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Message-ID: <40426asstr$1042438206@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} Her Thoughts of Me by Vickie Tern  Romance, Femdom, Bondage
Date: Mon, 13 Jan 2003 01:10:06 -0500
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Caution: the following events take place between fictional 
characters.  Don't try them in your own home.  Don't even try
to find out what they are if you're under age.






                     Her Thoughts of Me
             (after the painting by Jack Vettriano)

                       by Vickie Tern

This story originated in a project proposed by Mat Twassel, to 
write a story based on a painting by Jack Vettriano viewable at 
http://www.vettriano-art.com/inthoughtsofyou2/html


When I awoke she was already dressed and sitting in my Regency
chair -- a beautiful antique I've been told, priceless -- staring
out the window at nothing in particular.  She looked as always like
an exquisite trophy too rare ever to be awarded to anyone, but who
now and then bestowed herself.  She held coffee in a bone china cup
suspended above her lap like a half-finished thought.  I couldn't
tell if she was guarding a hot cup till it cooled down enough to 
sip or if it was already empty and forgotten though still in her 
hands.  Morning glared through the window.  The same sheet that 
had tangled and infuriated me as I'd struggled toward her body 
last night was still draped over the chair where I'd thrown it 
before finally folding her around me.  She sat delicately, leaning 
back on the sheet, unaware that I'd opened my eyes.  

Her legs were crossed as if fitted together, and they arched steeply
into those spike heels I'd found so exciting last night when she'd 
first hurried toward me to kiss me hello and then scurry back here
with me for a night of making love.  She'd kept them on through the
whole of our first encounter, pointing them high at the ceiling as
we lurched and clung together gloriously, lowering them only after
we'd cooled down.  Then next, still wearing them, she'd wrapped
those slim thighs and calves around my neck as pliantly and
affectionately as other women hug their babies, enclosing me,
drawing me into her, making me hers.  And then with my face deep in
her crotch, we'd kissed.  She'd gazed down fondly on me, and I'd
looked up into her eyes gratefully until finally she'd had to close
them to pay closer attention to the intimate yearnings urged by 
the tip of my tongue.  

Then afterward there was all that play.  She'd been in a delightful,
adorable, whimsical mood, she'd wanted to try all sorts of things 
with me, and I'd wanted to let her.  Amazed by her desires, I'd 
agreed to everything she proposed!  My loins stirred as I remembered
some of them.

"Do you mean to wear those heels to the office, Gwen?" I asked her
gently, not to disturb her but so she'd know I was awake.

She knew what I meant.  "I have another pair in the car," she said
in her even-voiced, measured manner, without turning around. 
"These were for you."

Then still staring out the window, she said quietly, "You won't
want to hear this.  I'm leaving you, Dana."   

I was shocked, then realized what she meant.  "You mean for now. 
To get to work.  You're running late."

"No, I'm going home from here. I phoned in late.  It's you I'm
leaving.  

"Me?  You're what?"

"It's over."

Now I really was wide awake!  "What?"

"It's decided."

I must have sounded frantic.  "'It's decided'?  What do you mean
'it's decided'?  Things like that don't decide themselves!  Who
decided?"

She didn't move, just maintained that calm poise, still looking out
the window.  Away.  Not looking at me.  Too cowardly?

"I did.  I decided.  It's done."

She leaned down and with one hand set her cup and saucer on the
floor, then turned toward me.  I glimpsed her face only fleetingly
before it disappeared into the silhouette of her head, dark as her
hair against all that diffused light.  No, not cowardly, not at
all!  Rather, strangely unconcerned.  She'd been furtive when we
started this affair a month ago, self-conscious, aware of others
watching, but then increasingly open, as if she no longer cared
what other people in the office thought, not even what her husband
might think if he knew.  Now, at her ease, she was telling me we
were no longer lovers.

"It's done.  It's over."

Did she know what pain those words inflicted on me?  Was she
avoiding all thought of it?  Was it that hard for her to bear
thinking about it?  It wasn't over!  It couldn't be over!

For a moment I couldn't speak.  I couldn't move.  I lay there,
scarcely breathing.  Then, "Gwen, why?"

"I can't do this to my husband any longer.  He needs me."

"Gwen!"  I was reaching for words.  Anything!  "Do what?  Do what
to him?  He doesn't know!  He doesn't know anything!"  I was
fighting for my life, yet the still morning light filtering through
the curtain hid her face and kept the peace.

"Harry?  Oh, I think he knows.  And I know, Dana.  Only you don't
know.  It's done."  

She shook her head, seemed to struggle to hold back tears.  She
took a deep breath.  "Of course he knows."  Then her voice was calm
again.

A sob exploded out of me.  Of exasperation?  This was unbearable! 
She felt guilty?  I struggled to sit up on the bed, but I
couldn't.  I wanted to console her, hold her close until this mood
passed, but I couldn't.  I didn't dare intrude on her feelings, I
was myself their cause, I was myself what had brought on this spasm
of remorse.  My coming near her now could only make matters worse. 
She had to deal with it alone.  But if we both stayed perfectly
still, maybe her grief would disappear back into her again, like a
child's pail of water poured into the sand?  

Instead she suddenly stood up and adjusted her skirt.  "Thank you
for everything, Dana.  I've enjoyed all of it.  Last night
especially.  Last night most of all.  You were wonderful."  She
paused and began looking for her purse.  She didn't seem as
devastated as I felt, but she really meant it!  She was leaving!

"Gwen, you can't do this!" I bellowed.  I was helpless and utterly
out of control.  "You can't leave me like this!"
 
"Of course I can," she replied.  Then like any matter-of-fact
housewife, "I have to get home.  Harry must be wondering what's
keeping me."

"Please!" I said, real tears in my eyes.  "What'll I do?"

"That's up to you, Dana.  Lie there and think about me I suppose. 
Think beautiful thoughts.  That'd be nice."

"Gwen, I'm all tied up in knots!  I can hardly breathe.  I can't
undo them alone!"

"No, I don't suppose you can.  You poor dear, you poor, poor
prisoner of love.  But Mavis will be coming by later.  Talk to her
about it."

This made no sense!  Mavis was Gwen's assistant at the office. 
"Mavis?  Why Mavis?"

"Because she'll never believe me, that I've won.  She'll want to
see for herself!  So I told her to come by and see for herself."

"Believe what?  About us?  Mavis knows about us?  Won what?  How?" 
This was getting more and more complicated.  Irksome.  Annoying. 
Worse, embarrassing.  Why was Gwen leaving me here?

"Of course she knows about us.  Everyone in the office knows about
us.  We scarcely kept this a secret, the way we'd greet each other
in the morning, and then disappear for two hour lunches."

My heart was sinking.  "But why leave me like this?"

"That was our bet.  She bet I couldn't do this to you, you were too
cock sure of yourself.  I bet she was wrong.  In fact I knew she
was wrong.  I've done this to Harry many times, I know how to get
a man to agree to things like this, even get him to beg me to do
them to him the way you were begging me toward dawn.  In fact
Harry's been tied to our bed ever since last night when I left him
to come to you.  And I really must get back to him now, he'll need
the bathroom, and he needs time to cleanse his make-up and get
dressed properly so he can get to work.  I do these things to him
and I ask him to do them to himself, and he does them.  And he
trusts me to return in good time from wherever I've been, and I
won't betray that trust."

"And I don't need to get to work?"

"No, not necessarily.  You're less important than you think, Dana. 
You won't want to come in today anyhow, not when I tell everyone
this afternoon.  You won't want to be there.  Tomorrow the
earliest, give people a chance to settle down first, then take your
ribbing.  They'll need time to gloat.  Big boss macho man, kingpin
supervisor, the office Casanova, the sexist terror of the
secretarial pool, has now finally been brought down to size. 
A perfect size 14 it turns out -- that nightie fits you like a 
dream.  I'm glad that last night you promised to wear the bra too if
you couldn't perform.  That made it so much easier.  You did
seem pretty confident it would never happen.  But when I want 
something, it does happen, men have always had that problem
with me.  It's a very pretty nightgown, do keep it, and the
bra matches perfectly, enjoy them both.  Keep the cosmetics too, 
I've left all of them the night stand.  Everything you're wearing
right now, lipstick, eyeliner, everything.  Exactly the way Mavis 
should see them.  Are you ashamed she'll see what a pretty girl 
you are now, Dana?   That she'll realize you wanted to look pretty 
just to please me?  Well, don't be ashamed.  You're actually very 
cute.  I'm especially glad you let me pluck your eyebrows, your
expression now is priceless.  "

There seemed no way I could avoid this humiliation.  Yet last night
everything had been glorious!  I'd been ecstatic!  Gwen had been so
marvelous, so caring and playful, she'd loved everything she was doing
and my heart had overflowed with the pleasure she felt.

"Mavis will untie me, then?  You'll tell her to untie me?"

"You can hope she will.  That's between you two.  I did tell her
you give lovely head.  And it's true, you can be very sweet when
you're subdued beneath a girl's private parts, when you stop all
that swaggering and poking about and your face is tucked snug
under someone's pussy.  She knows that, so that's something you
can use if you need to negotiate your freedom."

I got desperate!  And angry!  "Gwen, this is kidnapping!  You're
holding me here against my will!"

She tossed her head.  That dark hair flew across her neck and then
settled back down again, pert and perfectly groomed.  "No, Dana, 
this is your little hideaway around the corner from the office, 
with its perfect bone china coffee service to impress women with 
your good taste, and its perfect Regency boudoir chair for milady's
convenience undressing, and its instant candle-lit atmosphere, and
its perfect water bed.  This isn't kidnapping, honey, it's bondage.
Though if I hear another such outburst it'll be blackmail too -- 
I'll send Alice here instead of Mavis, maybe Alice will be 
willing to untie you and take you home, and maybe not.  And maybe 
I'll leave a tape recorder running somewhere so we can 
all hear afterwards how you explain your perversions to your own 
wife.  It's only a five dollar bet I've got with Mavis.  I can 
afford to lose it if Alice comes instead of Mavis and then Mavis 
doesn't believe me.  My winnings won't begin to cover my outlay
even for last night.  Your perfume alone ...." 

"All right."  She wasn't moveable.  But now a new worry.  "Does
Alice know yet?"

"That you've been tom-catting around the office for years?  Maybe
around town too?  I'm sure.  In fact one of the receptionists, that
summer replacement Kim, you remember her, she told me in tears that
she'd gone to your wife to beg her to stop you from coming on to
her, that she was engaged and that her fiance ... well, she would
have to quit a perfectly nice job to avoid trouble if you didn't
quit it.  She says Alice apparently kept a stony face and said
nothing, and a week later she did quit.  I guess you've got Alice
intimidated too."

"You won't tell her about us, though, will you?  About this?  My
lying here dressed like this, looking like this, all tied up like
this?"

"Oh, sweetheart, I told you, you look cute!  There's nothing to be
ashamed of!  I know guys who would hit on you right now! 
Especially right now!  Maybe I should send one of them up?"  

For the first time, she smiled.  She enjoyed her little joke,  
I hoped that was what it was.  She even seemed to appreciate me 
in a new way for being part of it.

"Why should I tell Alice anything?  She'll hear soon enough.  This
will raise a lot of talk at the office, and that talk will
certainly reach her, though as always she'll believe whatever she
chooses to believe.  And I've got no quarrel with you, honey, far
from it!  I started in on you a month ago mainly to distract you
from distracting the girls in bookkeeping when they swarmed in on
us for our annual audit.  I don't regret a thing, I've had a
wonderful time this past month!  I always do with my men -- there
are advantages to being small and thin and willowy and
self-confident and pretty, and knowing just  what you want and how
to get it.  With a husband like Harry who loves me exactly the way
I am.  And that's why I love him, too.  I share everything with
him, everything I can possibly bring home, stories, leftovers,
whatever.  He'll love this story!  He was once very much like you!"

Suppose he does love this story, I was thinking.  No matter, I
did bang his willowy wife for a month, and if he gets off on that,
well, good for him.  But if that's so, why am I sad?  Not furious
because I was tricked, not gleeful because I'd cuckolded a lovely
woman's husband, not even fearful of awful humiliations soon to be
endured.  Just sad.  As if I had lost something irretrievable.

Gwen was now near the door.  She turned to say a few more things in
that quiet, gentle way of hers.  "You know, Dana, you might think
of sharing more of yourself with Alice.  You're a little
self-centered -- no, let's face it, that's all you are -- but you
did become a fine lover once I taught you to feel more ... tender
toward me.  To be concerned for me.  To care.  I think you might
even have been in love with me for a while.  Even last night, the
way Harry always is whenever I do things to him.  I even enjoyed
that fat four-incher you think is God's gift, once I learned not to
try to ride it up and down but to roll you around by it, and to
clamp it down whenever you tried to move it in or out.  And your
mouth is heavenly.  If you weren't so cock sure of yourself and
always on the make to stick it into some hapless girl, you'd have
women lined up around the block eager to feel your tongue push itself
into their most secret places."

I now had nothing further to say.  There was nothing more for me to
do, either.  She saw, and understood, and nodded at me, and turned
and left, setting foot ever so delicately out of the apartment on
those high, high heels of hers.  Almost prancing.  Gone.  

I turned heavy eyes back toward those windows, heavy maybe because
of the mascara still stuck to my lashes.  I'd been a clown for months,
years, obviously.  What I was now was nothing.  Morning sun
was pouring into the room.  There between the windows was that odd
candelabra, looking as always like a music stand, holding atop
itself the three candles I kept handy for making romantic
atmospheres.  That sheet was still draped over the Regency chair
where Gwen was no longer sitting.  It was no longer warmed by her
body, and her empty cup sat in its saucer on the floor.  This time
I knew it was empty.


(c) 2003 by Vickie Tern.  

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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