The Promise

I yielded to his superior strength and let my arm be stretched straight as he wound the other end of the rope around the bedpost and secured it with two half hitches.

"I could never inflict pain on you or anyone else. It's just a fantasy. Now that we're together I won't even think about that stuff anymore.

He leapt off the bed and began pulling on my right leg, stretching my torso and increasing the tension on my arms. He watched me grimace.

"Is it too tight?" he asked as he pulled on the ligature he had tied around my right ankle.

"No, it's OK," I lied, determined to indulge his fantasy of inflicting pain on a sorceress.

He wrapped the last piece of clothesline around my left ankle and secured it to the bedpost so that I lay spread-eagled on the bed. He arose and paraded around the bed inspecting his work.

"You don't have to give up any of your fantasies because you think I will object. There is nothing crueler than depriving someone of that which they cherish."

"I still feel I've done nothing to deserve what you are giving me. It's enough. Do you want me to untie you?"

"No, I want you to give pleasure to the sorceress who loves you, before you send her to Hell tomorrow."

Evan hopped onto the bed and knelt between my legs. The ligatures painfully dug into my flesh, but I managed a smile. He went down on me and as the tip of his tongue teased the nubbin of flesh at the apex of my pubis, my pain faded away.

My body stiffened and I jerked at my restraints, instinctively trying to free my limbs to envelope my lover in my arms. With not a soul to spy on us, helpless and ensconced in pleasure, I grunted and shrieked. When his head arose from my crotch, I smiled, thanking him in advance for the orgasm that was coming.

We kissed as his rigid member slid into my wet pussy. His thrusts were gentle at first, as if he feared his fantasy girl might burst and dissipate into thin air if not treated with the utmost delicacy.

I strained at my bonds, my desire to wrap my arms around him becoming insurmountable, but the ropes restraining the condemned sorceress held firm. The knife within Evan's reach on the nightstand, he grabbed it and sliced through the ropes tethering my arms to the bedposts.

My arms wrapped around him and I lifted myself, pressing my bosom to his chest, and planted my lips on his. We kissed passionately and as we sank to the bed, I wriggled my way down closer to the foot, loosening the ligatures around my ankles.

The tempo of his penetrations increased and I screamed with joy as his thrusts became harder. I broke into orgasm as he spilled his dead seed inside me, his gametes poisoned by the drugs I had helped administer to cure his cancer.

He lay next to me and we looked into each other's eyes. It was time for a profession of love. But who would do it?

My heart pounded in my chest. If he didn't tell me he loved me now I would be crushed.

But he was a man and a survivor of a deadly form of cancer. What did the feelings of a woman he barely knew matter? If I were him, might I not rather sail around the world and find love in every port than be tied down to a woman who worked forty hours a week and served as a reminder of the worst time in my life?

I determined that I would break the silence. I would be the silly fool if there was to be one.

I had been in control-the one who would determine when he would be given his pain pill, how long he would sleep, and even when he would have my help to go to the toilet. Now it was time for him to pass judgment on what I did; how good a person I was. So I would offer my heart to Evan. Having been his nemesis at times, if he chose to break it, I would understand, for he would have reason to.

"Evan, I love you. I'm all yours if you'll have me. Whether the new bone marrow keeps you free of cancer or not, I'll stay by your side."

I suddenly felt foolish. My feelings were sincere but my fear of rejection haunted me.

"It's an honor to be loved by such an exquisite creature. I hope always to be able to savor that love. I love you too."

I broke out in tears and clutched him, sobbing as I buried my head in his hairless chest.

"I've never heard words spoken so sincerely," I uttered between sobs.

"Are you sad?" he asked.

"When you first were my patient, you were just another sick body, another new admission, more work for me that evening. There was a death on practically every shift I worked. And almost everyone to whom I gave post mortem care must have made love at some point in their lives just like we did and been loved by someone too.

"But most of them were just carcasses to me after they died. Sure it was sad when we lost someone, but we had to keep our composure and move on. If things had been a little different, we could have lost you and you would have been one of those carcasses me or some other nurse had to take to the morgue."

"I'm sure you offered hope to every single one of your patients. If you were paralyzed by grief, there was no way you could have performed your job as well as you did."

"Well thank you, Evan Tyler. Maybe my callousness will melt away after you've done what you just did to me a few more times."

It was still light outside and after spending a little more time next to one another in bed, Evan rose and began making the preparations for my immolation.

As I lingered in bed, I heard the flatbed of the truck come down and the thud of logs being thrown on the ground. Too late for a nap and too early to sleep for the night, I got up and put the tank top back on and snatched a pair of leopard panties out of my satchel.

I opened the door to see Evan dragging a huge log from the back of his brother's Toyota Tundra. It was at least ten feet long and a foot thick. I realized that I would be tied to the thing tomorrow.

Suddenly shaken, I opened the refrigerator, hoping for something strong to drink. Fortunately, our abode was well stocked. Bottles of beer were lined up on the inside door of the refrigerator and on a shelf I spotted a bottle of Pinot Grigio, removed it, and quickly located a corkscrew to open it.

I looked at the scene of my immolation from the kitchen window as I pushed the handles on the corkscrew down to liberate the cork. Evan had dragged the huge log to the middle of a clearing about fifty feet from my vantage point. I looked around for him, and soon saw him emerge from a shed carrying a shovel.

Holding a full goblet of Pinot Grigio in my hand, I called out from the doorway, "What are you going to do, dig a hole to bury my ashes?"

"This log is going to have to go pretty deep in the ground if it's gonna stay upright. I thought I'd start digging tonight."

I thought of myself standing in the midst of a fire, chained to that log. I took a big gulp of wine. I slid into a pair of flip flops and journeyed outside.

Evan stuck the shovel into the hard black topsoil and frowned as he was unable to but put a scratch in the earth. He walked back to the shed and returned baring a pick.

I watched him lift the pick above his head and plunge it into the ground and was disappointed to see the topsoil scatter and cracks radiate from the hole. I gulped more Pinot Grigio as the pick continued to macerate the topsoil, bringing the erection of my stake closer to being a fact.

He looked up at me, sweat glistening on his brow. From the look in his eyes, I was no longer the girl in blue scrubs who brought him his pills and gave him shots to relieve his pain and nausea. I was Barbara Steele, the helpless woman he dreamed of begging for her life as flames rose to consume her body and send her soul to Hell. A shiver went down my spine.

"What do you want to do for dinner tonight?" I asked, hoping that his answer would provide reassurance that he hadn't gone mad.

"There's a gas grill on the deck and plenty of meat in the refrigerator. My brother had his crew take some food out of the freezer for us when they were here a couple of days ago."

Hardly the words of a madman, I thought.

"I'll see what's in the refrigerator. And would you like a beer?"

He did not reply immediately and regarded me with the cold stare I had just found so disturbing.

"OK," he replied.

I was so shaken I could not remember what I had asked him. Embarrassed, I just stood before him.

"OK," he repeated.

I began to shiver as a cool evening breeze blew by. I looked at my goblet of wine. It was almost empty. I wanted more but feared what I would find when I returned after leaving Evan alone.

"What?" he queried.

"What did you say you wanted?"

"You offered to bring me a beer. But you don't have to if you don't feel like it."

He shoveled a load of dirt into the wheel barrow he had brought earlier from the shed.

I looked into the hole. He was really going to do it. Tomorrow there would be a stake standing two feet away from where my feet were planted now. And I would be chained to it.

"I can get it for you. What kind do you want?"

"Do you know what kinds are in the refrigerator?"

"No."

"Just bring me any kind."

I began walking away, my pace quickening as I got farther away from the site of my immolation, and I broke into a trot as I neared the house. When I came back into the kitchen, my eyes scanned the countertop for the keys to the Tundra. I then went into the bedroom and found the keys in Evan's pants. Shaking, I held them in my hand and wondered what he would do if I bolted out of the house and took off in the truck.

But I had made a promise. Evan said he wanted to savor my love. Thus, I reasoned, he wasn't going to kill me. I returned the keys to the pocket of my lover's trousers and returned to the kitchen, bravely filling my goblet with more Pinot Grigio and retrieving a Corona from the refrigerator for Evan.

I returned to the clearing. The hole Evan was digging was about two feet deep. He took the bottle of beer from my hand as I studied his expression, hoping to glean a hint about my fate.

"What?" he inquired.

I shrugged my shoulders and tried not to shake as I lifted the goblet of wine to my lips.

"The way you took off to the house; it looked like you were trying to run away."

"I was just cold."

More of the Pinot Grigio was gone than I had intended. But I wanted more. I lifted the goblet to my lips and took a small sip. It went down the wrong place and I coughed.

"I don't think so. I think something's wrong."

"I'm scared."

I took another gulp of wine, almost finishing the glass. I could see the bottle of Pinot Grigio on the window sill where I had left it. I wished I had brought it out with me.

"We don't have to do this, you know."

"The victim's fear is part of your fantasy, isn't it? I was ready to get in that truck and take off without you a couple of minutes ago. So now you have it-Winona Hawkins, terrified. Enjoy it!"

He took a big gulp of beer and regarded me quizzically, studying me as some sort of conundrum rather than the victim of a dastardly deed for which he was making preparations.

"Really, you don't have to do this. Telling me you loved me was a fulfillment of a greater fantasy than this."

I walked up to him and we kissed. Placing my lips on his had reactivated some circuit in his brain that reawakened the witch burning fantasy, and when our lips parted, I saw in his eyes that he saw me chained to the stake, hoping to be saved by his love.

"It's all entwined-our love, your fantasy. I will deliver what no other woman on this planet ever will, because I made a promise and from that promise grew our love. So it's all right if you look at me like that and put that stake in the ground. I will be your victim because I love you, and I know our love will save me."

He held up his bottle of Corona and I lifted my nearly empty wine goblet and we made a toast to many more scenes to allow us to live our fantasies.

************************************************************************

Evan wraps his arms around me and our lips meet in a kiss. My fear on arising that this day would bring my death has dissipated like the morning fog. Carefree with no one else around for miles our tongues wrestle, expending more of the latent passion that burned within our hearts during our year of separation. Our lips part and I step into a pair of sandals and follow him out the back door.

We pass the jug of kerosene that he will sprinkle on the lowest layer of logs to set alight the pyre in the midst of which I will stand. I can only imagine how grateful medieval women condemned for sorcery would be to see a fire extinguisher and buckets of water surrounding the site of their immolation.

We reach the ladder and he motions me to ascend. I stumble on the round logs that make up my perch and he takes my hand and steadies me. His visage intent with concentration, he places his hands on my hips and positions me against the stake. He then moves to my side and uses a piece of chalk to make a white mark on the wood behind the small of my back.

"I'm going to nail the chains and the shackles to the stake so they'll be waiting for you when its time." He motions for me to move away. "I've never done anything like this to a woman before," Evan says giddily as he pounds a nail through the white mark, places the middle link of the chain onto the nail, and hammers the head of the nail into the wood, securing my waist chain to the stake.

"Are we done? I inquire.

"Soon," he replies clinically, now focused on forging a blueprint for my restraints. As I inspect his limbs I remember placing IV catheters in his arms and drawing his blood, my focus then on his veins instead of the person who was my client. He then places me back at the stake.

"Lift your arms up," he commands.

I raise my arms as if I'm signaling for a touchdown. With a scowl, he moves my wrists next to one another and makes a chalk mark between them on the wood.

"This way your hands will be away from the fire," he explains. From his pocket emerges a pair of shackles. Oblivious to his victim, he takes his hammer and drives a nail through the middle of the white dot, hangs the shackles from the nail, and then buries the head of the nail into the stake as I stand motionless between him and the wooden post, staring into his muscular chest. He steps back and I look up and gaze at the pair of shackles that will restrain my hands as they dangle above my head.

I gaze into his eyes, hoping for a kiss. Instead he studies the female form in front of the stake, his eyes drifting to my ankles. He then squats and makes a white dot to mark the point of attachment for my ankle shackles. I spread my legs as he drives another nail into the wood. .

"May I have a kiss?" I plead.

He stands up and gives me a peck on the lips.

"Is that all I'm worth?" I ask girlishly.

Our lips then meet in a real kiss as I listen to the music of songbirds chirping in the woods. I then place my ear to his chest and hear his heart thumping with his ardor for me. Not caring a lick that he is soaked by perspiration, I envelop his torso with my arms and savor his manly aroma. I imagine that heaven would be living in this moment forever.

"You're gonna look so cool with the chains crisscrossing your chest!"

Brought back from my dream world to the matter at hand, I release him from my embrace. He gently places me back against the post and I reflexively stand at attention, again just a prop in the scene that we will soon enact. I imagine him as a little boy setting up a battle scene with toy soldiers. A smile crosses my face as I try to envision my sex crazed lover as a prepubescent child.

He makes a white mark on the wood behind the nape of my neck and I duck away from the swing of the hammer as he drives a nail into the spot and hangs from it the chain that will cross my chest. He then squats and attaches my ankle shackles to the nail he has driven into the bottom of the post, completing the preparations for the site of my immolation.

"It's done," he announces.

I survey his work. Once I'm in chains, I'll have no chance to escape. I pick up the waist chain. I shudder as the cold metal rests in my palm.

"This is scary," I observe.

He takes the chain out of my hand and pushes me against the stake. He takes the other end and pulls the chain tight around my waist and leans against me. The tumescent mass between his legs begins to grind against my pubis.

"Wake me if I'm dreaming," he whispers.

"You know, they'd sometimes strangle the victim to end her suffering. Did you ever imagine doing that to me?"

"Angry as I am to find that you actually did belong to a coven, my love for you endures even unto the moment of your immolation. Your request that I be the last human to touch you has been granted, so it is I who apply the chains and light your pyre. My father, a nobleman who sees that his son has either fallen in love or been bewitched, has implored the king to instead pardon you and banish you from his realm.

"I pray that the king's messenger will arrive with your pardon so that we may ride off to another land and consummate our love. But there is no reprieve. The flames come closer as you scream in terror and beg the one to whom you have sold your soul to rescue you. The rain begins to fall and the crowd scatters as the wind hurls objects around and lightning strikes the roofs of the houses, setting them ablaze. When the soldiers standing guard have fled to save their families and their homes, I climb to you through the smoldering embers, praying that it is not too late. When I reach your body, you have been overcome by the smoke, but I revive you with a kiss."

"So did you also imagine that your witch would be so grateful that we would make love and give you pleasure that only one who had known the Great Lord could provide?"

"In my dreams you were an adherent of an ancient tradition that the authorities feared still held power over the common people. I knew you never were the Devil's mistress. And I prayed that you would be spared once it was realized that if you wielded magic, it could not be evil. The ecstasy you would provide me derives from wisdom acquired over the ages by your people."

"Before you light the fire, are you going to condemn your lover for being a witch?"

"Watching you mount the pyre and stand in the midst of the flames will be enough."

"But they must have condemned the witch in 'Black Sunday'. And this is the reenactment of Barbara Steele's immolation in the flick. Shouldn't you be true to form?"

"It shall be as you wish."

"Let's do it. Let's write a speech condemning me to burn for witchcraft!"

He releases his grip on my waist chain. Having regained my freedom, I scamper down the ladder and prance back to the cabin, Evan in tow.

Back inside I grab my Corona and take a gulp.

"They must have thought I was a very bad girl to be condemned for witchcraft. What could I have done?"

Evan shrugs his shoulders. He seems impatient, as if I've hijacked his fantasy. But enthusiastic to be his fantasy girl, I try to get into the part.

"Everyone's done some bad things. Sometimes things can still work out though. The most important thing is to live with the consequences of the breaks you've gotten in life. Just retribution is way overrated. Moving on is underrated."

"But now you have that chance. When I'm standing on that pyre, you can imagine that I'm every person that didn't answer your call light fast enough, the insurance company boss who tried to nix your bone marrow transplant, the secretary who put you on hold for twenty minutes, or the discharge planner who made you leave the hospital two days before you were ready. I'll be the scapegoat as I'm standing amidst the flames."

"You don't want me to go there."

"Why not-as the fire burns it can be as if the flames are expunging all those awful things that happened to you. Think of it as the transition point to your new life."