May's 18th Birthday

"Carry me?"

"Yes. Actually, what I'd really like — if it's completely okay with you — is for you to wrap your legs around my waist. I'll hold you up by your butt, and I'll take you upstairs like that."

"Are you going to walk up the stairs with me like that?"

"It's up to you. Would you like something else?"

"No, I just mean, won't I be heavy?"

"I think I can manage," he winks, "and when we get upstairs, I want to give you a tour of your new home."

"Carrying me?"

"If you don't mind. We can switch to piggy-back up there so we can look at things together."

"Okay."

"Here we go!" he smiles.

Surprised by how easily he stands up, as if she weighs nothing (and to him, she practically does weigh nothing), she wraps her legs around his waist like he asked her to, locking her ankles over his butt. With her dress having slid all the way up her hips, one of her bare buttcheeks is sitting on his wrist, and his huge hand cups the other one — the pad of his thumb is on the point where the thong emerges from her crack — she feels as naughty as she can stand to be. She has never even imagined being touched quite like this, and the fact that it seems to be exactly what he desires thrills her. She puts her arms around his neck and rests her face on his shoulder, inhaling his dark scent.

As he walks down the dark hall with her, she feels the air on her bare hips. She has to remind herself that they're alone, that no one can see her.

When he turns up the stairs, she feels how strong he is, just effortlessly carrying her up the equivalent of four flights of stairs, like a child. In fact, she realizes, probably no man has ever carried her like this, even when she was a child.

She imagines for a moment that he's carrying her away, like some pagan warrior taking her as his prize. She imagines his muscles dripping with sweat and blood, and as her heart pounds with the excitement of it she realizes that in a way it's true. She remembers seeing her father — or the man she'd thought was her father — grimacing on the floor, looking up at Raoul with pain and fear and humiliation. The memory of that excites her somehow.

Yes, he has defeated her personal dragon and rescued her. Taken her. She is his prize.

He has her now, not because she wants him, but because he — this man who could have any woman — wants her.

She holds him even more tightly. He's literally her conquering hero, carrying her now into his home where she will be...

Maybe, someday, his wife.

Maybe! Maybe someday.

Or his slave.

Whatever.

She doesn't care, as long as she's his. His. Completely his.

"Okay, now," he says at the entry to the master suite, a huge double door through which she has never passed. "Let's change your permissions."

Without putting her down, holding her there with one arm, he touches the screen on the wall next to the door. She watches him tap the screen.

When the "Permissions" window is on the screen, he turns to her.

"Please touch it," he says with a twinkle in his eye that might be mischievous, and she puts the four fingers of her right hand on the touchpad. When it beeps, he scrolls down to a line that says "Master Suite," and selects it. "This package of permissions will give you access to the entire house actually, including" — he winks — "the wine cave."

But she's too enraptured to care about a little teasing. She's moving in with him!

"Let's see if it works," he says, gesturing for her to touch the pad again.

She does, and a moment later she hears the little bell sound that means the doors have unlocked.

"Well, then," he says. "Welcome home. Let's go inside."

He slides her around so she's on his back.

She immediately realizes that actually there's a big difference between being 191 centimeters tall and being 209 centimeters tall. The world is different up here.

"How's the weather down there?" she teases, tousling his thick curls. They both remember that these were the first words he said to her.

"Pretty nice."

But even that high, she doesn't have to duck as he carries her through the door. How nice it is to have everything constructed for tall people! At least here she doesn't have to worry about hitting her head, or where to put her knees when she sits on a chair.

Foofoo and Frilly, his two Cavachons, the cutest little dogs ever, greet them when the door opens.

"Hello, girls," he tells them. "Say hello to our new inmate."

Inmate! She likes something about that. As the door closes behind them she thinks of a harem woman, saying goodbye to the outside world.

But his — their — master suite is a palace. She's wanted to see it for so long, and now that she does, well, wow!

Later, when she's settled into this new home, she'll recall the sense of wonder she felt the first time she saw it. Even then, running her fingers over the smooth marble inlays in the marquetry, or laying her cheek on the soft silk velvet upholstery, or feeling the vicuña throws on her skin, or seeing the sparkling light of the chandeliers on the cherry furniture, she'll marvel at the intricate intensity of the beauty.

He kicks off his shoes in the entry and steps into the hall.

"We have our own little kitchen," he tells her, sliding open a door on the right. "And out there," he indicates a door on the other side of the kitchen, "there's a nice little porch where I like to have breakfast. It overlooks the garden, very pretty views. We can eat there tomorrow if you like."

"I would like that."

"Next is our dining room," he says, showing her the next room. It has fireplaces on opposite walls, a table for two, and a large window.

"It's so beautiful," she sighs, noting the repeated word "our" with deep happiness.

"You like it?"

"So much!"

"I made it as romantic as I could. I can't wait to have a candlelight dinner with you here."

"Me neither."

"Are you free tomorrow?" he teases.

"I'll clear my schedule."

"Good."

He walks on down the hall. She realizes that the arched ceiling of the hall is stained glass, dark now in the night but to be filled with beautiful light in the morning.

"Then our den," showing her a room that is like a little excerpt of his library downstairs.

"You have this and the library?"

"It's a little self-indulgent, isn't it? But now that you're living up here, I think I'll actually do most of my reading here. I went down there to read because I wanted to see you. We'll still use the library for the book clubs and events like that. And you can read wherever you want. All that empty space on the shelves there is for your books. You can bring up whatever you want."

"It's so beautiful," she says, kissing his temple. "It'll be so nice to sit in here reading together."

"Yes," he agrees, "that will be nice."

Foofoo and Frilly, apparently accepting that May and Raoul have no attention to spare them, settle into their little doggy bed there in the den, cuddling up with each other adorably.

"On this side is our living room," he says, and he carries her through the arched doorway on the left into a room with a sofa and two armchairs. There's another fireplace, and above it, a huge television. The other walls have sideboards with beautiful glasses and bottles of liquor. "This is where I keep the really good stuff. Of course you can have any of it, any time. Through that door there's a tiny little guest bedroom, which could be a nursery, and that's a bathroom."

"Can I bring my friends here to watch TV?"

"Of course! This is your home now."

She notices then that the wallpaper, glassware, marquetry, upholstery, lampshades, everything features a motif of dark green vines spotted with bright red roses. Everything was made specifically for this space.

Then the word "nursery" strikes her. He created all this to share with a wife, to have a family, and he's invited her into it....

She begins to feel a kind of responsibility. He's going to want children! It's an overwhelming thought....

"And through here," he's crossed the room and opened a door on the other side, "we have a kind of porch." Huge windows overlook the front courtyard, and opposite them: yet more bookshelves. "This is another good place to read, especially on a hot day. This is the cool side of the house."

"It's nice," she says, distracted by the happy thought that he might already be planning to have children with her. She can almost feel her womb getting ready to bear his children.

It's frightening. Unbelievable. But she's ready to give him as many babies as he wants. Anything he wants.

He carries her back through "their" living room — she will need a little time to get used to thinking of it that way — into the hall.

"Next is our office," he says, opening a door and stepping into the biggest room yet. "I think of this as our 'bill-paying room.'"

There's a long desk with a computer on one side, empty on the other. "You can bring your computer up and put it there if you want," he says, indicating the empty part of the desk. "We can do our homework together."

All four walls are lined with cherry file cabinets, and in front of the desk is a conversational area with a rug and four armchairs. "All the cabinets on that wall are completely empty," he tells her, "and you can use them for whatever you want. We also need some art on the walls in here, and I hope you'll help me pick something out."

"Of course I will!"

"We could use something in the hall too, and in the living room. You have a lot of work to do."

"Yes."

"And for that matter, in the china rooms downstairs. Have you noticed that they're almost empty?"

"Yes."

"If you'd like, you can do something about that when you find time."

Does he realize, she wonders, that he's talking as if they're married? Or is he? Is she just imagining it?

Back in the hall, he carries her to the next door. "That's just a laundry room, do you want to see in there?"

"Sure!"

He opens the door and they poke their heads in.

"It really is just a little laundry room. So my staff doesn't have to carry stuff all the way to somewhere else."

"Yeah. But it's a pretty laundry room. With a chandelier and a stained glass ceiling!"

"And here is my dressing room," he says, stepping inside the next room.

"Oh gosh," she gasps. It's the nicest dressing room she's ever seen, with two large walk-in closets as well as the main dressing area. She sees his shirts and suits hanging there, a rack of dress shoes, some colognes on a shelf, but before she can take it all in he's spun around and carried her back into the hall.

"Now your dressing room," he announces stepping through double-doors into a palace with four walk-in closets even larger than the ones in his dressing room — each of them even has its own stained glass dome and chandelier — and two long islands of drawers, a set of sofas and chairs around a huge ottoman, miles of dressers below long windows, and a vanity table with a lighted mirror. It's all empty, waiting for her to fill it with clothing, bags, shoes, jewelry....

"Is this...," she tries to ask, but it seems too presumptuous. How can such a room belong to anyone? She's grown up surrounded by luxury, but even a Russian princess would have a hard time imagining this as her own. It's like living inside a jewel.

"It's all yours," he affirms. "If you want it."

"Oh, I do, I just can't.... What are the sofas for?"

"I imagined you and your friends in here, trying on dresses and so on. Having little parties."

"Oh." But she sees herself there, like a princess getting ready for a ball, her mom behind her zipping up a dress. Then she sees herself in twenty years, zipping up her own daughter's dress, judging how a string of pearls flatters her neck.

"It's so nice, Raoul, I just can't...."

It's not nearly as ostentatious as her father's home: there's not a trace of gold anywhere. No double-headed eagles. No tiger rugs. No thousand-year-old tapestries.

But it's far more beautiful, and completely comfortable. This is a man, she thinks, holding his head in her arms, who knows how to use his money.

"When you're ready," he says, "next is our bedroom."

"Okay."

She'll need time to get used to living here, but the word "bedroom" recalls her mind to her more immediate purpose: she needs to make love to this man. She does not actually know what to do with her pussy yet — she's not even sure she's been doing all those Kegel exercises correctly — but she suddenly intends to seize him with it, to pull him into her in some way that he'll never be entirely able to get back out.

At the same time, she notices that, as he carries her, her waist almost fits between his shoulder blades. He's huge! Since he cannot see her face, she smiles at the silly idea that when she gets him inside her, he might literally get stuck!

But is it just a silly idea? She worries a little, remembering Yzabelle and Jordan cooing about how big his cock is.

Anyway, she thinks, he'll know what to do. She can trust him.

The bedroom is surprisingly small — not actually small, but not on the colossal scale of her dressing room. There's a huge bed with curtains that can be drawn shut, a fireplace on one wall, and two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows behind sheer white curtains. On each side of the bed is an end table with a lamp, and there's a chaise lounge in one corner.

There are two ceiling fans, each a little to the side of the bed, and above the foot of the bed is a cupola with the rose motif in the stained-glass and a chandelier dangling beneath it.

He carries her through a door to a huge balcony that overlooks Los Angeles on three sides. There's a hot tub, some patio furniture, and so many plants — roses, bougainvillea, many others she can't identify in the dark.

"Wow," she sighs. "This is all just so beautiful."

"I'm so glad you like it," he tells her. "I think I'm as nervous showing you this as you are about having sex."

"No," she laughs. "Not even close."

"Well, if you didn't like it, I would've been really sad."

"Oh, I love it, Raoul."

"You think you'll like living here with me?"

"Oh my god. It's... it's like a dream. It's the most beautiful home I've ever seen."

"I'm so glad you think so. You can change anything you don't like."

"But I love everything."

He steps back into the bedroom and carries her across it.

"The tour will conclude in our bathroom."

"Okay."

As soon as they step inside, she realizes he's prepared for her: the first thing she sees are the candles, dozens of them, on a shelf along the edge of an alcove with glazed windows. Then she sees the tub, filled with bubbles, and rose petals sprinkled on the bubbles. Then, next to the tub, a bucket of ice (about half melted now) with a bottle of champagne and, on the rim of the bucket, a box of chocolate truffles. Soft classical guitar music — "Granada" from Albeniz's Suite española — is playing, and when the scents of the candles and the bath reach her, the sensuality and romance of it just overtakes her.

"Oh, Raoul," she sighs, melting into his back. "Thank you so much."

"You're very welcome."

Once again she thinks, "You can just have me, Raoul. Do anything you want to me."

As if reading her mind, he tells her, "What I'd like to do now, if it's alright with you, is put you down here, and then I'd like to take your clothes off."

Hearing those words, though, makes it real. Really real. She's about to let him see her naked.

They both know what this means to her. They both know she hated modeling because too many people saw her naked: one of the first things he did for her was persuade her that she didn't have to model if she didn't want to. With his support, she defied all the people around her who were pushing and pulling her into the industry — her "father" first and foremost among them.

Her insecurity on this point was even the topic of their first "hypothetical" discussion about a relationship. They were sitting on sofas in his reception room (called "the ballroom" on special occasions) when she asked him:

"Knowing what you know about me, do you really think a man could fall in love with me?"

Even though she was wearing simply tight blue jeans and a t-shirt, she could feel his attraction to her. She felt him straining to maintain eye contact, as if a single undisciplined moment would result in his gaze being permanently fastened on her breasts, and every time she briefly looked away, she could feel him stealing glances of her body.

What excited her most about all this was knowing that he would not be so polite to other women. She'd seen that he is a man ordinarily who takes what he wants, without hesitation, so all his effort to be gentlemanly for her suggested that she might actually be special to him....

"Why not?"

He understood her question, but he also felt that assurance too hastily given would not be very effective.

"Well, like, these women run around here topless for you all the time right? Or even completely naked?"

"For me?"

"Of course it's for you. They're all trying to get your attention."

"Anyway, what does that have to do with you?"

"Well, you know I could never do that." She watched his eyes carefully to see if he imagined her "running around topless" for him. Maybe even naked.

He blinked and looked away — the only way to control his eyes.

"I don't think it would matter." He looked back at her, having recovered control. "A man who loves you will accept you the way you are."

"I mean, I would let him see me naked of course. But only him. And I would be so nervous. You don't think that would matter?"

By the time she raised her eyes to see his response, he'd looked away, as if something in the direction of the swimming pool required his attention.

"That what would matter? Being nervous?" He glanced at her for a moment.

"Yeah. Do you think that would disappoint a man?"

"Not at all."

"Even a man who was used to... much more confident women?"

"He might even really like it. Assuming that you do actually let him see you naked."

"Oh, of course I would. But only him, and only if I was really in love with him."

Raoul nodded, his Adam's apple quivering.

"It would be fine, May. Unless he's a real asshole, it would be fine."

"I hope you're right. I just don't know if a man could love a girl as messed up as I am."

He looked at her very seriously. "You're not that messed up. I'm sure a man will love you."

"Even as nervous as I am about... stuff like that?"

"It won't matter at all."

"I mean, I would do anything he wanted, in terms of, you know, but I would probably be the most nervous woman he's ever been with."

"You'll be the most beautiful too, and he won't mind at all. And if he does mind, find another man."

"But if he's the one for me...."

"If he can't accept you the way you are, he's not the man for you."

"I hope you're right, Raoul. I hope I find a man as understanding as you."

"I am sure you will," he promised.

Their words fluttered on the surface of their feelings, but their eyes got to the point:

I will accept you the way you are, his eyes told her, and oh god do I want to see you naked. You're killing me.

I really will let you do anything you want, her eyes told him, but please be patient with me. I'm so scared of disappointing you, but I can't control these feelings.

It's fine with me, absolutely fine with me, his eyes replied, just please let me see you naked. You're killing me.

If you will be understanding, I will, her eyes promised. I really want that too.