We had only just been married legally, in church and everything, including the most God awful reception I had ever attended — I never knew that the bride and groom suffered so as they had to stand and “receive” all those people. Friends, relatives (some of whom were friends, yeah) and damn’ if there weren’t some people that Carol and I turned to each other afterwards and said, “Yours?”
Just before we left on our honeymoon a woman, who neither of us (in later consultation) recalled ever having seen before, introduced herself (her name slipped our memories at once — ir was our wedding day, after all!) and offered this neat apartment in the big city for a ridiculously low year’s lease. We had seen it, oddly enough, when we had visited its former occupants about six months before.
Neither Carol’s nor my folks had been present at the ceremony, we were just about orphans. My mother was dead, my father in a mental home; her mother and father had died in a car crash after she had moved in with me. Actually, we were surprised by the number of relatives we seemed to have, all of a sudden.
Naturally, most gave us some small item but there were one or two surprises, like when a cousin whom I barely knew said he owned an apartment building and offered us the year’s lease of a very expensive apartment! Two at one wedding?
I hadn’t really thought anyone much gave a damn about me, or Carol, for that matter, and our moving immediately to the big city precluded their seeing if we actually used their gifts — like the orange squeezer, certainly resurrected from someone’s attic, which Cousin Jeremy (13 years old; liked to be called “Jemmy”) presented to us. He wanted to “see you use it,” so I said we’d invite him to where we lived if there was room (this was before the two super lease deals were offered).
Anyway, we got moved, away from the less than caring small town where we’d grown up (yes, I’d known Carol in high school, she was my “childhood sweetheart”), although we shocked the people in that staid mid-western community by living together while we worked out of we really loved each other that much). When we persisted in living together “in sin,” the community gave up on us and seemed to forget about us. They remained distantly polite until the wedding.
The city apartment (we leased the one from the unremembered woman’s agent) was really good, furnished in nice, if not stylish, but comfortable and durable furniture. We had enough matched flatware, plates, mugs and cups, etcetera, for six, and could in a pinch serve a dinner for eight, using some almost identical plates (minor pattern difference)and some other flatware. Our bedding was old, butgood.
If I say so myself, Carol was a very, very pretty girl, dark blonde, twenty-fours years old at the time of our moving to the city, nicely but not overly built, if you follow me, and with a sweet disposition. I was reasonably handsome, two months younger than she, stocky and well-muscled from my work at construction before I had gone to college. I’d lifted weights and wrestled at college, so I was pretty well- built for a shortish guy. Carol was taller by about three inches.
Over the three years, we had worked around our phobias and shibboleths, so that when we made love we could easily slip into many modes — and moods, too. Carol really, really loved the sensations she received when I licked at her clit, after rubbing her back.
That was funny — odd funny, not funny ha-ha — and it’s now only a memory which I can barely recall
* * * * *.
One night, about a year into our living together — a Saturday it was, so I had no classes nor did she have to go to work the next day — I was rubbing her back and she moved under my hand. I was rubbing really softly, almost tickling, when she said,
“Mikey, rub down my legs like that, huh?” I started to get an erection right then. “Down” her legs? Hm-m.
Well, I did, but just as soon as I started to get a little gay with her, rubbing up from her ankles, she did what we called a “grunch.” That was a kind of grunt but with her it included a body movement which meant
”Stop that.”
“Hm? Why stop, love?”
“Rubbing up my legs makes me feel all weird inside, Mike.”
“How, weird?”
“Like...like...shoot, I dunno, but it doesn’t feel good!”
“Okay, I’ll not do it. Rub your back again, okay?”
“M-m. Mikey,” she said in a little girl voice, “rub my front.” Hell yes, dear one, I’ll certainly do that.
I began rubbing her tummy and she kind of curled around my hand and mewed like a cat. I began to smell her.
“That feels nice, and that feeling’s back, like when you rubbed up my legs, but it feels good, now.”
So she wanted to be weird. I guess that’s why we were living together, she wasn’t a bit like other girls — and I know I wasn’t like other guys. Opposites attract?
“Anyhow,” she said after a few more increasingly soft rubs on her belly, sort of going around her belly-button, “kiss me on my tummy, please?”
I bent my head and softly kissed her navel, letting my tongue protrude just a wee bit to see if she’d jump. I was prepared to rear back in case she did, but she took me by surprise and moved her belly close to my mouth and pressed herself against my tongue. Now from below my chin I could smell her scent, increasingly musky and tantalizing. I slid slowly down her smooth skin, placing butterfly kisses, until I was right on top of her moist labia which I kissed as though
I was continuing the sequence and had forgotten where I was. Then I slid my tongue into the folds, seeking to please her if this would.
Carol opened her legs and bent her knees and moaned slightly ‘way over my head. I placed a hand very tenderly on her belly over my head and felt her movements. I licked and then tried to penetrate more deeply into her. She moved and I could feel her breathing speed up as her tummy muscles tightened. I swept my tongue upward very slowly, feeling it slide out a little and then encounter her nubbin. Carol must have been wound tighter than a kite string at that point for I felt a flood of moisture on my tongue and her thighs tightened on my head, her upper body thrashed and she made a little “yip” noise deep in her throat. We made heavy and hot love after that.
Well, that’s what I remember from time to time.
* * * * *
My mind came back to our apartment in the present and I grinned tha grin at Carol. Naturally she knew exactly what I meant and she laughed.
“No, later maybe.”
“Whaddya mean, ‘maybe’? I’m your husband and wives do what husbands want, right?”
“Not in these days, Mike. We do what we feel like.”
“Yeah, modern women. Bah!” We’d been through this routine several times.
“I thought you liked modern women, Mike. Particularly short hair, short skirts....” “...no panties — say, are you...?”
“Yes, I’m still in my ‘going away’ skirt and panties, thank you very much. I’m surprised you’ve left them on this long.”
“That a threat, a challenge or a promise?”
“None. Say, Mike, what is this?” She held up a thing that looked like a loving cup, small but with two handles.
“My God! That’s silver, isn’t it? What, a wedding present?”
“Feels like it. Yeah, it’s silver, here’s the proof sign, it was a wedding present. But why’s it got a cap? And who gave it to us?”
“A what? A cap...golly, it sure does. Is there...yup, shakes like a liquid. D’you s’pose it’s liquor?”
“Champagne? Na, wouldn’t keep in a silver capped cup. Ooh, that sounded funny, Mike.”
“You’ll be a star of stage, screen and radio, honey-chile, let me intrroduce you to the casting couch, m’dear,” I answered in as mock heavy a voice as I was able. That, too, was an old routine we liked. “Huh! So, should we open it?” My answer was stopped before I could make it by a rapping on the apartment door.
“Who the hell knocks on an apartment door? We’ve gotta let ‘em in first, downstairs, with the electronic key.”
“Well, you’ve got trousers on, you answer it.
It’s another resident, dummy.”
As I hastily grabbed and donned a shirt, tucking it in as I moved toward the door, I managed, “So, you admit I wear the pants in this family,” but Carol looked worried all of a sudden and I shut up and opened the door on the chain.
“Ye-es?” I asked, politely but with a chill in my tone, I thought.
“I’m your neighbor — and your landlord, by the way — might I come in for a moment, I know, you’re newly wed and wish to be left alone, but I won’t be a moment. I just want to offer a toast, using our two cups, you see.”
The tall, raven haired, gorgeous woman confronting me held up the twin of ths cup Carol and I had been admiring, I glanced quickly at Carol and saw that she held the cup — our twin — in her hands, protectively. She nodded, apparently having heard the conversation, such as it had been. I vaguely recognized the woman...but form where? The reception?
Landlord?
“Yes, we can certainly toast a neighbor...or, I mean, sorry, accept a toast from a neighbor.” So much for a small town upbringing. I closed the door just sufficiently to loosen the chain and then opened it wide enough that this newly announced neighbor could slip in. She did this gracefully with a kind of sinuosity hat reminded me oddly of a python.
“Ah, I see you do have the twin. Then, if you’ll both hold the cup — your cup — I shall propose the toast.” We took the cup between us, each wrapping three fingers around the slim handle on our side. Between us we raised the cup as our neighbor said, quietly,
“Welcome to the city, where many wonderful matters occur — I shall see that you enjoy many of them — and I know you will want to. Here’s to us!”
Well, that seemed like a strange toast, but Carol and I managed to raise our cup to our lips, somehow without spilling a drop. It was just wide enough to allow our tightly pressed together heads to place our lips on it and drink a litle.
“Oh, my dears. Here, I have tasted, all that is required of the proposer. Now, each of you — you take my cup, dear, and let your husband have yours — good, Now, a real toast, given as you drink. One, two, upsadaisy...” and we raised the two cups to our now separated lips and drank down the contents. The taste was fruity, tart but slightly sweet, like no other fruit drink I had ever had before. I turned to Carol.
“Nice taste. Have you ever...?” and my voice died.
“I welcome you to my service. Tell me your names.”
“I am Carol,” she said in an odd voice, not at all like her real one.
“I am Michael.” My voice was strange to me.
“So. Carol, how do you spell your name?”
“C-A-R-O-L.”
“No, no. A good, black maid should spell that with a “E” at the end. That’s how you will spell it from now on, Carole!” She pronounced it with the accent on the second syllable.
* * * * *
Carol could feel something happen to her, right then. Her skin crawled briefly, like something had walked over her grave, and her chest felt odd, as though it was stretching. The skin of her hands darkened to a pleasant yellowish tan and she felt as if she was out of place, all naked as she was. Then of a sudden she was wearing clothing! Well, that was okay, she was dressed as she should be, in her usual black short dress with her white apron and little cap, and she was holding two empty silver cups on a tray, like they used to serve customers in hotels. She curtseyed (noticing that her legs had darkened, too) and awaited her mistress’ command. She had always liked the way her name was said, sounded kinda like those high yaller gals from Haiti, didn’t it?
* * * * *
“Yes’m,” said what I had thought was my wife, but who...or what...now for a flash looked to be a nude, pretty mulatto, what we’d called “high yellow” back....where? She had raven black, glossy hair down to the nape of her neck, but now she stood there in a maid’s outfit, stockings, short high heels, a white apron and a puzzled but somehow compliant look on her face. She was holding a tray with two silver cups on it. “You may return to the apartment, Carole, and clean up, then set the table for dinner. I shall be ordering in.”
“Yes’m,” this maid said again, and went to the door. I struggled to say something, tried to move. For some reason I was hard as a rock. I wanted that mulatto girl, wanted her desperately.
“Ah, Michael. I see you have great desire for the maid? I’m sorry, my dear, but I shall have to cure you of that. Come, let us return to the apartment, Carole won’t get in our way, and I shall train you a little better to my service.”
She walked to the door, waited until I had opened it — for some odd reason my mind could not understand, I actually bowed her out — and she led me to an elevator I had never seen in the building. We entered that and ascended some distance which I never did measure. When we got out it was directly into this woman’s apartment.
As she led me across the thick carpet, she murmured as though introducing me to someone else, “This is Mrs. Eldredge’s apartment. Your mistress is Mrs. Eldredge. You will address her as ‘Madam,”or if so ordered, as ‘Mistress.’”
I found myself repeating that mulatto maid’s reply, “Yes’m.” She turned imperiously to me.
“Strip.” I stripped.
Mrs. Eldredge looked my body over as though examining a car, or a horse she was buying.
“Very nice. But, we cannot have you lusting after our maid...so, Mike, we perform a little toast.” With that she took what looked like a shot size bottle from a tabouret next her and opening it, said simply, “Drink.” Anything she told me I felt compelled to do. I tipped it over my mouth and engulfed its contents. They had the same sweet and tart taste as the “toast” that appeared to have done whatever happened to my wife and me.
“There. Now, Mike, you are my chauffeur, if anyone should ask, and my lover as I desire you. You have just lost your manhood, but for me you will be able to perform. You no longer lust after my maid, or anyone else, only me, on command. You will be perfectly happy in my employ, always the faithful servant, always the faithful stud on call, as wanted.” Something that felt like a fist grabbed me by the scrotum and there was a weird feeling of compression and a strong pull, but then I went quite dead in that area, although my penis was rigid and very, very sensitive. I wanted sex with Mrs. Eldredge most urgently at that moment.
“As a matter of fact,” she continued, “I rather think I want you now. Let me just disrobe in the bedroom and you will come when I call you. Don’t bother picking up those things you discarded, the maid will get them”
She swept from the room, leaving me to stand there like a dummy with an extended and throbbing digit before me, while she attended to whatever she wanted.. I now felt something different about my crotch, lighter it seemed, for one thing, but I wondered just what had happened to us, to me and to...what the hell was the woman’s name that I had...? Wait a minute, what woman...? Had I dreamed all that about being married? And that maid? Is she a dish, or is sh...!
No, I’m not to think about the maid. Who the hell am I? Where is this? Ah! Yes...I’m Michael. I drive a car, a limo for the lady who owns this apartment...I do what she says...she owns me, that’s right.
And, of course, the lady is Mrs. Eldredge and she’s calling me now, to service her. I wonder how she likes her cunny licked?