let it go. Neither did she.

The taxi bore them through an older neighborhood, houses made primarily of stone or brick, large but not too, stately without presumption, spelling unobtrusive old money. The cab halted in front of one house and Anna let go his hand to pay.

His hand felt cold without hers.

They got out. The black cab drove away, tires hissing on the roadway. They were alone.

She fiddled with her bag, checking the address and putting it away, until there was no more fiddling to be done. Anna stared up at the house. It was large, three stories, and was built of very large stones set in Gothic architecture, narrow arched windows set in triplets. It looked like a combination of castle and church. Two very expensive-looking automobiles, sleek and black, rested in the driveway.

He reached out and took her hand, intertwining fingers as she had done. She took a breath, and led the way up the flagstone path to the door. An ornate brass knocker hung from the center of the door. Anna reached up, lifted it and let it fall, twice. A short wait, then a dull metallic scrape as the bolt slid back. The door opened to a dimly-lit interior. A small woman in a Victorian housekeeper's dress stood before them.

"Hello, Professor Graves sent us, I am Anna."

The small woman nodded, reached out her hand to Anna's. "I am Margaret, please come in."

They were led to a spacious interior, richly furnished, potted plants, ferns everywhere, stone floor echoing their footsteps in the hallway alternately with thick patterned rugs. The house was lit with candles and oil lamps, lending the feeling of a place out of time.

Lifting her skirts in the proper fashion, Margaret led them up the massive staircase to the third floor. She stopped and unlocked a door. It opened into a tiny room with cloth-covered chairs all facing in the same direction.

She waved them to a small sofa. "Please be seated. It will take a little time, so please wait patiently. Do not speak, they do not know they are being observed." She took the one lamp in the room and left.

Anna squeezed his hand. He thought he felt it trembling, but could not be sure if it was her trembling or his own. Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and he saw a window in this room looking onto an adjoining room, apparently of one-way glass. In the adjoining room, dim moonlight streamed in through the window, revealing a massive four-poster bed low to the ground, but piled high with pillows.

They had not long to wait.

Margaret entered the room. She put an oil lamp on a table and stopping at the door, stood at attention almost, and looked out the doorway, hands clasped in front of her. A woman walked past her into the room. She was small-bonded, but ample, with delicate hands and features. The walk was slow, deliberate, and stopped right before the foot of the bed. She grasped the bedpost nearest to her with both hands and embraced it, resting her forehead against the dark wood, holding to it as if for some measure of support. The look on her face was not exactly fearful, but afraid, yet apprehensive and eager. She gripped the bedpost fiercely, digging it in between her breasts, holding herself together for the strength to do...what? Justin wondered. The woman evidently wanted to be there, felt she must. Her head bowed slightly and she closed her eyes, evidently waiting.

Margaret observed her not quite impassively, then left, closing the door behind her.

The woman wore a silken blouse, a long wrap skirt with a belt at the waist, and high boots reaching up out of sight underneath the skirt. A single silver band encircling one finger (a wedding ring?) and delicate dangling silver earrings comprised the only adornment. Her hair was dark, piled up on top of her head.

Justin wondered about this woman, where she came from. Who ever she was, where ever she came from, or whether there was money involved, she did not look or act like a prostitute.

Justin felt a thrill go through him. This was real.

He glanced at Anna. She looked as if she was immersed in the scene. He could not see her eyes clearly in the dim light, but her mouth was slightly slack and her brow was slightly furrowed.

She squeezed his hand once, then stronger. He looked quickly back at the room, thinking he had missed something, wanting to know what had transpired to make her react so.

A man entered the room. At the sound of his approach, the woman lifted her head, her eyes remaining closed. He wore a black dressing gown. He was not a large man, but seemed very fit, and moved with an erect, military bearing. He came up behind her. Grasping the woman's hips, he pressed his body against hers, sandwiching her between his body and the bedpost.

He reached around her and grasping her wrists, pulled them down together behind her back and leaned forward to speak softly into her ear.

"Are you ready?"

Justin was surprised at how well he could hear what was going on inside the room. The voice had been no more than a whisper, yet he had heard it as clearly as if he had spoken it himself. Quiet clothes.

There was no response, the woman was bound up inside, her stomach moving with excitement, breathing deep. He spoke again, this time more forcefully, but still a whisper.

"Are you ready?"

This time her head inclined in a slow nod and the softest whisper of a "Yes." escaped her lips.

He reached over to the table and got a pair of leather manacles. Slowly, appreciatively, he fastened her wrists together. The click of the brass rings and fasteners echoed. Her chin lifted slightly, ever so, and she licked her lips, as if they were suddenly dry. Her mouth remained slightly open, her eyes remained closed. Justin peered more closely at the woman. Was it his imagination? Had he just seen her tremble?

The man reached around to the front of her blouse. Taking hold of each side, he ripped it open, slowly, the buttons falling one by one, clicking as they struck the hardwood floor. He slowly pulled the front of her blouse open, revealing the top of a black corset, contrast against her white skin. She had thought about this beforehand, whoever she was, whatever their relationship, and had come prepared.

The unveiling proceeded. He, very slowly and with pressure, grasped the front of her corset and pulled it down. Her breasts were larger, heavier than they first appeared. Now she was exposed in the soft light of the room. Her nipples slowly grew hard, feeling the air. This time the tremble was definite.

Was this her house? Had this woman come to the man for this or was he in her room at her invitation? Justin looked over at Anna. She was sitting quietly, breathing deeply, eyebrows slightly furrowed in the dim light coming through the one-way glass. He was afraid to move, feeling if he did he would reveal himself as being unaccustomed, unable to handle pleasures such as this. It was difficult to hold his own trembling in check. He turned his attention once more to the scene in the room.

The man's hands began to move. Exploring, gliding, moving, all over her bottom, her hips and thighs, sliding over the slick material of her skirt, inside and out, almost reaching to her fulcrum, but not quite. He reached to her breasts, caressed, lifted, kneaded, and gripping her breasts firmly, focused on the nipples, which he pinched, softly at first, then harder until a soft sound escaped her, and then just a bit harder, and a louder "Oh..." from between her lips.

He grasped her shoulders, and turning her around, grabbed her hips and pulled her into him, hard. She moved against him, feeling him with her body since her hands were denied, his heat, his hardness, and a moan no louder than a breath escaped her lips. He caressed her face and neck, held her by the neck and head and kissed her, long and soft. This was no quick encounter, although perhaps clandestine.

He took her wrists and fastened them together in front of her. Holding both of her hands in one of his, he drew her into the center of the room. He spoke a one-word command.

"Kneel."

She did so, and opened her eyes to see his erection directly in front of her face, pushing against the thin black material of his dressing gown.

"You know what to do."

As he placed her hands upon him, she did indeed. She grasped him, feeling the heat, feeling the hardness. Eyes closed, she rubbed her cheek against him. Her manacled hands uncovered him, and she opened her eyes again to gaze at the raw passion, his hardness. She licked her lips once again, this time in preparation, and with one hand sliding around and grasping his cock and the other cradling his balls, slowly took him into her mouth.

Justin wondered if this was a continuing relationship. Or was it a one-time occurrence, a chance of a lifetime for this woman to fulfill her dreams, her fantasies? Was that why she trembled? Because this was something she was not accustomed to, something she thought she would never do, something she had to be coerced into doing to free her from responsibility, even though she wanted to do it more than anything in the world?

The man caressed the side of her face and neck as she alternately took him deep and withdrew to lick. Breathing was becoming more difficult for her, and she could only take so much of him, although she seemed driven to take much more, driving her own head down on him as far as possible.

Bending over, he took her breasts in his hands and pinched the nipples, pulling small cries from her muffled mouth. Small screw clamps appeared in his hands and he fastened them to her nipples, screwing them down just enough for her to feel them. Just enough to make her breathe a small moan.

He grasped her head, and after stroking in and out a few times, pulled himself from her mouth. She waited quietly, eyes closed, mouth wet and slightly open, a small drop of saliva dripping unnoticed from the corner of her mouth.

He took her by the hands and pulled her to her feet. She was unsteady, and he pushed her back against the bedpost.

"Pull up your skirt in front." The tone was unmistakable, commanding, obedience assumed.

Her hands found their way to the material at her crotch and started gathering material. Slowly the hem moved upward, exposing her legs and boots that came up to mid-thigh to finally expose all of her. She waited, trembling.

"Spread your legs."

Leaning back against the bedpost, she shifted her weight and did so, her hands gripping the tops of her boots on the front of her thighs, pulling at the leather, pulling her legs apart. He reached out, placing one hand, sliding up her inner thighs to grip her crotch roughly. The sound was wet, almost dripping.

His hand remained, playing in the wet heat and caressing her. Her face moved slowly from side to side, her mouth slightly open, her eyes closed. She looked as if she was losing herself in the caress.

Justin looked over at Anna. She, too, looked as if she was losing herself. She licked her lips and swallowed. One of her hands still gripped his, the other was laid over her lap, pressed against her opposite thigh. Evidently, in the dark, she felt safe.

"Now pull up your skirt in back and lean over on the bed with your legs spread."

The words drew Justin's attention back into the room. He saw the woman slowly turn, gathering the thin material around her waist, exposing her bottom and thighs to his gaze. He stepped up behind her. Placing his hardness at the entrance to her wet heat, he held it there, unmoving. She moaned softly and tried to back up to envelope him, but he withdrew.

"You know the rules." She nodded, quickly.

The man reached over the bedside table and took in his hand a small riding crop. He struck her but once over her buttocks, leaving one red streak, naked, beautiful, in contrast to her white skin. The woman gasped, her hips moving in what seemed to be pleasurable reaction.

Justin glanced at Anna and shifted in his seat in the dark. She shifted slightly also, looking down at where their hands were clasped together, then back to the scene unfolding before them.

The man grasped the woman's bottom, spread her apart, and placed the head of his erection at her entrance. This time he pushed in, stoked slowly and withdrew, glistening, and plunged deep again. He reached around to caress her and found her nipples hard, but the clamps gone, having fallen off as her breasts rubbed against the bedspread.

"You know we shall have to fix that."

"Yes." The quietest ghost of a reply.

He unwrapped her skirt from about her waist and then withdrew from her, sliding out of her wetness.

"Stand up."

She straightened, expectant. Her eyes closed as he took off her blouse as if denying the act of disrobing, but she moved her shoulders to help him.

"Sit down on the bed and display yourself." She sat down on the very edge of the bed, her legs spread, hands clasping together at the back of her neck in a ritualized style, as if knowing what is to come.

Another set of clamps appeared in his hand, connected by a chain. These clamps were spring-loaded, so there was no adjusting the pressure. He grasped one of her hands and set the clamp on the side of it, showing her what the pressure will be.

She nodded her assertion, seeming to know it would hurt. He wasted no more time.

He grasped one nipple, pulling it, and fastened the clamp on it, easing the spring down onto her tender flesh, slowly letting her feel the growing intensity.

A quiet, breathy "Oh" escaped her lips. He grasped the other nipple and did the same. Now she had a chain connecting her nipples together, the clamps concentrating the passion burning her flesh, bringing a look of passionate pain to her face, the muscles in her throat standing out in the burning lamplight.

Justin was suddenly aware of Anna's hand contracting in his. He looked over at her, but her attention was fully on what was happening in the room. She was apparently unaware of the pressure she was exerting. One arm was across her stomach pressing into her, her hand gripping her side. So he was not alone in his reaction to the scene. He turned back.

The man pushed the woman back on the mound of pillows on the bed, and spread her legs apart, roughly. His hands found their way under her bottom, lifting her, and he lowered his mouth to her burning wetness and tasted the flow, sucking the honey from her. From the movement of his head and the quick contractions of her stomach muscles, Justin thought certainly the man was playing his tongue upon the hard bud that would bloom into an explosion within her.