IV. Owls
O still hasn’t figured out why he never told Jaclyn the truth about René. Anne Marie had warned her that she would change when she left Seamus. Marie had warned her that she would change when she left Seamus, but O had never expected to change so much.
Jacqueline came back looking more radiant and lovely than ever. O no longer hid herself more carefully than she would have done if she had been alone, both in bathing and in dress, and had felt that it was perfectly natural to do so. Yet Jacqueline was too unconcerned about other people, and too uninterested in everything that was not directly related to her.
It wasn’t until the day after her return, when Jacklynn walked into the washroom, purely by chance, that O was stepping out of the bathtub, and her iron ring scarfed against the edge of the porcelain tub with a crunch that caught her attention. Jaclyn looked back and saw the metal piece dangling between her legs, as well as the black whip marks on her thighs and breasts.
“What’s going on here?” She asked.
“It was Mr. Stephen,” replied O, as if she were speaking of something she had no objection to, and she added: “René gave me to him, and he put his iron ring on me. Look!” She dried herself with a towel and went over to Jacqueline. She fell on a stool out of sheer shock.
O walked right up close to Jaclyn and told her to pick up the metal piece and read the name on it; then she let the robe slide down again, turned around and pointed to the letters S and H engraved on her buttocks and said, “He also branded me with his name. These whip marks were made by a horsewhip, and usually it was he himself who whipped me, but sometimes he had his negro maid whip me.”
Jacklyn stared at O with a fixed stare, and O couldn’t help but laugh and make like she was going to kiss her. As if struck by fear, Jacklyn pushed her away and fled into her room.With a happy heart, O dried herself completely, perfumed herself, and began to comb her hair. She put on her tights, stockings, and sandals. As she opened the door to the washroom, her eyes met Jacklyn’s in the mirror, where Jacklyn was brushing her hair, but she moved mechanically and had no idea what she was doing.
“Zip up my tights for me, will you?” O said, “You look like you’re in for a real surprise. René’s in love with you, hasn’t he told you anything?”
“I don’t get it,” Jaclyn said, and she immediately made the point that surprised her the most, “You look as if you’re kinda proud of this, I can’t really figure it out.”
“You will get it, after René has taken you to Rosie. By the way, have you already slept with him?”
Jaclyn became flushed as she shook her head in denial. Once again, her wandering attitude made O laugh.
“You’re lying to me, darling, don’t be silly, you have every right to sleep with him. And, I might add, you have no reason to refuse me. Here, let me touch you, and I’ll tell you all about Rosie.”
I don’t know whether it was because Jaclyn had originally feared that O’s jealousy would explode in her face, and O hadn’t, thus relieving her, or whether it was because curiosity drove her to want to know what O had promised to tell her, or perhaps it was simply because she liked O’s patient, slow, but passionate caresses, but she gave in anyway.
“Tell me everything,” she then told O.
“Okay,” said O. “But you kiss my nipples first, and now it’s time for you to get used to the action, if you want to be of some use to René.”
Jaclyn did as she was told, so well that O groaned.
“Tell me about it.” She said.
No matter how clear and detailed the story O told was, and with her own physical proof, it was still utter madness in Jaclyn’s eyes.
“You mean you’re going back there come September?” She asked.
“When we get back from Mitty,” O said, “I’ll take you there, or maybe René will.”
“Going to see what it’s like there, that I don’t care,” said Jaclyn, “but just to see what it’s like there.”
“I’ll see to it that the thing is arranged,” said O, though she was sure in her heart that it was not. But she kept saying to herself that Mr. Stephen would be grateful to her if she could only persuade Jacqueline to go through the gates of Rosyth and that once she was in there would be enough servants, chains, and whips there to teach Jacqueline what obedience meant.
She already knew that Mr. Stephen had rented a summer house at Rivera, near Cannae, and that she, René, Jacqueline, and he would go there together to spend the whole month of August. (There was also Jacqueline’s sister, whom Jacqueline had asked to take with her, not because she particularly wanted to take her sister with her, but because her mother had pressed her to decide after asking O’s permission.) O also knew what facilities were available in the room in which she would be staying. When René was away, she was sure to seduce Jacqueline there, and Jacqueline must have had difficulty in resisting her temptation.
That room was separated from Mr. Stephen’s bedroom by only one wall, a wall that appeared to be solid, but was not; it was fitted with a one-way mirror, and Mr. Stephen, by pulling back the curtains on his side of the room, could see and hear everything that was going on in this side of the room from his side of the bed. As O caressed Jacqueline, she would be exposed to Mr. Stephen’s gaze, and by the time she discovered the truth it would be too late.O thought happily that she could betray Jacqueline with this act of treachery, for Jacqueline held the matter of her being a whipped and branded slave in contempt, and O felt that she was insulting her, as she herself took pride in her status as a slave.
O had never been to the south of France. The clean blue sky, the mirror-like sea, the pine trees rippling in the burning sun, all seemed to her lifeless and repulsive. “There are no real trees,” she muttered sadly to herself as she gazed around at the undergrowth, all the stones and even the green lashings hot to the touch, “and the sea doesn’t smell like the sea,” she thought. She complained that the sea only occasionally washed over an ugly patch of seaweed that looked like excrement; she complained that it was too blue and that it always lapped relentlessly at the same spot on the beach.
Mr. Stephen’s garden-house was situated in a redecorated farm-house at a great distance from the sea, and high walls on the right and left separated them from their neighbors; the servants’ side-room was opposite the yard-gate, and there was a garden on the side of the house in an easterly direction; and O.’s bedroom, which was on this side, led directly out on to the verandah. The black canopies of a row of tall cypress trees reached just to the height of the balcony railings made of hollow bricks, which were covered with a reed canopy to keep out the midday sun. The balcony was paved with red bricks, the same as the floor tiles in her bedroom.
All the walls were painted snow-white, except the wall that separated O’s bedroom from Mr. Stephen’s, which hu an arched pagoda-like niche, separated from the rest of the room by a row of balusters like stair-rails, with handmade wooden carvings on them. The brick floor was covered with a thick white carpet of cotton, and the curtains were made of pale yellow linen.
The same fabric was used on the two easy chairs, and there were some three tiers of jointed Eastern seat cushions. The only furniture in the room was a very heavy and extremely ornate Regency English closet of walnut and a long, narrow, farm-wood table painted in a pale color and waxed so brightly that it resembled a mirror.
O hangs the clothes in the closet.
Jaclyn’s little sister, Natalie, was placed in a room next to O’s. Every morning, knowing that O would be sunbathing on the balcony, she would come out of her room and lie down next to O. She was a very beautiful woman. She had snow-white skin, and although she was not yet plump enough, her body shape seemed very elegant. Like her sister, she had slightly squinty eyes, but they were dark and bright, making her look Chinese. She wore a doll’s head, with a row of bangs covering her eyebrows and short, neck-length hair at the back of her head.
She grew a firm pair of small, slightly quivering breasts, and her teenage hips were just beginning to develop.
She had stumbled upon O’s secret by complete accident one day when she had hurried up to the balcony to try to find her sister, only to see O sprawled alone on an Eastern-style pillow. However, that which had shocked Jacqueline to the utmost filled Natalie with jealousy and longing.
She asked her sister about what had happened, and Jaclyn told everything she knew about O. The intention was to cause shock and revulsion in young Natalie, not realizing that none of it would change Natalie’s feelings at all. If her introduction did have some sort of impact, it could only be considered counterproductive.
She felt herself falling in love with O. For more than a week she tried to keep this secret from her heart, but one Sunday afternoon she managed to get a chance to be alone with him.
The weather that day was slightly cooler than normal. René had swum in the morning and fell asleep in a cool room on the first floor. Jacqueline, annoyed that he preferred to sleep rather than spend time with her, went upstairs to find O.
The sea and the sunlight made her even more golden: her hair, eyebrows, eyelashes, pubic hair, armpits, all looked as if they were sprinkled with silver dust, and since she hadn’t put on any make-up at all, her lips were pink, the same color as the pink flesh between her legs.
To make sure that Mr. Stephen could see all the subtleties of Jacklynn O thought that if he were Jacklynn, he would have guessed or noticed his unseen presence O endured the pain of curling his legs so that they were spread out under the light of the bedside lamp. The blinds were closed, and the room was dark, but rays of light still leaked in through the cracks in the boards.
For an hour or so, Jaclyn moaned into O’s touch. At last her breasts rose, her arms stretched over her head, her hands gripped the rails of O’s large Italian-style bed, and she began to cry out as O parted the delicate softness of her cunt lips hidden in the light-colored hair and gently nibbled at the tiny clit between her legs where the two labia met, and O felt Jacqueline harden and burn under her tongue, and a wave of sobs erupted from her lips. O didn’t relent until she suddenly went limp, like a spring suddenly taut, and sank at once into moist pleasure. Then O sent her back to her room, where she soon fell asleep.
Nonetheless, by the time René approached Jacqueline at five o’clock for a boat ride, she was awake and ready to go.
It was a small sailboat, and they had become accustomed to sailing every afternoon, when it was getting late, and the sea often picked up a little breeze. They always took Natalie with them when they went.
“Where’s Natalie?”
Nathalie was not in her own room, and she was nowhere to be found in the whole house. They went out into the garden to call for her, and René found his way as far as the little grove of oaks at the end of the garden, and still there was no answer.
“Perhaps she has gone to the harbor to wait for us,” said René; “perhaps she has gone aboard.”
They stopped calling her and went off on their own.
At the moment, O was sprawled out on her Eastern-style pillows on her balcony, and glimpsed Natalie running this way towards the house through a gap in the railing, she got up and put on her long dress It was still hot despite the late hour, so she wasn’t dressed She was tying her belt when Natalie suddenly appeared in the room and threw herself into O’s arms like a madwoman.
“She’s gone,” she cried, “she’s gone at last. I heard her, O, I heard all of you both, I was listening behind the door. You kissed her, you touched her, why don’t you touch me, why don’t you kiss me? Is it because I’m black? Because I’m unattractive? She doesn’t love me, O, but I love you, I love you!” She said this in one breath, and then sobbed as if she were breaking the bank.
“Well, that’s good.” O said to himself.
While she coaxed the child to sit in a chair, she took a large handkerchief (Mr. Stephen’s) out of her closet, and when Natalie’s sobbing subsided a little, she wiped away her tears. Natalie asked her forgiveness and kissed her hand.
“Even if you won’t kiss me, O, let me stay with you, let me stay with you often. If you had a dog, you would keep him and take care of him, wouldn’t you. If you don’t want to kiss me and prefer to beat me, then beat me, just don’t let me go away.”
“Calm down Natalie, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” O murmured, like a whisper.
This child slid down and hugged O’s knee, also replying in a whispering voice, “Oh, I know.
I saw you on the balcony that morning, and I saw the letters, and I saw the long, greenish-black bruises, and Jacqueline had told me…”
“Tell you what?”
“You’ve been there, O, and what they did to you there.”
“She told you about Rosie?”
“She also told me that you had been… you still…”
“How am I doing?”
“You’re wearing an iron ring.”
“That’s right,” said O. “What else?”
“Mr. Stephen whips you every day.”
“That’s right,” O added, “he could be here any minute. Don’t go yet, Natalie.”
Natalie’s posture didn’t change at all, just tilted her face up to look at O, whose eyes met her adoring gaze.
“Teach me, O, please teach me,” she said; “I wish to be like you, and I will do everything you ask me to do. Promise me that you will take me with you when you go back to the place that Jacqueline told me about.”
“You’re too small.” O said.
“No, I’m not young, I’m fifteen, I’m going to be sixteen,” she screamed angrily, “I’m not young, ask Mr. Stephen if you don’t believe me.” She said as he happened to come into the room.
Natalie was given permission to follow O at all times and secured a promise to go to Rosie’s.
But Mr. Stephen forbade O to teach her caresses, not even kisses. He also laid down a strict rule for O not to allow Natalie to kiss her, and he was determined that she should be entirely free from the hands and lips of any one until she reached Rossi. As a compensatory measure, and because of Natalie’s reluctance to leave O, he expressly required Natalie to remain at all times in O’s presence, to witness O caressing Jacqueline and himself; and she was specifically permitted to remain on the spot when O yielded to him, when he whipped O, or when O was receiving a whipping from the old Nala.
O’s passionate kisses as he caressed her sister, the sight of O’s lips as they pressed against her sister’s, made Natalie tremble with jealousy. Sitting timidly on the carpet at the foot of O’s bed, as little Dinarzadeh had done at the foot of Sheyazadeh’s bed, she had witnessed every time O had been tied to the wooden railing and struggled and trembled under the horsewhip; she had witnessed O on her knees, humbly accepting Mr. Stephen’s erect, huge prick with her lips; she had witnessed O stooping down to the ground and helping to provide the orifice in the back of his head with her own two hands she had witnessed all of this all with nothing but adoration, jealousy and impatience.
At the same time, Jacqueline’s attitude changed: perhaps O was overly sensitive to Jacqueline’s attitude towards her, or perhaps Jacqueline herself was naive enough to believe that submitting to O would jeopardize her relationship with René, but whatever the reason, she suddenly stopped coming to O’s place. At the same time, she seems to have distanced herself from René, even though she is with him almost every day and every night.
It was not at all clear from her behavior that she loved him. She watched him coolly, and when she smiled at him her eyes remained in cold shadow. Though it might be assumed that she had thrown herself into his arms as completely as she had thrown herself into O’s, and this looked very much like the truth, O had to suspect that the submission was only superficial.
René, on the other hand, is utterly in love with her, broken by a love he has never experienced before, a love that is fraught with anxiety and uncertainty, a love for which he has no idea if it will ever be rewarded, a love that is not afraid to annoy the other person.
Although he went through his days as usual, sleeping and eating lunch in the same house with Mr. Stephen and with O, walking with Mr. Stephen and O, and talking with both of them, he did not see them or hear what they were saying.
His eyes, his hearing, and his words pierced through them and beyond them; like the man in the dream who was trying to catch a train that had already started, who was trying to hold on to the railing of a bridge that was collapsing, he was trying in every way to make sense of the raison d’etre, of the truths that lay hidden beneath Jacqueline’s golden skin, like trying to make sense of the mechanism that lay hidden inside of a weeping toy doll.
“Well,” thought O, “the day has come at last which I dreaded so much, and since then I have been a mere shadow in René’s past life. And surprisingly I felt no sadness; the only feeling I had for him was regret, and even when it was known that he no longer wanted me I was able to see him every day without the slightest trace of pain, without the slightest hint of regret, without even the feeling of being hurt. And yet just a few weeks ago, I hurried across town to his office to go and plead with him to tell me that he still loved me. Is this what love is for me? Is this what love is all about? Is it so easily passed over and forgotten? Is comfort that easy to come by? Actually, comfort is not the right word; I am quick to live. Does it mean that it would be so easy for me to find new love in the arms of another, if only he would give me to Mr. Stephen, and take me away from him?”
What, then, was the result of comparing René with Mr. Stephen? Ropes made of straw, anchors of cork, chains of paper, René had once seized her with these symbolic bonds, and he had so soon cut them off. Yet what a sense of pleasure and comfort this ring of iron, this eternal brand, which is lodged in one’s flesh and falls with its weight upon one forever, can give! How much more can the hand of a master who lays you on a bed of stone, the love of a master who knows how to seize what he loves coldly and without pity, give a sense of peace and security!
O said to herself that the ultimate analysis was that with René she was only an apprentice in love, that she loved him only in the sense of learning how to give herself, how to make herself available for Mr. Stephen’s enslavement and drive.
But look at René, he had done as he pleased with her and it was this very manner of doing as he pleased that she loved in him he now seemed to be hobbling about like a man whose legs are caught in a pool of water and reeds, a pond which on the surface appears to be calm, but underneath there are undercurrents swirling about. Seeing him as he was now, O was filled with hatred for Jacqueline. Had René dimly perceived this thought in her, and had O accidentally exposed this feeling of hers? In either case, she had made a mistake.
One afternoon she and Jaclyn both went up to Canna for a haircut and then to the café for ice cream.
Jaclyn looked extremely poised in her tight black pants and pure wool sweater. She was so elegant and luxurious, and looked so healthy and dazzling in the blazing sun. Her haughty and unapproachable look eclipsed all those around her.
She told O that right here she had an appointment with the director of her movie to talk about shooting on location in St. Paul. He had come, and seemed so frank and decisive that he didn’t have to say a word, and his love for Jacqueline was plain to see.
Just look at the way he gazes at her and it’s perfectly clear. What’s so surprising about that? Nothing. What was surprising, however, was Jacklyn’s behavior. Reclining in a beachfront folding chair, Jaclyn listened to him talk about scheduled dates, scheduled appointments, and where he was going to get the money to finish the movie, which was still half-finished.
He addressed Jacklyn as “you,” and she just nodded or shook her head, her eyes half-open, half-closed, hazel. o sat across from Jacklyn, and he sat between the two of them. It didn’t take much effort to notice that Jaclyn was watching the young man’s desires through her drooping, motionless eyes, in that way she thought no one would notice. But most suspiciously of all, she looked very uneasy, her hands resting quietly at her sides, her face so grave as to be almost expressionless, with not a shadow of a smile, a look she never had in René’s presence.
Their eyes met as O leaned forward to place a glass of ice water on the table, and an imperceptible smile flickered across Jaclyn’s lips, which O immediately understood. It was over, and Jaclyn could see that O understood it all. Yet she was surprisingly indifferent, and it was O who was blushing.
“Are you too hot?” Jaclyn said. “We’ll be gone in five minutes. By the way: you’re blushing.”
With that said, she smiled again and turned her gaze to her director with a smile that was so gentle it looked like it would be practically impossible for him not to embrace her immediately. But he didn’t. He was too young to realize that outward calm and silence could mask real impulses. With his eyes fixed on Jaclyn, he stood up and shook her hand goodbye.
She promised to call him. He also said goodbye to O. But O was just a shadow in his eyes.
He stood at the curb and watched the black Buick disappear between the sun-bathed houses and the deep purple sea at the end of the road. The palm trees looked like they were made of metal, and the people walking around looked like old wax figures, driven by some absurd machine.
“Do you really like him that much?” O asked Jaclyn as the car raced out of town on the beach road.
“What’s that got to do with you?” Jaclyn said.
“Something to do with René.” She sneered back.
“If I understand correctly, the thing that has to do with René, with Mr. Stephen, with a handful of other people is that you’re sitting in a bad way. You’re going to wrinkle your skirt.”
O was actually too deep and stiff to move for a moment.
“And I remembered something else,” Jaclyn said, “you’re not supposed to cross your legs.”
But O wasn’t listening to her anymore. What had she to fear from Jacqueline’s threats? If Jacqueline threatened to go and tell her of this little transgression, how could she stop O from going before René and denouncing her?
It wasn’t that O didn’t want to turn her in, but she was worried that René wouldn’t be able to withstand the shock, that Jacqueline was cheating on him, or that she had a plan to keep him out.
How could she convince Jacqueline that if she did not denounce her, it was only for fear of seeing René lose face, of seeing him grow pale not for her but for someone else, and perhaps a little for fear of seeing him too weak to punish her for it?
How could she prove to Jacqueline that another reason for her silence was the fear of seeing René turn his wrath on herself, the bringer of bad news, the informer? How could she tell Jacqueline that she would not say a word, without giving her the impression that she was entering into an offensive alliance with her? Jacqueline, however, thought O was scared, scared to death of the consequences if she told.
From that moment until they alighted in the yard of the old farmhouse, neither of them spoke a word. Jacqueline did not look at O, but picked a geranium that grew near the house, and as O followed her, she could smell the strong fragrance of the leaves, crushed by her hands. Did she think it would disguise the smell of her own sweat? That sweat had left a dark ring of marks in the armpits of her sweater, making the garment stick to her armpits.
René was alone in the huge room with the white walls and red brick floor.
“You’re late,” he said as they came in, “Mr. Stephen is waiting for you in the adjoining room,” he added, nodding to O. “He has something he needs you for. He’s in a bad mood yet.”
Jaclyn laughed out loud and O looked at her, becoming red in the face.
“You guys can reschedule.” René said, misinterpreting Jacklyn’s laugh and O’s concern.
“Not for that,” said Jacqueline; “but I’ll tell you, René, your tame beauty isn’t so tame when you’re away yet. Look at her dress; see how it wrinkles.”
O stood in the middle of the house facing René. He commanded her to turn around, but she didn’t move a muscle.
“And she crosses her legs,” Jacklyn added, “but then of course you can’t see it. You haven’t seen her seduce a boy yet.”
“That’s not true,” O shouted, “You are!” She shouted as she lunged at Jaclyn.
Just as she was about to hit Jacqueline, she was grabbed by René, and she continued to struggle in his arms as she felt her tenderness and wished to be pampered by him. When she looked up, she saw Mr. Stephen standing in the hallway watching her.
Jaclyn sat on her butt on the couch, her little face becoming tight with anger and fear, and O could feel René’s hands, while still soothing her, just looking at Jaclyn with his eyes. She stopped struggling, and became downcast from being seen by Mr. Stephen in her disorder. She mumbled and repeated what had been said, in a whisper-like voice: “It wasn’t true, I swear it wasn’t true.”
Mr. Stephen didn’t say a word, didn’t look at Jacqueline for a second, just gestured for René to let go of O and for O to follow him to the other room. They had just gone out the door when Mr. Stephen immediately squeezed O against the wall, grabbing her pussy and breasts, his tongue eagerly probing her lips, and O moaned uncontrollably, both from the pleasure and from the absolution.
Her nipples hardened under the touch of his hand, and he reached into her lower parts with his other hand, moving quite violently, so that O thought she was about to pass out. She had never yet had the courage to tell him that this complete casualness with which he used her gave her great pleasure, and that no amount of happiness, pleasure, and everything she could imagine could compare to it, that is to say, that he could do anything to her, and could seek his pleasure on her body without any limitations or restraints.
She was absolutely certain that when he touched her-whether he caressed her or whipped her-it was simply because he wanted to, that all he cared about was simply his own desire. And this was so intoxicating to O, so pleasurable to O, that every time she saw the latest evidence about it, or merely thought about it, it set her whole body on fire, as if a cape made of flames, or an armor descending on her from shoulder to knee.
With that, she was pressed against the wall, her eyes closed, murmuring “I love you”, and when she finally caught her breath to say those words, Mr. Stephen’s hands, as cool as fresh spring water, flowed over her entire body as if they were on fire, making her even hotter. He released her slowly, covering her moistened thighs with her skirt and buttoning her corset over her quivering breasts.
“Come on, O,” he said, “I need you for something.”
When O opened his eyes, he realized that there was someone else here besides the two of them. The snow-white painted room in front of him was for all intents and purposes a sitting-room; it was large and empty, with windows and doors that opened onto the garden through the French doors. On a wicker chair on the balcony between the house and the garden sat a huge man with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his head shaved, his belly protruding from his open shirt and fabric pants, who was now gazing at her intently.
He stood up and approached Mr. Stephen, who immediately pushed O towards this giant. It was then that O noticed that the man was wearing a pocket-watch band, on the end of which was the badge of Rossi. Mr. Stephen courteously introduced him to O, simply calling him “Commander” without introducing him by name.
He kissed O’s hand, much to her surprise, the first time anyone had ever done so out of all the members of the Rossi she’d come in contact with (except Mr. Stephen).
The three of them went back into the room together, leaving the door open, and Mr. Stephen went over to the fireplace to ring the bell.O saw a bottle of whisky, some soda, and glasses on the Chinese table beside the couch, so that he was not ringing the bell to order drinks. Also she noticed a large cardboard box sitting on the floor next to the fireplace.
The man from Rossi was seated in a wicker chair, and Mr. Stephen was half leaning, half sitting on the edge of the round table, with one leg dangling over the edge of the table. o complied with his cue to sit down on the sofa, and before taking her seat lifted up her skirts in a regular manner, and at the moment she was feeling the hairy, zippy surface of the Provencal seat-cushion, which had been woven of coarse cloth, against her skin.
The answer came from Nala, who was instructed by Mr. Stephen to undress and take away O’s clothes, and O obeyed as she removed her camisole, her long skirt, her corseted whalebone girdle, and her sandals, and Nala left the room as soon as O was naked, O automatically resuming her habit of playing by Rossi’s rules, knowing full well that Mr. Stephen expected nothing less than perfect obedience from her.
She stood in the middle of the room, with her eyes lowered, so that she saw, not with her eyes, but with her consciousness, that Natalie had stolen in through the open window, clad in the same black dress as her sister, and barefooted without making the slightest noise, and that Mr. Stephen had no doubt explained to the visitor who she was and why she was here.
To the visitor he merely mentioned her name, to which the visitor did not respond, except to ask her to serve them some drinks. After she handed them some whiskey, soda, and ice (the clinking of the ice against the glasses was ear-splitting in the silence), the Commander rose from the wicker chair in which he had been sitting during O’s undressing and approached O, glass in hand.
O expected him to grab her breasts or lower parts with his free hand, but he didn’t towel her, limiting himself to scrutinizing her, from her slightly parted lips down to her parted knees. He circled her, studying her breasts, her thighs, her hips, looking at them very carefully, but without a word of comment. This over-examination and the sheer size of his body so close to hers weighed heavily on O. She didn’t know if she wanted to run away from here more or, on the contrary, wanted him to throw himself on the ground and crush her.
She was so frightened that she lost her self-control and raised her eyes to Mr. Stephen for help. He understood her, and, with a smile on his face, he went to her, and taking both her hands, he put them behind her back, and grasped them with one hand. She leaned back against him and closed her eyes, so that it was as if she were in a dream, in a kind of darkness like that of a weary sleep, and as if she were back in her childhood, that time when she was half under the anesthesia of ether, and had heard the nurses talking about her, who thought that she was still asleep, talking about her hair, her pale complexion, her pussy, which gave scarcely any sign of being there.
As in a dream, she heard the stranger speaking to Mr. Stephen in praise of her, with particular reference to the pleasing contrast between her ample breasts and her slender waist, and to the longer, thicker, and more conspicuous iron ring than the average man wore. In the meantime, she heard that Mr. Stephen might have promised to lend her to him next week, for he was thanking Mr. Stephen for something. It was at this moment that Mr. Stephen, seizing her by the back of the neck, meekly roused her, and told her to go upstairs with Natalie, and wait in her own room.
O had good reason to be angry and annoyed, if she wished, at what Natalie had done, and Natalie, knowing that O would be open to anyone but Mr. Stephen, was so excited by the impatience that she danced and screamed around her like an Indian.
“Do you think he’ll put it in your mouth too, O. You should have seen the way he looked at your mouth just now! Oh, how fortunate you are to be desired to such an extent! I’m sure he’ll whip you: he’s looked three times at the marks that show you’ve been whipped, and at least then you won’t be able to think of Jacqueline any more!”
“I’m not always thinking about Jaclyn, you fool,” O replied.
“No, I’m not stupid, and I’m not a fool. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want her.” The boy said.
It was true, but then again things weren’t quite like that, it wasn’t Jaclyn exactly that O missed, it was the uninhibited use of the female body. If Natalie hadn’t been excluded from her access, she would have gotten Natalie long ago. The only reason she hadn’t violated that restriction was because she was certain that within a few weeks Natalie would be delivered to her in Rosie, and that before that moment came Natalie would be consecrated in her presence, by herself and because of her.
She longed to tear down the invisible wall between Natalie and herself, the space, or more aptly, the “vacuum”. For the moment she preferred to wait. She told Natalie this, but she shook her head repeatedly, not wanting to believe her.
“If Jacklyn were here and happy,” she said, “you’d still caress her.”
“Of course I will.” O smiled.
“Look, there it is.” The boy interjected.
How could she be made to understand-and was it worth the effort-that she neither loved Jacqueline very much, nor longed for Natalie or any other girl, that she simply loved girls, and that this was only a general love of girls — in that way in which one loves her own image — other girls always seem to her more lovable and more deserving of longing than herself.
It was almost too much for her to bear the immense pleasure of seeing a girl’s breath panting and heart beating under her touch; of seeing her eyes close and her nipples harden under the action of her lips and teeth; of feeling that organ tighten in her fingers as she explored the girl’s two secret places, front and back, with her hands; of hearing their sighs and moans. And if the pleasure was so intense, it was only because it made her realize that it was her own turn to feel her own organ tighten in the hands of those who explored her, and that when she herself sighed and moaned, it brought great pleasure to the other.
The difference lies in the fact that she cannot conceivably give such pleasure to a girl as that girl gives her, whereas she can only give it to a male. Moreover, it seemed to her that the girls she caressed belonged to the man as much as she did, and that she herself was merely the man’s agent.
If, on one of those afternoons when Jacqueline was in the habit of coming over to nap with her, Mr. Stephen had come into her room and found O. fondling her, O. would have parted with his own hands, if it had pleased him to do so, the legs of this girl, who was in her grasp, and grasped them with both hands. Instead of feeling the slightest remorse, it would have been with great pleasure that she would have allowed Mr. Stephen to possess her, instead of merely peeping surreptitiously through the one-way mirror, as he had done. She was extremely good at hunting, an untutored bird of prey, always sure to bring her prey to the hunter. As for the devil…
Once again she couldn’t help her heart beating as she thought of Jaclyn’s delicate pink pussy lips hidden beneath the soft hair, of the more elegant and pinker ring between her buttocks, for which she’d only mustered up enough courage to touch just three times.