She learns quickly, he thinks. He could probably get her to do anything he wants, and the thought is intriguing. Should he draw this out, keep her around for a few more days or weeks?
No, it’s time.
“Darling? Is there something I can do?”
“You’re doing fine,” he says.
“But I want you to come.”
“You can come for both of us.”
“I never came so much in my life, but it’s not fair. Now it’s your turn.”
“I’m having a good time.”
“I know you are, but—”
“I don’t need to have an orgasm to be satisfied.”
“That’s what you said last night.”
“It was true then and it’s true now.”
“But it thrills me when you come,” she says, her hand on him. “I love it, and you seem to enjoy it yourself.”
“Well, of course.”
“So tell me if there’s something I can do.”
“Well . . .”
“You’re not going to shock me,” she says. “I didn’t just get out of a convent.”
“No, I don’t suppose you did.”
“There’s something, isn’t there? Look, as long as it doesn’t involve bloodshed or broken bones, I’m up for it.” He hesitates, largely to enjoy the line she’s just delivered. Then he says,
“Well, how would it be if I tied you up?” All the Flowers Are Dying
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“Oh, wow.”
“Of course, if it’s too unsettling for you—”
“No, just the opposite. The whole idea’s a turn-on.” Her hand tightens on him. “For you, too, I can see. My God.”
“Well, it does add a little something.”
“The old je ne sais quoi, the French call it. I, uh, don’t have any special equipment for it.”
“I, uh, do.”
“Well, aren’t you the devil!”
He fetches the briefcase, opens it. They make a game of it, attaching the silk cuffs to her wrists and ankles, positioning her on the bed with a pillow under her bottom, fastening the cords, also silken, that secure her wrists and ankles to the bed’s four corners. Her eyes widen as he shows her some of the paraphernalia he’s brought. She looks excited, and he touches her, and yes, she’s wet, but then she’s always wet, this one, always ready and willing and able.
He flicks the riding crop across her abdomen. It hurts a little, he notes, but she likes it.
So far.
“My God,” she said, “you must have bought out the Pleasure Chest.
You really are a devil.”
He opens a condom, puts it on.
“Darling, you don’t need one of those. Why would you use one now?
Oh, don’t tell me that’s why you haven’t let yourself come! That’s so sweet, but the last thing you have to worry about is getting me pregnant.
I’m afraid those years are over.”
He’s beginning to tire of listening to her. So why not put an end to her prattling? He tears off a strip of duct tape, pins her head with one hand, tapes her mouth with the other. This is unexpected, and not entirely welcome, and he watches her eyes as she begins to realize the extent of her helplessness.
But that could be part of the turn-on. She’s not sure yet.
He gives her a look at the letter opener. Her eyes widen, and she’d gape if her mouth weren’t taped shut.
He gets on the bed with her, grips her breast, presses firmly with the let-112
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ter opener until its point breaks the skin at the outer rim of the aureole.
A bead of blood flows from the spot, and he takes it on the top of his index finger and shows it to her.
