A Study in Fragrance Pt. 07

She turned the boat around, hopped in and grabbed the oars. "Thanks." She smiled at him, wanting to talk, but not sure where to start.

"What's going on, Em?" He knew her. He knew something was happening. "You've been hiding something. I don't need to know, unless you're in trouble. You in trouble?"

"Fuck no!" She knew he didn't care about her cursing, but more important, it just came out because it was true. "Sorry, but no. I'm not in any trouble, dad." She smiled and giggled a little. "But it's nice of you to be concerned."

He nodded but didn't give ground. "Good to know. But what's going on?"

How much of whatever was going on did she want to let him in on? She didn't want to tell him anything that she didn't want her mother knowing. He would tell her even if she told him not to, but she didn't want to put him in the position of keeping a secret at all. "It's a guy thing," she admitted, looking him straight in the eye.

He didn't flinch, but he nodded and after a heartbeat looked off to the side. "You can tell me as much or as little as you want, Em. I might be able to help, being a guy, but then again, that may not be the help you need."

"You're hilarious, dad! I love you!" She wasn't making fun as much as feeling relieved at finding an excuse to not talk about her behavior. "It's okay. I...there's a guy who's kinda interested in me, and I'm not sure I feel the same way about him." She stopped and reconsidered. "That's not quite true," she corrected, "I don't know how he feels about me, other than...you know...and he's pretty hot...but," she let the sentence die, wondering if that was enough or if he would want to know more. I can't tell him anything specific! She focused on her rowing, feeling her heart rate hitting about 50%.

He looked back at her and smiled. "You're an adult. You're young, but if you're anything like your mother and me, you are already active, so you're not going to hear a lecture from me. I'm the worst guy to get advice from about sex, even if you weren't my daughter, but I'm happy to offer at least a bit of wisdom that's served me: mutual respect. If you don't respect him, that's not right, and you can't expect him to respect you in return. But the same holds for him: if he isn't respecting you, don't stick around. You're better than that. And not just because you're my daughter. Everyone is better than that, but you for sure." He never broke eye contact, making sure his words registered.

She listened and nodded. It was impossible not to take in the message. James Broston was a slugger in the courtroom, his voice was his greatest asset (at least as far as Em knew). And he knew her. He knew how anxious she got. He knew how much she overthought her decisions. She wished she could confide in him more. She wished she could ask about all of the things she was thinking about, but it would have been terrible. They would have packed up and returned home, gotten Cos fired and then grounded her for the rest of summer. It didn't matter that she was over 18. At least, that's the way she figured it would happen, and even if it would be far less dramatic, it would be more drama than keeping quiet.

"Thanks dad. That actually helps." And she wasn't blowing smoke. It really was nice to hear that they had her back. She knew it, but it was always nice to hear it.

All packed, including a basket of fresh berries and a sandwich for the road, Emily faced the four hour drive back. She had her playlist all figured out, and she'd checked in with friends she expected to call along the way. Mostly it was interstate, and it was the middle of a Monday in early summer. She didn't expect the traffic to be a problem, just a boring drive. It was before 2. She'd be home by 6. She imagined the house, empty. She could hang out, or maybe get together with somebody. She'd play it by ear. And then she remembered it wasn't Sunday, even though it felt like it. Monday. 6PM. Cos would still be there!

She'd actually forgotten about him for at least several hours at a time, and now, the memory of what they'd just done, the image of her kneeling in front of him, she felt as if she were drifting down a river toward a waterfall. If she swam to shore now, if she stopped this line of thinking, she'd be safe, but if she kept letting her thoughts take her in this direction, she'd go over an edge. There was a sense of danger, but it was exactly that mystery, that risk that lured her. What would it be like to give into that image? To serve him.

She smiled at how it made her feel. It was just a fantasy; she knew she'd never let him have that much power over her. He'd said she was his, and when he said it, it had sent a shiver up her spine. She knew he was being metaphorical, but what if he hadn't been? What if he really did have the power to tell her what to do, to kneel and pray to his erect cock?

She laughed at the narrative, but she could feel the effect it was having on her at the same time. But you're not that kind of girl, Em. It was true. Except, maybe she was. She'd had revisited her experience with Caroline again and again over the weekend. It had been amazing and completely shocking to her. She was shocked that she would have sex with another girl. She was shocked that it was Caroline. But the biggest shock was the way she had let Caroline do that to her! That was the thing. In the moment she'd seen herself, laid out on the mat, Caroline rubbing her legs, the intensity of the feelings, her hand wanting desperately to rub herself, and then hearing Caroline offer to push her over the edge! She could have said no. So many "nos" were shouting in her brain, it wasn't like she wasn't protesting. But her mouth said yes. Her body said yes. And she trusted her body.

She would never have expected her to want to be spanked. And yet she'd asked him to do it. Why not become his supplicant? Was it any stranger than what she'd already done?

She imagined kneeling in front of him, stripped, his cock hard and full. What would her body feel? Right then, in the car, it felt horny. She could feel how wet she was, squishy between her legs. She was moving faster toward the edge. If she stopped now she could get back to safe waters, to calmer thoughts. She took a breath, letting it out slowly, and did it again, inhaling, holding, exhaling, holding. She let the image shred and blow away with each exhale.

The rest of the trip was a mixture of singing as loud as she could, talking to her friend Sarah who she'd been ignoring for weeks, focusing on avoiding getting hit by insane drivers and thinking about getting back to practice the next day. But mostly it was about remembering the lazy two days she'd just spent, the beauty of the cabin, the lake and the incredible feeling of being alive.

The sun was still well above the horizon when she pulled into the driveway past Cos's truck. She took a moment to collect her thoughts before collecting her things, and then she headed in the back door.

It smelled like home. Even though it had only been a couple of days, her first breath in the house brought back memories stretching back to when she was a kid. She saw her childhood self rushing through the kitchen stealing cookies, she saw her standing naked letting Cos video her. The floral aroma from upstairs tickled her consciousness, Is that for real or am I imagining it? and with it the feeling in her core. The image of her supplication reassembling and with it her protest, her humiliation. The green tendril that had been coiled so limply all weekend thickening, its head rising like a cobra.

She turned to look up the stairs, hearing sounds of hammering and cursing. She smiled. Something clicked inside and all of the doubts and anxieties, the questions and fears she'd been rolling over in her mind all weekend were replaced by her competitor's attitude. She was going to see this through. She was going to honor the deal. She was going to get the experience she had been wanting. But most of all, she was going to figure out who the fuck Abby Crewitt was and what wisdom she had left for others, for her, to find in The Study.

"Hey!" She poked her head in the opening at the top of the stair, seeing his bare back stretching at the top of a ladder at her closet opening across the way, his arms overhead in the ceiling.

He stopped and turned his head, his face, fleetingly strained, blossoming into a smile. "Hey Emily! Welcome back!" He set down a tool and descended, wiping his face.

She nodded down the hall and walked toward her room, conscious he was just on the other side of the wall, the image of her kneeling re-appearing. She swore silently, crossed her threshold, thought better of it after seeing the mess. She caught his half naked figure in the corner of her eye before turning to Joanie's door, finally setting down the duffel and bag.

It was a lot cooler than it had been when she left, a breeze flowing from the east, clouds building up in the west. It smelled like rain. There was still time to help, and even though she was tired from the drive, she needed to move.

"What can I do?" For you, she almost said, but bit her tongue. She greeted him in the opening to her closet. He'd gotten a lot done the past two days.

"Hey."

The way he looked at her; she couldn't read his expression. A combination of distraction, something else and that constant underlying animal lust in the way he moved his eyes. He couldn't help it; they darted all over her, lingering at the top of her legs, brushing up her front until stopping to look at her directly.

"I'm almost done with the hardware. You want a tour?"

She nodded, waiting.

"I got all of the plywood up." He stepped out of the closet and pointed. "We can look at the molding choices and you can pick it up tomorrow."

The inside of the closet was lined with fresh wood, the dark seams between the plywood pieces a contrasting grid. She nodded. She could see how the molding would cover them. "Where's the shelf...? Oh." She saw he had stacked it at the end, and assumed once it was back up it would hide the seam. "So, do we even need molding there?"

He looked and nodded. "We can talk about it. The shelf is down here," he pointed much lower than she was looking, "so you probably want something with a smaller profile up there. Come in here. I want to show you how the hardware works."

She followed him through the opening, seeing the fresh lumber he'd framed around it. She inhaled, smelling the raw wood and now the floral scent. In spite of the room being open for a week, practically, it was just as intense as when she first smelled it.

Cos was standing off to the side, pointing above the ladder. "The upper track is in, and I've got the door built over there," he pointed off to the side. "It's a bitch, but I got it to work. You can help me later, or tomorrow, getting it adjusted."

She looked and saw the aluminum track buried above the opening. As she glanced around the room she saw it was completely cleaned up, with the bookcase parts and pieces stacked neatly off to the side, the closet door primed, leaning near the back octagon. Except for the table saw and what he had on the ladder, all of the tools were gone.

"It looks like you're almost done!" She was concerned she hadn't helped enough, or that he was rushing to get out of there.

He laughed. "Hardly. It always looks like it's almost done when the rough-in is finished. But there's easily as much work left to do just getting the finishes in. And we're not even close to finishing the rough-in. There's plenty for you to do."

She felt the gentle prodding without having to check his expression.

"Oh, and there's your outlet."

She looked where he was pointing behind her and saw a black plastic rectangle near her calf.

"And another one up there."

She looked up and saw one at the ceiling.

"In case you want to put in a hanging lamp, or something. You can just plug it in up there. That cabinet actually made it easier," he explained. "I was able to drill down into it and just run the romex off to the side. You can't even see it."

She nodded, happy to know he had respected the built-in. "Umm, so, what can I do?" She didn't mean to imply anything other than helping with the work, but her mind immediately leapt to the image. She looked around, still avoiding his gaze.

"The weather is cooling off...which is good, but it looks like it might drizzle. The thing is, I had been thinking we'd do our prime coats outside, especially when it was hot, but now I'm thinking we should do it in here. 'Cept," he hesitated, scanning the room, "I'm still concerned about the ventilation."

She waited, hearing he was still working it out.

"'Sokay. Let's just go for it. I can grab a fan from the truck if we need it, but there's a pretty good breeze."

She followed him out and down to grab the stain, sealer and pads, the cool wet air a welcomed relief from the prior week's heat. He grabbed a large square fan and some rags, and followed her back up the stairs. "You had a good time with your folks?"

She nodded, thinking back to the lake and the sun. "It was pretty amazing. And..." She needed to talk about what she...they...she was doing. She needed to make it clear to him that she'd worked out whatever had been bothering her. "Cos." She turned to face him at the top of the stairs. "I was...I feel...fuck. I have to confess. I was a little freaked out when I left on Saturday." She set down the equipment and faced him. "I really...I don't...shit! Some shit happened that day that I didn't expect, and I couldn't be around until I figured it out." She begged him with her eyes to help her out.

He smiled and nodded. "It's okay. I could tell you weren't in great shape. I know you're good for it." The last piece delivered with his wolfish smile.

He turned to the room before she could finish, before she could reach her arms around him and squeeze and inhale. She watched him lay down a drop cloth under each sawhorse, and smaller rags on the cross-arms, waiting. "It's birch, so, really, we could go any way, stain-wise, but you seemed to like the lighter color against the white walls, right?"

Back to business. She nodded, still waiting to talk about her decision.

"We can leave it completely natural, and where it's located, it will keep its color for a long time. Or, we can put down a stain to bring out its character. In any case," he pointed to a can and some brushes, "let's get the conditioner on all these boards tonight."

She helped him set the two long boards across one set of saw horses, and the short ends, along with a couple of the shelves, across the other. After opening the large can, he gave her a pad and showed her how to quickly apply the conditioner. It smelled, but not terrible, it's pungent aroma only increased the forest-like aspects of Abby's perfume. The first side finished, they moved to another. It was easy, and it went quickly, but she could tell he was distracted by her. She would catch his eyes darting from the board to stare at her, his eyes flicking from her face to her waist, her eyes to her breasts. She was sure it was unconscious, but his working rhythm was off, and each time he looked up she would catch the burn in his eyes, a deep need. She shook her head, amazed at what a single look could do to her. She wasn't hot, not like last week, but in that moment, his eyes burning into her, she just wanted to make the image from her fantasy come true. She shivered a little but never looked away, soaking up the heat from his eyes.

"Do you...," she wasn't sure how to say it, fingers working the rag, the air thick with smells. "Do you have fantasies...about me?"

He was stock still, licking his lips and staring at her for a brief second, turning back to the work.

"What was that?" He said it as if he hadn't heard her.

Fuck! There it is again. That look! It sent a shiver up her. "Cos. Pay attention." She smiled. She knew he was paying attention, just not to her voice. "I had a fantasy about you...over the weekend. Do you fantasize about me?"

Not 30 minutes back and she's at it. He smiled, wiping the back of his hand across his face.

She raised her eyebrows. "Cos? You here? Do you want to hear what I'm thinking about?"

"Sure. Yeah?"

"Yeah? As in, yeah you have fantasies about me?" She looked down at her body, and looked back at him, the light breeze flowing under her shirt.

He smiled. "Sure. Yeah, as in tell me your fantasy. It'll help pass the time."

She laughed, but inside she felt her arousal beginning blossom. "It's in this room," she turned around to look at the inlay. "I think we could do it...I mean my fantasy..." She didn't mean right then, but he stopped, waiting.

"In my fantasy, you've asked me to get undressed." They both grunted a laugh. "No. It's different. You've instructed me to get undressed." She could feel the tension building as she unraveled the story behind her image.

They put the board aside and started on another one.

"It's some kind of ceremony. Like a ritual." She inhaled, trying not to breathe in the vapors, the idea of being stripped ceremonially, clicking. "Yeah. You haven't asked me to get undressed. You've carefully stripped each piece of clothing off of me; taken my clothing away from me." She licked her lips, thinking it through. "There is a hidden audience. They're in the shadows." She looked around, glancing at his face to see if this was turning him on. He was focused on the conditioner, but she could see a lump in his shorts.

"You're telling me what will happen, with each piece of clothing, until I'm bare. Stripped naked of everything." The image was getting clearer. "You tell me to kneel...over there," her head nodding to the inlay. "You explain that I am there to help you..." she hadn't figured this part out before, but now it was clearer to her. "You're joining a priesthood. They're the ones in the shadows. They're initiating you. It's an initiation. Fuckkk." She closed her eyes, her hands frozen on the board.

He stared at her, waiting, the board half-finished, his cock hardening.

She shook her head, looking back at him and smiling softly. "Jesus," she exhaled. "It's so intense, Cos. The smell..."

He looked at her, alarmed. "You...the...Em, you got to be careful. The fumes." He stepped over to the fan to direct its flow over the board.

"No," she smiled at him, her eyes focused somewhere else, "not the conditioner. The fragrance. Abby's fragrance."

He was even more confused. "Abby? You keep talking about Abby. Who is Abby?"

She shook her head. It wasn't important to her fantasy. "You're naked. Standing in front of me. You've been training me. The priests are judging you. How well you've trained me. Your cock isn't hard but it's thickening. I'm not to look up, not yet. I'm...I'm supposed to be serving you...serving your cock." She stopped and looked at his face, pleased to see his mouth slightly open, his eyes tracing her body.

"In my fantasy," her voice growing a little stronger, "I am a virgin supplicant." She'd looked it up. It was what she had thought it meant. "And you're on trial...to prove your skills to the priesthood."

"Skills," he breathed the question. He was getting hard. He moved his dick under his shorts.

She smiled, watching him, licking her lips. "That's as far as I get." She focused her eyes, breathing carefully, her feelings conflicted: to serve him meant giving up her freedom of choice. Kneeling at his cock meant debasing herself, reducing herself to a tool. Her eyes flicked to the table saw. Like any other tool in his tool chest. Her eyes flicked to his chest, the tendril lazily growing up her spine. There was more to the fantasy, but she couldn't stand saying it out loud. The tendril grew stronger.