Chapter Six

Ever had no idea what time it was when she first came to consciousness next morning, but light filtered brightly through the diaphanous curtains over the bedroom windows.

Stroud was up and dressed in a pair of taupe twill trousers and a tan shirt that draped most becomingly over his square shoulders.

“If you’re ready to get up now, brunch will be ready in about an hour.”

Ever felt whacked but she knew she’d never be able to get back to sleep, so she nodded and sat up. Stroud unlocked the chain and removed the collar and manacles.

“You may bathe. There’s a robe in the bathroom. Come down when you’re ready.”

It was a relief to have the collar and manacles off at last – yet, somehow disappointing.

The bedroom was pleasant and cheerful in the morning light. Not as strange or intimidating as it had seemed last night.

A towel had been laid out on the tiled ledge surrounding the bathtub. Stroud didn’t know her preferences, but the placement of the towel implied a subtle command that she was to bathe, rather than shower.

As the water gushed into the tub, Ever could not resist the inclination to inspect herself in the mirror over the vanity unit. Despite his assertions regarding the effects of the whipping, Ever was never-the-less amazed by the results, still so evident across her back and buttocks. The welting had subsided, it was true, but the remaining marks would certainly take several days to fade.

She was both shocked and comforted by this imprint and climbed gingerly into the bath with a sense of silent and private obedience to the will imposed upon her last night, the present imposition, and those yet to come. She submerged herself in the hot water with the first awareness of the condition of slavery he had forewarned her about and she felt cleansed as much by relief as by the applications of soap and water.

When she’d finished bathing, Ever donned the pale blue terry toweling robe Stroud had indicated, which was a bit large, since it was apparently his. She was about to go, then paused to make up the bed, before she went downstairs.

Since there was no other dining area in the house, breakfast was served in the kitchen. Stroud had prepared fresh cantaloupe, creamed eggs, skinless sausages, wheat toast and coffee.

Radiant winter sun warmed the scene through wood slatted mini blinds over the bayed windows. Stroud waited on her hand and foot, clearing the table when they’d done and delivering cigarettes and ashtray to accompany their second cup of coffee.

“Can I help with the dishes?” Ever asked.

“No. Why don’t you go on in there? Relax, while I finish up,” Stroud suggested, so Ever withdrew into the cozy sitting room off the kitchen. When Stroud came in, not twenty minutes later, he was only mildly surprised to discover Ever curled up in the corner of the couch, fast asleep.

***

Ever suffered an instant of disorientation when her eyes blinked open, nearly an hour later. Stroud was in an easy chair across the room, reading.

Ever sighed softly and remained still, savoring the moment – her first opportunity to observe Stroud without his knowledge. Her body coursed with small charges of excitement as she mentally recounted the events of the previous night. Stroud’s penetrating questions. Undressing before his appraising gaze. She tried to picture him standing behind her, the whip in hand. The sex and the lecture that followed. In his bed... where he’d slept so soundly while she lay wakeful, quaking with exhaustion and adrenalin rushes – so conscious of her nudity, the collar, cuffs, and chain...

The adrenalin was coursing again and her heart fluttered as Stroud’s eyes flicked up from the book, interrupting her reverie.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Sorry?”

“Falling asleep like that.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said.

His words relieved her of the inclination to assume a more attentive pose. “What are you reading?”

“Perhaps you’d like to hear some of it.”

“How delightful,” Ever replied, nestling deeper into the robe.

“Is there a chill in the room?”

Ever smiled. “For me, there is always a chill in the room.”

“Maybe you’d enjoy a fire?”

“I’d more than enjoy a fire.”

The kindling had been laid in advance. Stroud struck a match and within moments a lively warming blaze rose up. Stroud resumed his seat, flicked back a few pages of the book and began to read aloud.

It wasn’t the beginning of the story but it didn’t matter. The words painted vivid pictures of an erotic scene between a supremely dominant man and the woman who would undoubtedly surrender to him.

Ever stared into the dancing flames, Stroud’s voice flowing through her. A mellow, comforting sound, as sensual as the scene he was relating. The story played in tandem to the desire already manifesting itself within her and she unconsciously curled deeper into the folds of the robe, luxuriating in the sensations coursing through her.

When the scene reached its crescendo, Stroud paused.

Ever sighed. “That’s pretty powerful.”

“Do you think so?”

“Heady stuff. Descriptive. I am forever trying to relay that kind of power and imagery-”

“You?” Stroud asked. “You’re a writer?”

“Oh...” Ever stuttered, feeling caught out. “Let’s say, I write.”

“What do you write?”

“Stuff like that,” she said. “Well, not really like that. Not as good and my approach is different.”

“In what way?”

“Relationships in my scenarios are rarely consensual.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“I don’t know. It’s easier for me.”

“And more stimulating?” Stroud suggested.

“Maybe. I never analyzed it.”

“Are you published?”

“Oh no.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not good enough.”

“I’d be very interested in seeing your work,” Stroud said, apparently intrigued by this insight into Ever’s private world.

“I never show my work to anyone.”

“Why not?”

“I guess it’s too personal,” Ever said then, as though to elude another question, she sat up suddenly. “May I put another log on the fire?”

Stroud smiled slightly. “Go ahead.”

He watched her as Ever fuelled and stoked the fire to renewed life with guileless proficiency. She lingered near the warmth, hugging her knees, gazing into the flames as Stroud gazed at her. He still could not quite believe he’d managed to get her here. Yet, here she was, seated on his floor, dressed in his robe. Her presence was a miracle, her internal energy like a flame kindled within his own breast. The heat in his loins was undeniable but it did not begin to encompass the depth of his growing desire for her.

“Come here...”

Ever got up slowly and stood before him. He loosened the tie of the robe and pushed it off her shoulders. His eyes played over her and sparks of excitement pulsed through her as he gently stroked her breasts, allowing his hands to slide down over her hips. She gasped slightly as he once again tugged the inner labia into view and she caught a whiff of her own desire, which excited her more.

“Turn around.”

Ever pivoted slowly, her breath coming in short, shallow, tugs. Stroud’s fingertips played lightly over her back and buttocks, tracing the lines of his handiwork. Her eyes closed and she hung on, feeling as though she must do something to expel this fury of passion within her.

She was only vaguely aware that Stroud had risen from the chair. She was afraid he intended to do something to her. Afraid he would not.

All at once, he gripped her shoulders and swung her around. His hand forced her down and she found herself bent over, gripping the padded armrests of the chair where he’d sat moments before. Her eyes dropped to the jacket of the book he’d left on the cushion. Polished brown leather binding with the words ‘The Storm’ inlaid in gold on the cover.

The title was emblazoned in her mind when her eyes snapped shut as Stroud grasped her hips from behind and swiftly penetrated her. Ever cried out, knowing it could have been much worse had she not been so ready for him. The abruptness of his assault seemed to indicate that he had known.

Since her surgery eleven months ago, sexual intercourse had become a delicate procedure. Her body had been changed and, for Ever, it was like taking a stranger to bed. Despite reassurances from her doctor, she still did not trust the healing process, feeling sure she could be damaged, the surgeon’s work undone, by allowing a man inside her.

Even from the first, Ever had enjoyed and demanded energetic, sustained sex from her partners, and she had never feared pain. Lately, though, she’d felt like a porcelain doll that could be shattered in an instant by one wrong move.

There had been a couple of short, unsatisfactory affairs with strangers since her split with Mark and, in the desperation that seizes separated couples, she and Mark had met on several occasions for quick, fevered interludes. The sex between them had always been good and it was perfectly natural to wish it back. At best, she’d been an unreliable and fragile partner during her illness prior to surgery and now she was fixed. It was only natural...

But in each of these meetings Mark had been the instigator. He would turn up unexpectedly and she would let him in. For five minutes they would talk of nothing, then he’d fuck her and leave. His reasons were never clear. She assumed he was dateless and horny. For her part, she was just uncertain the marriage was over. She’d thought these brief engagements were indications of a reconciliation and was emotionally incapable of analyzing the anger and desolation that washed into the wake of these usurious encounters.

She knew better now, of course, but she had forgiven – Mark and herself. That was one emotional wound too small to nurse for long, but the physical fear persevered. The strangeness. The question as to whether sex would ever be the same again.

Now here was Stroud, pressing against these newly self-imposed limitations. Taking her like some virgin bride who must be taught the realities of a betrothed woman – no negotiation, no deferments. A man wants what he wants. The woman shall accede. No matter to him that a woman is fragile, sensitive. A man shall take what is rightfully his and it’s not in his nature to question the way in which God created him or instilled his drives.

Amused with herself, Ever allowed these outmoded ideas to compound her excitement. She didn’t concern herself with possible destruction but only with incontestable surrender to the will of the man inside her. A man who had already driven her desires beyond any boundaries she’d ever perceived on her horizons. She was wet and receptive and, had he chosen to cease and withdraw at that moment, her screams of fury and frustration would have shattered every window in the house.

She braced herself against the arms of the chair, forcefully yielding to Stroud’s thrusts, secure in the knowledge of woman’s ultimate power over the conquering male – her sexual endurance. Stroud would come long before she would have to concede defeat.
She played the scene Stroud had read over in her mind. Then a couple of scenarios of her own. Still he plowed her, with the same understated precision he had demonstrated the night before. She focused on the feel of his controlling hands. The soft crackling of the fire, the heat of which radiated out to caress her bare thigh. The silence of the house, which accentuated her aloneness, her vulnerability in the presence of this Stroud. The intimacy of this act, performed in what would normally be considered a public room. The quiet assurance of Stroud’s dominance, her complicity as his hands flexed her into a deeper bow.

All at once her knees buckled but Stroud’s grasp kept her from toppling. She thought he would come then but he didn’t. And Ever marveled, as she had so many times before, at man’s courage in perpetrating this extraordinary invasion, and how the female body could not only tolerate, but take such pleasure from it.

Her legs gave way again. This time Stroud allowed her to drop, dropping with her as he persevered with even greater force and deliberation. Ever’s fingers dug into the carpet, her rhythmic soprano whimpers descending the scale into low throaty groans that encouraged rather than dissuaded continued assault.

At last Stroud succumbed to completion, thrusting so deeply into her that Ever cried out in pain and longing.

***

That afternoon Stroud took Ever out to a local shopping plaza. Ever was entranced by the grandeur of the huge central court, which was encircled by a terrace of second story shops and illuminated by a wash of bright natural light from sky lights high above.

Ever was somewhat passive at first, conscious of her behavior. By drawing her attention to items that interested him, Stroud was able to elicit candid opinions that reflected her tastes in clothing, jewelry and books. He was eager to learn her and view the world through her eyes.

They stopped at every store window and, when Ever demonstrated even a passing interest, Stroud encouraged her through the door to browse in more detail. In a shop specializing in designer lingerie, Stroud sat on a velvet cushioned chair while Ever explored the racks.

As she had at the exhibition, Ever inventoried everything, her cool objectivity revealing little of her true feelings. When she returned for a second look at a pair of yellow silk lounging pajamas, Stroud unobtrusively approached. “Do you like them?”

“They’re rather fun,” she remarked, allowing the silky sleeve to slip from her investigative fingers. “What’s next?”

Further along the promenade, Ever took the initiative, leading the way into another clothing store. Hardwood floors, ceiling fans, wooden packing crates set around to create a tropical Central American atmosphere – a complete digression from the sensual whispering of satin and silk in the lingerie shop. Here it was khaki and denim accented with brass buttons and webbed belts. Clothing more suited to a safari on the African savannas than the boudoir. As before, Ever inspected everything, but this time her enthusiasm was more easily read.

Ever. Woman of contrasts. She preferred teddy bears designed along traditional lines, shoes and belts of genuine leather, garnets over diamonds, and fiction over non-fiction. She liked picture books of horses and Stroud noticed her linger over a book of paintings by van Gogh.

“You’re interested in art?” he asked.

“Hard not to be,” Ever replied, stroking the open page as though to taste the muted hues. “I was a washout in art history at school but something must have stuck. Lately, I’ve become more interested in learning to distinguish between the works of the classical artists.”

“Do you have any favorites?”

“I think it was Dali that first piqued my interest as a child. Those melting clocks, you know, the barren landscapes. But, I suppose, it’s subject matter that concerns me most.”

“And what subjects do you prefer?”

“I love exercises in perspective. Street scenes, city-scapes, interiors. Although, I like landscapes, especially if there’s play on light and shadow. It may be unsophisticated to say so, but I prefer realism. Pictures with depth. There’s a painting in a museum in Sydney depicting a thin stream of silver water gushing into a deep gorge. Huge thing. Rather dark. I can’t tell you the title or the artist, but I spent many a Sunday afternoon staring at that painting... But I’m raving.”

“Not at all,” Stroud said with a smile. “I hope your replies to all my questions will be as informative.”

Before they left the mall, they stopped at the food court where Ever revealed her passion for waffle fries and chicken nuggets. She drank a large coke as well, but even the sugar and caffeine boost was not enough to sustain her energy until dinnertime.

By the time they returned to the house at sunset, Stroud could see Ever was ready for another nap. Despite her protests, he took off her shoes and settled her down with a blanket on the couch in the small sitting room. She dropped off almost immediately.

Her fatigue didn’t surprise him. She was wearing a brave front, but she was under considerable emotional strain. Requiring her to stay the whole week-end was an enormous demand but two days of intensive interaction would reveal things that might otherwise take him weeks to discover.

While Ever slept, Stroud made a few calls. By the time she awoke, dinner was nearly ready. She asked and was granted permission to lay and light a fire.

A light supper of soup and quarter cut sandwiches was served on the floor by the fireplace. Ever was subdued throughout the meal, disarmed by the fact that she’d been stripped, collared and manacled before they began.

It was amazingly difficult to eat, arrayed like that. She could not even bring herself to meet Stroud’s eyes. He didn’t press the issue. He merely studied her measured gestures, the way her eyes fixed on the leather bracelets every time she reached toward her plate. It was interesting and beautiful to observe the depth of passivity achieved by this simple exercise in dominance.

Following their after dinner cigarette, Stroud stacked the dishes on the tray. “I want you to go to the other room,” he said. “Kneel and wait for me. I think you know where...”

Ever rose on unsteady legs and headed down the short hall. She crossed to the corner, hesitated, then knelt on the plum carpeting, hands on her thighs. The room seemed as cold and imposing as it had the previous night – even more so from her position on the floor. When Stroud came in a few minutes later, Ever instinctively glanced up.

Stroud’s eyebrow arched slightly. “Do you recall what you were told last night about the positioning of your head?”

A jolt of fear shot through her and Ever instantly bowed her head, then, remembering, lifted it slightly, keeping her gaze lowered.

“I don’t expect you to forget that again. Spread your knees,” he said and Ever obeyed. “Further.”

Ever opened her legs wider.

“Is that the best you can do?” he asked and Ever forced herself to separate her thighs as far as possible.

“Better,” Stroud said. “Always perform to the best of your ability and I will never have reason to doubt your efforts.”

Ever nodded.

“Cross your wrists behind your back.”

Ever did so and Stroud bent to adjoin the manacles with the linking chain. Ever shivered. The subtle scent of his cologne made her think of tuxedos and champagne, evening gowns and soft music.

“Keep still,” he said and disappeared into the kitchen.

Sounds of cupboard doors, bottle caps, ice cubes against glass. He was making himself a drink. Ever suddenly felt like a rum and coke and another cigarette. The desire for these things was intensified by the realization that it would be inappropriate to ask for either at this moment. She caught herself just in time, repositioning her turning head as Stroud passed through on his way to another room. He soon returned, taking a seat on the far end of the couch. There was a sound of shuffling papers, but not the leaves of a book, she thought.

Minutes passed. Warm, prickly perspiration collected between Ever’s confined arms and her body. Her heart thudded with a heavy cadence. More papers shuffled. She burned to glance up but dared not, lest he catch her movement.

What would he do if she moved?

That is not the issue, she told herself. This was a test for her. It would be wrong to turn it into a test for him. He’d told her to keep still. No matter what he did, he could not enforce the command. Only she could enforce it with her will to obey.

She’d never imagined something so simple could be so hard. She wondered if he checked on her intermittently as he worked on his papers. Or perhaps he’d forgotten her entirely.

“If I’m not mistaken, you haven’t had an orgasm yet this week-end.”

The room was suddenly much warmer.

“Well?”

Ever shook her head. “No, but I’m content.”

“I don’t see how you can be content,” he said softly. “Naked, shackled, displayed as you are... Either you’re made of stone, or you’re a liar. Which is it?”

I’m a liar, Ever thought. A bald faced liar. Everything she thought, felt, or was, had shifted down to her groin. Slight spasms of desire had already commenced.

“You claim to be content, but already you want to move, to close up, conceal yourself...”

Red heat crept into Ever’s cheeks.

Stroud continued softly, “You ask yourself: What will happen? How long can I possibly resist the sight of you like that? And when I give up my resistance, what will happen to you? Don’t move! Don’t you dare move...”

Ever hung on, strictly controlling the urge to pull her knees together. Her palms were damp.

Stroud got up then. He came over and sat on the floor beside her. He’d brought the white towel and set it down between her spread thighs. Leaning in close, he caressed her breast. Ever’s heart picked up pace.

“Tell me,” he said, stroking. “Did you move at all while I was out of the room?”

“Yes,” Ever whispered.

“I see.” He touched the other breast. “Did you do it because you knew I wouldn’t see it?”

“No. I...”

“What?”

“I heard you in the kitchen. I was...thinking of a drink. And a cigarette...”

Stroud smiled slightly. “You’re accustomed to being able to gratify yourself at will.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Discipline improves with practice,” he said, his hand dropping to her thigh. “And are you still thinking of a drink?”

Ever’s lips pursed. “No.”

“Cigarette?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He continued stroking her thigh while Ever tried to control her breathing, which was coming in shorter tugs. With each pass, his hand worked higher up her leg. Even though it was the only thing strictly within her permitted range of sight, Ever dared not watch its progress. Tension was seeping into every muscle of her body and she was beginning to wonder how long she would be expected to maintain position.

At last Stroud’s teasing fingers contacted the part between her legs. Ever gasped slightly as he drew forth the tender inner lips and compressed them gently between his fingertips.

“Tell me, do you masturbate when you’re alone?”

“Yes,” Ever whispered.

“And when you do, are you satisfied with just one? Or do you go for multiple orgasms?”

Ever groaned.

“How many times do you come when you’re alone? Two? Four? More than four?”

“Sometimes.”

Stroud’s fingers spread the delicate lips apart. He picked up the towel and touched it against the area he had primed. Ever gasped again, her eyes closing as her head dropped lower. Slowly, gently, Stroud began to stroke the rounded edge of the folded towel against the sensitized tissue, closely gauging Ever’s reactions. The accumulating tensions were now visibly apparent and he was positioned well enough to monitor the curling of her hands into fists behind her back.

Ever cringed at the idea of contact with the rough toweling, but Stroud maneuvered it so subtly that, what she had perceived as a potential irritant, turned out to be a breath of sensation that was barely noticeable.

She was wrong about that. Within a few short seconds, she was near orgasm. But how could it be? She must have been half way there before he even got off the couch!

Stroud noted Ever had stopped breathing. Every muscle was locked. She was very close. He paused momentarily, drawing the towel away. A tiny puff of air escaped as her compressed lips parted slightly but that was all. She was perfectly poised on the brink and it would take something more to make her withdraw from the promised release.

He resumed again with the towel, even more carefully than before, and once again Ever felt herself rushing toward the apex. Her head bowed a fraction lower and Stroud proceeded cautiously, hoping to catch her at least once more before allowing her to tip over into the abyss.

No such luck. Another small breath pushed out of her and, although he had already taken the towel away, he was sure he had not moved quickly enough.

It was the quietest, most passive orgasm he’d ever witnessed. There was nothing at all to indicate it was even occurring.

Ever was utterly still, floating on a sensation that must have been entirely internal. Stroud waited and watched until the last of her pent breath gushed out, taking with it most of the stored physical tension.

He reached under and swiftly penetrated her, setting up another brief bout of internal contractions. Ever’s eyes snapped open. He worked his hand in a quick, circular motion, gratified by the soft moan his attention solicited.

“How quiet you are,” he remarked.

Ever whimpered, unable to respond to anything but the movement inside her. She felt so tight but, as he continued, she began to loosen. Stroud extracted his hand, returning his concentration to external stimulus and Ever’s tensions were instantly renewed.

He began talking again and Ever’s replies came as abbreviated breaks in line and action, like the dots on ‘i’s’.

“You’ve never had to do anything like this before, have you?”

“No—”

“But you do it now...”

“Yes—”

“You do it for me.”

Ever opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“I know,” he said gently. “It’s impossibly hard.”

Ever’s eyes were closed again.

“I think at this moment, you might do just about anything for me, wouldn’t you?”

“I…”

He smiled slightly. Sentences would be impossible for her.

“You’ve never really been dominated before, but it’s what you desire.”

There was a funny tight sound in her throat.

“And I want to see you submit. I want you to submit again for me now. Will you do that?”

“Yes--” she whispered.

“Good girl. I want to know if you are always so quiet when you climax...”

That strange, restricted sound again.

“And, this week, I want you to stop masturbating.”

The tension in her body intensified when she heard this, but she was still unable to open her eyes, so controlling was his caress.

“I don’t want you to touch yourself like this. Understand?”

“Yes…”

“The next one to touch you this way will be me. Correct?”

Now there was a small, strangled mewling and she began to tremble.

“You will obey this one small request. Tell me you will.”

She sucked yet one more breath into lungs that surely had reached capacity.

“Tell me, Ever.”

“Yes!” came her shout and she broke through with sobs. She jerked forward but Stroud kept her in position by his grip on the collar.

This one was anything but quiet. It was vocal and fraught with a struggle resembling the expulsion of a minor demon. Her involuntary roars ricocheted off the walls and she bucked so fiercely, Stroud feared she might be strained.

At last, she passed through a series of diminishing convulsions and began to relax, but only slightly. Stroud continued caressing her, taking advantage of the flow he’d stimulated. He kept his movement slow and subtle, just enough to keep her riding the golden glow.

When she ebbed to a point he believed she might regain control of herself, he slipped his hand under and penetrated her again. Ever arched back with a gasp as he worked her with the same aggression as before. Ever was reinvigorated with sensation, catching breath in loud, rhythmic pants.

“You’ve made me a promise,” he said. “Will you remember it?”

“What? Oh...yes. Yes!”

“And will you keep it?”

“Yes! Yes!” Ever cried, helpless to do anything else.

Stroud smiled. “Yes, I believe you will. You’ll do it because you think it’s important to impress me.”

He played on her passion until her energies, once again, abated, then released her slowly, allowing her to slump, still quietly panting.

He sat with her as she gradually quieted down. The recuperation was slow and it was several minutes before she attempted to straighten up. She kept her eyes downcast, as though embarrassed, doing what she could to communicate without looking at him. He stroked her head.

“More settled?”

Ever nodded. “Please...”

“What?”

“Water?”

“Of course.”

Stroud fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and held it to her lips. She took only a couple of sips and, as she nodded to indicate satisfaction, Stroud caught the merest involuntary glance from her. He recognized it. The look. That one was ‘Please release my arms.’

He obliged immediately because tonight she didn’t know that the look was more than was permitted, and that requests of this kind were seldom granted promptly.

She was relieved to be released from the binding but, soon after, he made her stand. She waited in the corner until he was ready to take her upstairs to his bed, where he opened her again for his own pleasure. She moaned beneath him, clinging on as though she’d awaited this moment a hundred years.

When at last she lay, soiled, depleted and ready for sleep, Stroud reached for the light switch.

“Remember your promise,” he said, finally allowing her to slip beyond a curtain of darkness.

***

On Sunday evening Ever allowed Stroud to drive her all the way home. She didn’t invite him inside and Stroud didn’t ask. He merely kissed her good-bye, assuring her he would call during the week.

The arrival home was anticlimactic, but Ever was relieved to reach the sanctity of her apartment. Mingled with relief was a sense of loss and the shadow of loneliness that had haunted her before she met Stroud. She had now stepped into another world and, although she wasn’t really comfortable there yet, the return to this dreary neighborhood was a shock.

The apartment seemed empty and drab but it was home. Here she could drop all pretense and act precisely as she pleased. She set her alarm and climbed into bed, too weary to consider the possibilities of how much her life was about to change.

***

During those first weeks there was a complete shift in Ever’s reality. It wasn’t the things Stroud did to her when she was with him so much as the effect the relationship was having on other facets of her life. Her encounters with Stroud were so intense that, after only a few brief hours under his detention, she discovered certain aspects of his influence were already taking hold.

Even when he wasn’t with her he was present, every minute, wherever she was. It was an interfering distraction, like a dull static that constantly hangs on the line. Suddenly, everything else in her life was in second place. When she tried to focus on the task at hand, something would remind her and she would find herself drenched in the warm envelopment of her condition. She might drift like this for minutes at a time, lost to the present. Sometimes people actually had to call her back and she could not answer their inquiring looks.

But it wasn’t only the head storms. There was physical affliction. She was sore, a soreness that turned up in places she hadn’t foreseen. She had to constantly watch herself, since the simplest movement might be sufficient to make her gasp. She knew the pain was a deliberate measure to keep her in a constant state of awareness, but it was difficult to adjust to. At times she felt angry and sincerely wished it away, but the pain was an intrinsic part of the experience and something she had expected from the relationship.

The stress drained and exhilarated her at once. She had trouble eating and sleeping. Mundane household chores were performed in a state of absentminded agitation. No task was executed with perfection – unless enacted specifically in consideration of her relationship with Stroud. She existed in an emotional paradox between rapture and trepidation and Stroud’s calls were anticipated almost as anxiously as his arrival at the curb outside her apartment on Friday evenings.

***

It was a long drive to Stroud’s place. Ever didn’t know exactly where it was, which sharpened her apprehension. They made the journey usually at night and, when they did, it was never just for dinner. Her small bag on the back seat. A few personal things she was required to bring. Toiletries, a change of underwear, if not a full change of clothes.

It became routine for Stroud to ask her questions during the drive. Personal questions about her past affairs. Intimacies detailing her likes and dislikes. Some of his questions were difficult to answer but he was persistent and, mostly, she was able to come up with the truth.

It didn’t take her long to realize she had committed to the relationship. She was tired, uncertain of her ability to keep pace with Stroud’s demands, yet there was nothing in her that would consider postponement.