Whispers and Brush Strokes Ch. 03

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Orgasms of silk.
3.3k words
4.4
12.6k
2

Part 3 of the 6 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 11/17/2008
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Two weeks passed. I could not get the anger out of my mind. I could not shake a sense of shame, the only remedy for which was masturbation. I was angry with Julian. I was ashamed of what I had done with April. I was more ashamed of the knowledge that, given the chance, I would do it again.

I had opted out of my psychology/ philosophy group. There were only two rules there- first, be true to you, secondly, never lie to the group or any of its members. I was guilty of violating both rules.

It was approximately a forty-five minute drive from my house to the home of the man named Milam. Ten minutes into my journey, I stopped at a red light and switched on the radio. I needed distraction to clear my mind. The light turned green and I simultaneously laughed at the irony. "Let It Ride" by BTO...a classic with, in my particular case, more than one meaning.

Julian and I had had no sex since his first night back. He was not happy. On that night, I lay on my back, oblivious to his presence. I later apologized to him for laughing as he writhed on me- I could not stop the recollection of peeing on his note. What would he say if he knew what I had done to Merrick? What would he say if he knew what April and I had explored? He humped me harder as the realization came that I could care less.

Yesterday, he had seen the indifference in my eyes as I came home to find him packed. I sat on the sofa; my legs crossed Indian-style as his rant began.

"If you don't give a damn about me or my feelings, why did you let me waste three years of my life with you?" he demanded.

I pulled my hair back and stared at him silently.

"Answer me!"

"You use the word let in an attempt to place all the blame on me. You are going to do that anyway, so what good would an argument be?"

"You are seeing someone else, aren't you?"

I laughed spontaneously.

"I am going to tell you something. You are a cold bitch. In this moment, I wish I had never met you."

"Goodbye Julian."

"Get some help Geneva- some professional help."

Not because of Julian, and in spite of my indifference to him and his departure, I was following his advice.

True to her word, April had secured an appointment for interview. I was aware of our bargain. I would owe her for this. This realization caused both anxiety and the need to masturbate.

In a two-week period, I had learned a great deal about Milam. He held a PHD in psychology and a degree in philosophy. He was a shadowy figure. He had published a book titled "The Theology of Sex and Self" under a pen name. Though he officially headed no organization, I learned that which I already suspected, he had at least handfuls of followers everywhere.

Most importantly, I learned that Milam had interviewed and published the story of Alexandra and Michael. Alex was my personal hero now. I needed to tap into that power. She may or may not sleep with another woman. She may or may not let Julian leave with indifference; but whatever Alexandra did or did not do, she would maintain strength.

I had to talk with a speaker at the gated entrance. Here in the mountains, the blooms were springing forth, the birds providing the song of the season. I traversed the long drive to park in front of the huge, stately structure. My short skirt and cotton blouse reminded me that the breeze was cool here. I hoped he would find my attire appropriate.

"Appropriate to throw me on his desk and fuck my brains out", I whispered before ringing the bell.

"Hello", said the elderly woman who opened the door. She appeared to be at least seventy years of age, yet she was lovely. Her eyes smiled naturally.

"I am here to see-"

"I know why you are here. Please come in, Geneva."

Everything was wood, marble, and antique. Our steps echoed through the grand hall. This seemed too conservative, not at all what I had anticipated.

Edith led me to his study. The room was quiet and dark, with little to give away anything regarding the nature of this man.

"So what do you do here Edith?" I asked as I took a seat. I crossed my legs, hiding the black panties, visible to her smiling eyes because of my plaid skirt.

"I oversee the staff. May I get you something to drink?

"Coffee?"

"How do you take it?"

"It is a bit chilly in here. Can I have it with Baileys?"

She nodded. "You may."

To my right, after Edith left the study, I was taken with a large picture. It hung over a large fireplace. I moved closer, struggling to determine whether it was a painting or a photograph. Chills went through me as I studied the cadre of black birds, airborne and forming a circle round the full, glowing moon.

I could not seem to stop staring. I was lost in the ephemeral subjectivity.

"It is titled Night's High Noon."

The deep voice from behind startled me back into reality. I turned to see Milam standing at the study doors. My breath went only halfway to the caverns of my chest. This was not the disheveled man I had seen before. His salt and pepper hair was groomed. He was tall and lean. He wore black pants and a white oxford shirt. I moved closer as my eyes locked onto the blue of his. I moved still closer as I noted his broad shoulders, the outline of his torso, and the diminutive girth of his waist, and the fullness contained beneath his pants.

He turned to close one of the doors.

"You have a nice ass", I said softly.

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing."

"Please", he said. "Have a seat."

I advertised myself then. My crotch was hot. My vagina needed to be free. I knew that Milam could see my panties. I wanted him to see my outline before I crossed my legs.

Edith entered then with a silver tray. The coffee and Baileys was for me, the cognac was for Milam.

After setting the drinks between us, Edith left the room, closing the doors behind her. I studied the body of Milam again as he rounded his desk. To my surprise, he retrieved and lit a cigarette.

"I am allergic to smoke", I protested.

"Everyone is allergic to smoke."

"But my Doctor said-"

"Why did you come here? Why did you want to see me?"

I smiled. "You don't care that I am allergic?"

He sat down across from me, the cigarette burning, like the indifference in his deep blue eyes. We studied each other as he sipped the cognac.

He was like the Tanita Tikaram song....haunting, sexy, aloof, and mysterious.

"Can I have a cigarette?" I asked.

I noted the faintest hint of a smile as he retrieved another cancer stick from his desk. I stared up at his gorgeous, officious presence as he placed the cigarette between my lips. I was stimulated tremendously until he lit it and I began to cough.

"Is this a good thing?"

"Is what a good thing?" he responded.

I could not take my eyes off him as he returned to his chair.

"Is it a good thing that I am smoking?"

His laugh was sublime. "Smoking is not a good thing. Experimentation is a good thing."

"But then-"

"I understand you have a story or stories in which you think I might be interested."

I puffed again on the grotesque instrument of vice before taking a sip of coffee. "I thought I did", I said pensively. "I don't."

"Then I will ask you again, why did you come here for an interview?"

"I want you to help me."

"I have not practiced as a counselor in nearly seven years, Geneva."

"Why are you trying to bullshit me?"

His brow rose slightly. "Excuse me?"

"You help people. You know that is true. It is why you do what you do."

His laughter was real this time. "You, Geneva, are quite the expert now, are you not?"

"You are laughing at me."

"Yes, I am."

I puffed the cigarette again. "Do you want my story?"

"Tell me."

"My degree is in journalism. I minored in philosophy. I have never been married and I don't think I want children. My live-in boyfriend just left after three years and I don't care. Two weeks ago I fucked April- or, she fucked me; and right now I want to fuck you as much as I have ever wanted anything in my life."

"You get right to the point. That is good, and I will follow suit. What is it you are searching for?"

"Freedom."

He sipped his drink again. "Freedom from what?"

"Freedom from judgment and regret. I want to be where Alexandra was when she fucked Michael in his car. I want to be where she was when his friends saw her naked."

"What are you willing to sacrifice?"

"Sacrifice?"

"Freedom is never free, at least not until one frees oneself."

"How do you achieve that?"

"Like writing, painting, science...it comes more naturally to some."

"How can I achieve it?"

"From what little I know about you, you seem to be working on it already."

"What can I-?"

"Did you enjoy sleeping with April?"

My eyes went to my lap. I crushed out the cigarette. "Yes", I whispered.

"Will you sleep with her again?"

I hesitated. "I have to."

"No one has to do anything."

"I am not a lesbian", I said with determination.

"I never said you were."

I picked up the cigarette nervously before remembering that I had put it out. I sipped my tepid coffee.

"I suppose you want me to tell you why I slept with her", I offered.

He shook his head. "There are only two possibilities", he said. "Either she raped you, or you slept with her because you wanted to."

"But she seduced me", I protested.

He stared at me silently.

"I felt sort of raped", I continued. "But...it was almost like I raped myself."

Again, Milam stared at me silently.

I laughed in frustration. "She fucked me with a hairbrush, Milam. May I speak freely?"

"Please do", he responded.

"She fucked my ass and my pussy with a hairbrush. I had multiple orgasms."

He was silent.

"The last orgasm I had, with a brush in my anus, I came so hard it squirted to the bed!"

He stared silently.

I huffed loudly. "You seem to want honesty from me. Does that work both ways?"

"Certainly it does."

"And you don't find that disgusting?"

"What I find disgusting is not relevant."

"It is to me."

"Okay. I find intellectual laziness to be disgusting. I find disgusting any act that willfully causes psychological damage to another. Lying to oneself can fall under either definition, or both."

"You think I am lying to myself?"

"You have proven it."

"How have I proven it?"

"You slept with April because you were seeking something; but that much is an excuse. You slept with her because you wanted to. You enjoyed it and had orgasms because you enjoyed it. Your fears of being a so-called lesbian are a curtain behind which you hide."

"Is it okay to be a lesbian? Is it okay to be bisexual?"

"Is it okay for whom?"

Again my eyes went to my lap.

"You have to discover your own principles before concerning yourself with societal morality Geneva. It is not enough to live with what you have done. In reality, that is just existence. You must embrace what you have done, what you want to do again. These things are not possible if you fail to be true to yourself."

Without thinking, I moved quickly so that I was on my knees. I knelt before him. "You said you would not help me", I sighed. "But you are helping me."

"Alexandra was not seeking freedom", he said. "She already had it. She exercised it."

"She even advertised it", I said softly. "She embraced it and got what she wanted- what she needed."

I stood then. The blue of the eyes of Milam entered my world as I stood. I raised my skirt slightly to remove the panties. I dropped them into his lap.

"On a bed where the moon has been sweating", he said with soft baritone. "Let us see if I might read you."

He removed my shirt first, then my bra. My breasts beckoned him as I looked up. He stood over me like a god as, for the first time, I imbibed his masculine scent. It was pleasurably intermingled with smoke and the purity of the old wood of his study. The combination made me wet.

"Turn around", he said.

I did so, breathing heavily.

"It is time to test you", he said.

He then placed a silken blindfold over my eyes. I moaned as he gently tied it on the back of my head.

"Trusting you", I said. "Is that part of freedom?"

My body quivered as he leaned down. His words were close. "No. Trusting yourself is part of gaining freedom. Do you trust yourself Geneva?"

"Yes."

"Do you trust yourself enough to justify trust in me?"

"Yes."

"See with your soul", he said. "Follow me."

Blindfolded, I followed the sounds of his movement. I heard something like the sound of a door opening.

"Mind your step", he said.

We walked slowly up a spiral staircase. My nipples and my mid-section ached with longing. The stairs ended where another door opened. On faith, I entered another room. I trusted myself to know that it was a bedroom. It was huge, dimly lit, and cold.

He guided me to an antique bed. I sat still, not realizing how relaxed I was until I felt him binding my hands. The silk felt good. He laid me comfortably on the bed then, as he bound me to the antique headboard.

"Please make love to me", I said.

I felt him sit beside me on the bed. I heard the distinctive sounds, then smelled the aromatic stink as he lit another cigarette.

"I want-"

He interrupted me as he moved the smoke to my lips. I inhaled deeply, exhaling with eroticism, knowing that the cigarette had been between his lips.

"I will not make love to you Geneva", I heard him say.

"Then fuck me", I moaned.

"No."

"What purpose is their in teasing me?"

"Very good. You seek objective purpose. Tease yourself. Lose yourself in thought. Touch yourself."

"My hands are tied."

"You do not need hands to touch yourself."

He moved on the bed.

"I am looking at you", he said. "I have a view from your thighs, to your hungry vagina. I have a view that takes in the small mountain of your pelvis before it reaches the valley of your stomach. Your ribs are exposed beneath stretched skin that makes its way to your breasts."

I groaned loudly, like a beast on the Serengeti.

"Please..."

"Find the freedom you seek", Milam said.

He was right. My hands were not required. I touched myself. I felt the swelling of my vaginal lips. I felt my protruding clit. Absent the use of my eyes, I smelled the sweet smell of my pussy. My ass moved against the bed in a circular motion. My hips rose. I could feel my breasts. I could feel the wet perfection of my vagina.

I wanted to ask Milam if I could fuck myself. I wanted to ask him if I was being selfish. I wanted him to fuck me.

I had learned. I would fuck myself first. With my hands bound, I felt the beauty of my body and of my spirit. I began to know and understand things about me. These realizations were simultaneous with my first orgasm. I was not Alexandra, I was Geneva. I am Geneva. My cum ran into my ass as I said the words, "I love me". I laughed as I struggled for air. "I am okay."

A series of loud moans and groans followed. "Everything", I whispered, "Is okay...so long as I do no willful harm to another and remain true to myself."

My back arched violently as I felt his mouth near my wet pussy. I screamed.

"You learn well", Milam said. "It can be better than okay, however. These are the building blocks. Master this, and you will live a life of honesty, free from trepidation and doubt."

His words reverberated in my mind. They reverberated in through my vagina and into my womanhood. They found their way to the quintessence of me.

The words of Milam brought me to orgasm again.

"Find the beauty in yourself" I sputtered. "That is part of it, right?"

I cried out as I felt his hand ever-so-lightly touch my breast. Such was his approval.

"But I don't need the approval of others. It is just that I cannot love anyone else unless I love myself first."

I screamed again as his hand moved to my belly- another correct answer.

"You are my story", I said. "I love you. I don't give a damn if you love me or not- not right now. I love the freedom of knowing this. I love the freedom of telling you."

I was in heaven, with a smidgen of loneliness and longing as I heard Milam leave the room. My sigh accompanied my smile and both were louder than anticipated when I heard his return.

He untied the end of the silk that bound me to the headboard. I sighed again as my hands, bound but free, moved to my belly.

What happened then, oddly, will stay with me, should I live that long, into very old age.

Milam placed a soft, cotton towel between my legs. He was cleaning me. I blindly screamed incoherencies as the towel moved upwards across the inconsequential distance from my ass to my vagina. My bound hands moved to his then. I pressed hard on his hands, pressing the towel into me. All was absorbed as my last orgasm came forth.

I continued to feel the strength in his hands as he wiped me again. I was his best friend, his wife, his little sister his daughter. Though I knew he would differ, Milam was my savior. He was the vehicle through which I had found me.

The trip back to the study began. He freed my hands from the freedom of the silken chains. I remained blindfolded, realizing for the first time that my shoes were still on my feet.

Once again, I followed my faith and his presence to the door, this time with a sense of disappointment. I wanted to remain with the warmth of the bed and the scent of my freedom.

We wound back down the staircase slowly, silently. I followed blindly and with surety until I smelled coffee and Baileys. It compared not to my own scent, but it was pleasant nonetheless.

Indeed, I had learned well. I needed no words. I did not need the blindfold removed. I placed my hand on his shoulder as he helped me step back into my panties. I smiled as he gently pulled them up where they belonged. I then felt a sensation of erotic security as he replaced my bra.

I groped the air then as he handed me my blouse.

"Can you find your way out?"

"Yes."

Somehow I knew that the blindfold was to remain until I was out of the study. I closed the door behind me. My eyes strained against the light as I removed the blindfold. I missed the darkness.

Without a care, I used the silken scarf to wipe fluid pleasure from my inner thigh. My heels echoed again as I found my way to the front door. I would take the long way home. I needed time to bottle my newfound happiness.

I rubbed the scarf over my upper lip, as the realization came to me...there is no other man like Milam.

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AnonymousAnonymousover 11 years ago
Awesome

Loving this!

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