Feature Writer: Twelve <[email protected]>
Feature Title: The Temp of the Perverse
Published: 01.07.2012 / ASSTR
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Author’s Notes: The following is mature material intended for mature adults. Read Poe instead if you are not of legal age. The story contains sexual depictions. Any similarity to actual persons or events is coincidental. This is a work of fiction. Feedback is always welcomed and will always be answered.
The Temp of the Perverse: With apologies to E. A. Poe
Consider the little mouse, how sagacious an animal it is which never entrusts its life to one hole only. – Titus Maccius Plautus, *Truculentus*
To recount the events and the occurrences of that one bizarre week would require a large, feverish volume indeed, but as I am constrained by circumstance to provide only the most cogent of particulars I will endeavor to do so. Do not judge me and the unabashed irrationality of my sordid acts until you have heard me out. Think not that you are immune. That dark corner of your soul though carefully hidden can be exposed in an instant, and the cool reasoned intellect that smirks at these twisted words can be tossed into the maelstrom that whirls and sucks all into the insatiable abyss.
Before my consignment to anticipation and worry I busied myself in the employ of a reputable business. The variation in volume and complexity of tasks often necessitated the retention of temporary labor; the responsibility of acquiring the needed supernumeraries fell to me and my office of two assistants. Marie and Steven were entrusted with the acclimatization of the new worker to the corporate ethos – ethos! how laughable it sounds now after the breach – and I had the final evaluation of the suitability of the novice for assignment.
My assistants were deserving of the utmost trust. Both had efficiently served the concern for many a year. Marie brought wisdom and experience and Steven, though of a significant tenure, added vigor and spirit to the instructional duties. I held Marie in the highest regard, as she possessed a crisp professionalism to imbue upon the new worker. In appearance and demeanor she seemed the acme of decorum, and if the exterior can be trusted to convey the essence of the interior – and I assure you now it cannot – then a more controlled character could scarcely be imagined. Her bearing was such that one would not note the diminutive height and plump figure. I can admit that I note it and confess it now, but then I rendered no notice at all.
Steven was an understated dandy, if that can be reconciled. Fashionable and fond of lighter tones and brighter colors, he had many a joke with me – at my undeserving expense – due to the dull attire I was accustomed to wearing. My efficiency and calculated aloofness in the exercise of authority impressed him not a whit. He transmitted to the temporary help a finesse at the interpersonal necessities of a multicultural environment. I could fault him not at all in the function for which he was needed. His undeniable charm was an asset to our firm; my wife commented on his charisma often and encouraged me to emulate his enviable talent.
Mattie never comprehended the painful difference in what could and could not be taught or learned. She saw only the tall, thin elegance and wished it upon her devoted, ardently committed husband. Mattie drew the passion from me and spent it on a cold, dull body. Sandy hair, stony speckled bosom, catty green eyes, long perpetually chilly limbs, and a visage of statuesque blankness were the attributes she brought to our marital chamber. Yet I loved her. At the sight of him there would be a momentary breath of life that I had not seen since the death of her parents and the subsequent transfer of the inheritance. I know, yes, fair reader, I am certain, that our binding was the community stature and corporate contacts I had nursed for a lifetime.
The newest employee reported on a rainy Monday morning precisely on time. Augury was meaningless to me; I must tell you I observe the moon closely now. Leela Dhampur was east Indian. Her credentials were impeccable, at least those that can be ascertained from a set of documents. My initial impression was the ease with which she wore Western dress; our culture was obviously not foreign to her at all. She dressed darkly but softly, a figure of polished obsidian. Her dark brown skin and jet black hair melded with a knee-length dress that buttoned up to a thin, graceful neck. Could Parvati herself match the beauty of the full lips and eyes of ebon? I prattle. At the time I thought her another tool in the great factory that was the company. To Marie and Steven I left the task of assimilating the initiate.
That evening as Mattie and I dined I discussed the most recent addition to our staff. Mattie was indifferent and only inquired as to the haberdashery Steven wore today. Utterly ignored, I ate my food quietly in the presence of my beloved. She retired early and left me to my books. I found myself thumbing through texts on India, and I palpably smelled – no, not possible – remembered the fragrance of Leela soaked with the rain. The exotic, sweetly musky exudation magnified by wetness carried me in reverie back to the monsoon drenching the lush subcontinent. I forced myself back to reason; I had never noticed the perfume on other temps. If I had terminated her then I would not be regretting now. Regrets are for fools!
The following day I arrived to find that training was well under way. Marie shared a desk with the recruit who seemed to be learning quickly. She received approving nods from Marie and smiled brightly in return. The smile was piercing, giddying; I found it difficult to turn my eyes from it and Marie made no effort to. Steven entered tossing insult under the guise of humor. His calling me the “gray mare” only stoked the flames of a malignant ember within what soul I had. The trainee overheard the remark and flashed a glare at him; my blood ran cold when her eyes swung over me and rested on Steven. I can simply say the malice and threat contained therein evoked the torments of hell. Steven was transfixed; he mumbled apology; the insolent shuffled. Leela returned her attention to the task. Steven could not look me in the eye and I fancied that he trembled. I entered my drab chamber and smiled, indeed stifled a laugh at his discomfiture.
At the appointed time I left my hole and readied to leave, and I still relished the humbling of Steven, who had already departed. Marie and Leela were still hard at work – at what I would know soon enough – but I bid them a good evening and descended to the lobby. Something troubled me, intruding on the otherwise pleasurable experience of the day. I paused in the lobby under the portraits of company executives long since decayed in their coffins. I had forgotten something, yes, that must be the cause. But what? I peered at the paintings as I pondered. The change in style of suit from decade to decade I well noticed. Then I knew.
Marie was wearing no jacket when I departed.
She never removed an article of attire no matter what the vicissitudes of climate or temperature control. I could remember sweat pouring from me in the heat and Marie remained fully garbed, unruffled. Her blonde-gray hair would be perfectly in place and her blue eyes revealed no perturbation at the stifling humidity. I could see the pale flesh of her forearms as I said my good nights. Now a fierce curiosity welled within me – why were they still here? Dedication? Devotion? The gnawing sensation that added more to my consternation drew my troubled mind to a notion more sinister – but what?
The balance of shame that should have precluded a honest and conscionable nature was fading from me as I made my way against the flow of departing minions back into the elevator. Instinct brought my fingertip to the number of my floor; deviousness compelled the wavering digit to press the number of the floor below my office. Surreptitious entry to the chambers of that level was best accomplished via the stairs.
I exited to a deserted suite. I knew our area was by now equally devoid of staff – or should be. My pocketed hand felt the keys that promised entry to all but the most secure of rooms; I loathed the distrust that whispered to me of the keys Marie held due to her trusted tenure. Swiftly I ascended the flight of stairs and gently pushed the door open and entered the hall. Silence. My eyes darted and I strained to hear anything other that the climate control fans. I walked as quietly as I could manage to the door of our offices. Squinting through the translucent, mottled glass of the door I could perceive no shapes at Marie’s desk where the women should have been. My hand betrayed the trace of a tremble as I turned the knob. It would not turn. Our area was secure. First the relief that Marie and Leela had left caused me to slump and feel twinges of disgrace, then a darker turn of mind introduced the deviltry of doubt. A pure-hearted soul would not conceive the ill-begotten schemes I now entertained with growing delight.
I reasoned straightaway that any secrets the young Indian woman wished to confide would not be murmured in these confines. No, an area of lesser accessibility would be chosen – Marie would see to that. If indeed privacy were desired the lush accommodations of the corporate marketing suite would be the choice. The elegant and comfortable furnishings combined with tapestries, carpets, and curtains provided solitude and silence. I knew that access to this suite through the galley that served the hors d’oeuvres and beverages would provide my searing curiosity the satiation it so desired.
Thus I slipped in the rear entryway back down the hall by the stairway I had arrived on. I had passed the elegant main entrance as my anxious paces became more rapid. Once inside I feared my stressed breathing would reveal me so I paused before entering the small kitchen. The darkness concealed me as I slipped toward the tiny window in the swinging door that allowed the servers to discreetly monitor the needs of guests and management.
I froze.
A wave of nausea struck as I awaited my imminent discovery. I had heard a distinct sound, but I caught my breath as my perception processed the sound as a sort of moan. Remaining statue still, I assured myself that the occupants of the lounge were unaware of my presence. A cask of sherry lay on the counter; I wished to take a huge draught but could not. My desire to drink was cut short by a sharp but guttural utterance from behind the door. I was tantalized – how I wished for such a tone from my frigid wife! Expectantly I inched to the softly lit portal and wished heartily that I would not be visible to the occupants therein.
Hesitantly I hazarded a glance into the suite. I took in the view as quickly as possible before retreating into the shelter of darkness. The glimpse of the postures inside assured me that my observation would not be seen. I panted with anticipation and peered through for a focused vision of the contents.
Before me was a tableau of the illicit that set my own unspeakable lusts to fever pitch. Marie, the picture of professionalism and decorum, was reclining upon a settee. Her head was canted back against the plush armrest; her silvery hair contrasted with the tanned leather. Marie’s mouth was open and her tongue curled over her trim upper lip. She swept her tongue about the orifice as , I found, it was she who issued the carnal tones that even then were entrancing me. Her neatly pressed blouse had been parted and the brassiere loosened so that the cups lay in the nascence of her snowy breasts. The breasts rippled in the rhythm of waves as Marie shuddered and writhed; the pink extruding nipples traced the motion of her barreled torso as it rocked. Her bosom acted as twin pendula suspended over the formless bra. It seemed to my widening eyes that the light hue of her areolas covered the entire nadir of her breasts.
Instinctively I found manifold stirrings in my own frame. I discovered my own tongue moistening dry, parched lips. I say this now with no regret – the awakening of my manliness was blessed (by heaven or hell I leave you to judge) by this sight more than a thousand nights with my true love Mattie. The yawning disparity between thin and cold and stout and hot was never more evident than that within the scene acted before me. My body was racked with hardening, crystallizing animus.
My trusted associate’s generously curved hips and pliant, copious belly were fully exposed as her modest skirt and undergarments had been removed. Her solid, squat right leg was angled away from the sofa with the sole of her foot flat on the carpet. A suitable low-heeled shoe lay on its side inches from the clenching toes the shoe had so recently covered. Marie’s left gam rested against the back of what I should in verity term a bed; for the leg with knee pointed upward in flexion employed the left foot to caress the bare back of Leela Dhampur.
Though I could not discern her face I had no doubt as to the identity of the lithe nude figure stretched prone between the heavy-set thighs. The long jet hair and burnished umber skin were unmistakable. Unlike the awkward skinniness of my bride the lissome frame of the Indian was attractively proportioned and sinfully alluring. Indeed the seduction must have been of an unearthly energy to reduce the detached and coolly efficient Marie to the depravity in which she participated, no, positively reveled. Her extremity glided down the small of Leela’s back and probed the cleft between her glutei maximi, and the novice would oblige this motion by pushing upward and presenting her bottom for such caress.
I had begun to perspire profusely and became a vicarious participant in their debauchery. My trembling hand coursed along the front of my dull gray trousers and I longed for a relief too long denied my rigid member. A touch of guilt caused me to turn my eyes away long enough to note that Ms. Dhampur’s outfit was neatly laid out upon the conference table. With apprehension I grasped the notion that Leela had undressed in a most calculated fashion before the pell-mell disrobing of Marie as she gave way to the adept fingers and titillating lips and tongue of her young paramour.
Another cry, a grunt of bestial pleasure, snapped my attention to the ministrations Leela provided to the nether lips , orifice, and most importantly the swollen (I presumed such from the obvious state of arousal) clitoris of the mature recipient. Black hair covered Leela’s face, but an area of sterling hair over the mons veneris was visible. Leela lifted her head for a moment and the sheen of sweat and glistening moisture from Marie covered the grinning visage as the dusky girl devilishly flicked her long sinuous tongue and tantalized the near ecstatic Marie with the withdrawal of stimulation the older woman must have. The wanton yet pleading look Marie wore as she stared down at her mistress chilled me and stopped my own foray into onanism. Leela whispered sibilantly, interspersing the – it must be phrased thus – commands with taunting darts of the deep red tongue to the inflamed sex of Marie. I could make out not a single word but the tone said all.
Marie’s response was all too audible. In a deep and needful voice Marie swiftly gave her affirmation and yielded to the sensual lips, ivory teeth, and adept tongue of her seducer. The recruit with immaculate credentials lowered her mouth to the silver hair and within moments erased the remaining shreds of rationality in Marie, who enveloped the slender maiden with both legs and plunged her hands into the ebony tresses as she bolted upright and quivered orgiastically. I stepped away slowly at first, then made quickly for the exit leaving a fading repetition of syllables uttered from an epoch before language arose ex nihilo.
Such was my distraction I found myself nearly incapable of motoring home. The image of what I had witnessed burned deep below the level of the rational and conventional into the limbic region of the feral. By the time I arrived at our residence, however, the sobering and imminent confrontation with my spouse had restored a measure of composure to my fervid imagination. I was late. The observation had been brief (I admit a certain element that cursed the brevity), but Mattie brooked no deviation from my routine.
As I pulled into the wide driveway I saw Mattie exit the front door. I had completely forgotten that it was tennis night at her club; I would partake of a solitary meal then perhaps some reading. I lingered in the car to allow her to depart without an exchange of unpleasantries. The solid white tennis outfit represented the attitude of club and wearer – antique values and a solid devotion to Victorianism. Mattie’s lanky build carried well in such attire. Her tapered, angular legs and sinewy arms befitted her natural skill at the sport. Her icy glance and taut visage presaged woe for her opponent this evening. I supposed I could count that intensity as my small contribution to her quest for yet another club championship trophy.
After a cold meal I reclined in my armchair and considered the morrow. Wednesday was meeting day and I would face Steven and Marie to discuss the progress of our new employee. How could I not reveal with a look, a turn of phrase, an uneasiness, or a hint in the eye that I had witnessed the consorting of a staid and reserved assistant with a potential employee? Could I take punitive measures for this unethical deed? No. I could not because I would be damning myself. The haughty, disrespectful Steven would not be allowed to witness or hear of such corporate disgrace; never, Marie was his better and I was his superior. Furthermore, I participated in the event though passively and was thus condemned. I resolved to keep the matter private and say nothing.
Yet I wanted to discover how this predicament came to be. I could fathom neither the act nor the indiscretion of its performance. How could I have labored at close proximity to Marie these many years and not know of her inclination and impetuousness? What did Leela possess? Hundreds had passed through our doors without incident, or did I just not know of it? I comforted myself with the fact that only a week was spent with us before divisional assignment. I would insure that no recurrence take place at the corporation and thus endanger us all. I would do what I had demonstrated already – a proclivity to watch. I retired early to a cool and empty bed. My dreams tormented me with visions of copulation in varied and depraved combinations, all goaded by the flaming tongue and leering mouth of Leela. I fear I groaned aloud several times. At last I sprung awake in the midst of orgasm and anxiously cast a glance at my slumbering wife. Mattie lay stock still. To my relief the expense of energy on the court had exhausted her and left her unconscious of my adolescent reverie or result. I took great pains to conceal the fact then fell into a deep sleep until morning.
With great effort I entered the offices in a facsimile of my usual fashion. Marie worked precisely as if nothing untoward had occurred the previous afternoon. Steven had recovered much of his jocularity but refrained from insult. Leela had progressed to the performance of tasks at her own workstation, and she smiled sweetly at me. Did I perceive more or was it my fecund imagination? I was positive – she knew much more than I could guess. The sloe eyes were a mask of innocence behind which lurked an indecent knowledge of good and evil. Was I becoming irrational? Perhaps I projected my own darkness upon this young woman, but I had seen the results of her seduction. I stated my usual greetings and uneasily entered my office. Friday it would be finished.
For two hours my mind was free of burden as I analyzed evaluations and produced the mundane reports. At last I gathered my materials and set out for the meeting room. The outer office was empty. I realized that Marie and Steven had preceded me to the conference room, but Leela should have been present at her desk. Foreboding gripped me. I rushed to the meeting room – it was much smaller and less ostentatious than the executive suite, but I scarce felt that the chamber made a difference regarding the activity it could contain.
Filled with dread at what I would find and what disciplinary action I would be compelled to take, I arrived at the entryway. My anxiety increased when I saw that the “Meeting in Progress” sign had been displayed. The hammering of my heart and yawning pit that was my gut could not prevent me from doing what I must. sic semper peccavis. My hand slid as I rotated the door handle; my palms were damp with perspiration. Be done with it! I flung the door open and bolted inside.
Nothing.
Marie occupied her customary seat to the right of the chair at the head of the table. Not only was she fully clothed but she had the neatly typed agenda lying before her. Gratefully I noted that Leela wasn’t there, and felt foolish since any number of licit reasons could have necessitated her absence. Then a second wave of uncertainty washed over my frenetic mind; Steven was nowhere to be seen. I inquired of Marie the whereabouts of her co-worker. She assured me he would be along and that we could wait for him. I went to my seat and sat with some discomfiture. Marie rose and shut the door, then she locked it. Before I could question this action Marie turned and insisted that an important private matter required discussion.
Varying scenarios raced through my cluttered thoughts. She wasn’t possibly going to confess the activity of the day before? What were her intentions now? Marie returned to her seat and faced me; her hands were folded primly in her lap. She began by recounting our long history at the firm and the positive working relationship we had developed. Through many periods of turmoil we had remained honest with each other. I could scarcely do more than agree, but I did not want to hear confession for both our sakes. Suddenly she asked if I had slept well last night.
How could she know? I mumbled in reply, then she said that I seemed tired and strained. This was reasonable; had I fallen into such paranoia that a simple caring question could be so misconstrued? I assured her that I would be fine and that everyone had bouts of insomnia. Marie took on an appearance of concern and rolled her chair to mine, our knees not quite touching. She leaned forward and placed her hands on my lower thighs. At this proximity a scent was evident that I had sampled before – from Leela. The images of the monsoon, the spices, the dreams, and the submerged but surfacing visions of the fevered night found confluence in that lush essence.
Unconsciously arousal overtook me. Marie sensed it instantly and slipped from the chair to her knees. As her hands kneaded their way up my thighs she began to whisper huskily that she knew Mattie and could well surmise the nature of our erotic relations. There was no protest in me. The sound of belt and zipper only stiffened me more and I fairly burst out when she freed me. Her hand gripped the base and guided the head into her mouth. Marie’s broad, thick tongue massaged the sensitive ventral side of my penis and her petite hand pumped. By degrees I was taken deeper and her firm thin lips replaced her hand. She sucked with abandon and I felt an intense intoxication that seemed to bathe my entire cerebrum. Nothing but the sheen of silvery hair occupied me. I was thinking no longer. My hands caressed her short conservative coiffure as she pumped up and down the length of my hardness. The pool of ecstasy welled within me and my breathing accelerated. Marie’s passion increased as well; her soft fingers surrounded me as she undid her skirt with the other hand. The dress fell and crumpled at her knees, and I was aroused further (if that were possible) by the garter belt, stockings, and absence of panties. With a final circling motion of the tongue her mouth released the engorged terminus. I could only stare as she stood, peeled off her blazer, and stepped out of the skirt. With her light blue eyes locked on my pupils Marie straddled me in the chair and kissed me; her insistent lips parted mine and I yielded to adulterous lust. The seduction gave over to my craving for every fiber of Marie’s opulent physique. Her short stature only facilitated our conjugation.
In a brief moment my penis felt the moist portal and Marie pressed as I thrust upward in a gliding motion. She braced herself on the sturdy armrests and we each contributed to the sensual rhythm of aeons of instinct. Our mouths separated and Marie leaned back; her bosom floated unfettered beneath the blouse. Soon enough I had unbuttoned this obstacle and my voracious carnality could absorb this delight. She guided her body in a way to produce the most stimulation for her sex, and she watched me through half-closed lids and unconsciously curled her tongue over her upper lip as she had with Leela.
I bent forward and drew her nipple and areola into my wet mouth. I used my tongue to massage the pink pebble in the middle of the velvety oval, then repeated the process with its counterpart. This near to her chest I could take in the light sprinkling of freckles and fine lines of fanned wrinkles between her luscious pale breasts. As I sucked I noticed the utterances Marie began to make; I thought I heard the whispered word “Lolita” amidst the husky cries, but this notion was supplanted by the breathy instructions Marie spoke into my ear. I lifted her at the necessary moment and she employed the dainty kerchief in her blouse pocket to engulf my spurting orgasm. I fain thought I would never cease pulsing, and the pleasure resulted in my groaning aloud. Before Marie dismounted from the chair to dress she reiterated the obvious omissions of my wife, but insinuated that perhaps I should acquire the knowledge and skill to kindle a flame.
Now in the fading of uncontrolled arousal the unease returned. I had surrendered my own self-control, and swiftly I pulled my pants up and refastened them. Marie retrieved her purse and placed the kerchief inside, then she exited silently. This meeting was over. However, I could not leave as I pondered the magnitude of what I had done and the complete metamorphosis of character that Marie had undergone. Was it happening to me? Evidently. I reconsidered the rendezvous of Marie and Leela. What was the nature of the commands Leela seemed to have given Marie? Where were Steven and Leela? This situation was as perilous as it was bizarre.
At length I made my way back to the office. Everyone was in their appointed spot. Leela beamed at me again; I perceived a feeling of unbounded delight emanating from her pretty but leering face. I told Steven to come into my office. Thus I inquired as to his whereabouts and activities. He did not answer me in the fashion I had expected, instead Steven resigned his position on the spot and stated that he would take his leave immediately and return only to complete the necessary paperwork. I hated him; I can admit it now. However, as a professional I had struggled with my baser instincts and valued the quality of his work and, up to now, his trustworthiness. Steven was a mockery of his Monday morning persona. He was dull, lethargic, and an air of tousled indifference had even crept into his manner of dress. He truncated my interrogation by rising and leaving the office. He was gone.
I lagged behind him and scanned the suite. I was indeed perplexed; Marie showed an appalling lack of concern and Leela glanced upward at me from her paperwork without lifting her head. Feeling a fool, I chose to retreat to my own abode and leave this poisoned place early. A diligent, dedicated employee builds a large amount of unused leave and I required time to consider these three short days. I rode the elevator to the lobby, and as I stepped past the portraits it seemed an utter impossibility that just yesterday I had played the voyeur.
I arrived at a vacant house. Darling Mattie always had her social affairs to busy herself and a creature of routine like myself would scarcely be expected to return at mid-day. Following my own morning transgression I tended first to my ablutions then quaffed two glasses of water – more substantial beverages could follow later. I had replaced my drab suit with a robe. Withdrawing to the dim haven of my library I scanned the shelves for Nabokov. I believed I had once been in possession of a certain work, but Mattie brooked no indecency and could well have expunged this volume from my collection. I had known her to practice this censorship before. Now I laughed! If she had seen my wantonness with a woman whom Mattie would regard as her subordinate in age and beauty then how horrified and offended my spouse would be! This misdeed dwarfed any lurid fiction. I must confess that I reveled in the debauchery, in fact I desired nothing more than to repeat the sordid tryst with Marie. It was so – sensuality has little to do with appearances.
Instinctively I felt for my reading glasses and remembered that they rested in my jacket pocket. I made my way to the foyer where I had tossed the coat onto the stand beneath the mirror. I had to remove the garment anyway before Mattie’s return else incur a fit of pique. As I extracted the spectacles I felt a foreign object within the pocket. I donned the glasses as I traipsed back to the library. Once inside I sat in the stuffed recliner and removed the article from its resting place. It was a vial. Dread gripped me; had someone planted an illegal substance? I varied the distance from my eyes in order to obtain the clearest focus. Relief overcame me as I realized that the vial was labeled as patchouli. I well knew the source; who had placed it? I removed the cap and wafted the phial beneath my nose. The strength of the bouquet caused me to take it away from my face; it was the common essence of Leela and of Marie only this morning. However, this was of a reeling intensity. I nearly swooned, and the limbic subconscious that surfaced in fury hours ago began re-surfacing. I fumbled to replace the cover as the inevitable arousal commenced. Just as I reached the point of closure a sudden clanging startled me. An involuntary reflex of my arm caused a drop of the viscous fluid to flow onto my right hand.
In panic I rushed to seal the vial and secret it in the pocket. This I did with the left hand then I dabbed the right with a disposable tissue. Of course the recognition of the door chimes fought through the giddiness, and what was I to do now? The caller must be ignored. Curiosity urged me to rush over to the thickly draped window and at least assure myself that the visitor was unimportant. My breathing was becoming shallow as I so carefully parted curtain from window to bring the front door into view.
A more unlikely pair would be improbable. I recognized the Burton’s daughter, though this was a rare daylight viewing, but the overdressed thirtysomething lady was unknown to me. They could safely be disregarded. Shutting the curtain I disposed of the tissue in the small desk side trash can. I would tightly seal the plastic bag and remove it from the house. Wringing my hands, I determined that another shower would be necessary though its efficacy was doubtful. I fairly reeked of the essence and much explaining to Mattie was going to result. My body, still sore in the back from the unaccustomed motions I had performed earlier, was now tensing and the darker fantasies were impinging upon consciousness from the deep recesses of the anima.
The chimes again.
They were a clarion call. Reasoned judgment faded into submission as I went for the door. The outer composure that I feigned was worthy of the stage. I determined not to expose a hint of the hormonal turmoil roiling within. I opened the delicately carved door. Helena wrinkled her nose as she sniffed the puff of air from the house; her black-lipped mouth set in a moue against her pallid, fine-featured face with dark ringed gray eyes. The anonymous companion’s false smile drooped, but only for a second. Her face was deeply and most certainly artificially tanned as was the rest of her medium frame as I guessed from the mottled, ruddy chest and arms. Her dress was of a very bright blue with matching slingback shoes. The white hosiery accentuated the garish blue and lost its shade to the dark legs enclosed. The two stood the same height, due to the high-heels worn by the bright and perky woman.
Helena slouched in her tattered bib overalls as she softly explained that her companion, named Leigh Anderson, had just sold their house and wanted to meet the neighbors in the event a realtor was needed. Ms. Anderson’s head bobbed and her shiny red lips smiled even wider. My racing mind thought van Gogh when I saw the blue eye shadow around the ice blue irises. My memory jogged and I recalled that the Burtons had waited to move until Helena had graduated high school. The graduate fidgeted in her worn canvas sneakers. She had to be hot in the long-sleeved pullover shirt and cap that covered her dark brown hair and shielded her face from a touch of sun.
Ms. Anderson shook my hand vigorously. I felt the disquiet knowing her ring-bedecked fingers were being thinly coated with the patchouli. Leigh (for she insisted I call her this) wondered if she could do a quick walk-through of the house. Too quickly I agreed and she minced into the foyer. Helena reluctantly followed and I closed the door behind them. From behind I saw the effect of the high heels – taut legs and an invitingly out-thrust bottom. That I considered invitation told me that my reasoned detachment was crumbling.
Leigh rambled about values and left us behind as she proceeded to the kitchen. At this moment alone Helena told me how sorry she was – that they had made her do it. She apologized since obviously I had just showered. She kept staring down at her long, slender feet as she spoke. Finally, in a whisper, she inquired about the smell. Now it was my turn to apologize, and profusely – I had been a fumbler and spilled some patchouli I had bought for Mattie (an excuse was required). Though I told Helena I would understand if she waited outside she declined quickly. She hated summer and sun. She confided in an undertone that the aroma “grew on you.” My lust rejoiced when she asked if she could see the bottle. I had ensured that my robe was loosely bound out of a modicum of modesty, and it was imperative at this moment.
I directed the conspiratorially curious young woman to the location of the cache in the library and explained that I would see after Leigh while Helena sampled the perfume. She agreed with a coy smile and ambled to the den; gawkily she stuck her hands in the oversized pockets as she went. Her long brunette hair had been pulled through the opening created by the adjustable band on her cap. The tresses swished from side to side as she cornered out of view.
When I arrived at the sterile orderliness of the kitchen I saw that Leigh had already completed her inspection here. I had not noticed her in the living room so I assumed that she had ascended the back stairs to the living quarters. I found this crass. She should be accompanied to our personal rooms. Wishing to myself that I should be yielding to corruption in the library, I puffed up the stairs and sought out the blowzy seeker of commissions. I found her about to enter the hall from the guest bedroom. She pasted the smile back upon seeing me, and she assured me that the house could sell quickly. She did recommend keeping the structure cooler during showings, and a distinct flush had colored her rouged cheeks an apple red. The temperature was fine. I knew all too intimately the frisson she was beginning to feel.
Shame had left me. I relished the damp, dark corners of the psyche that were at this moment overrunning the marketing and valuation ideations and returning command to the ancient midbrain. I asked if she wished to see the master suite. The silly nods recommenced and I felt bold enough to grasp her shoulder and guide her into the boudoir. Leigh did not object. Whatever demon awakened within me strengthened with exposure to the exotic elixir, and I could no longer regard myself as the character I had assumed only hours ago. The agent filled the silence with rambling chatter concerning the decor, the color scheme, and the tasteful furnishings. As she spoke in a quickening, sing-song tone I slid my hand from fabric to flesh at the base of her neck. I stood behind her and she continued rattling. Now my hand could feel the vibrations of her throat as my lightly touching fingers curved beneath her jaw. Leigh fell silent and placed her hand on my forearm. With my free hand I found the blue zipper tab on the back neckline of the dress and tugged downward.
This was madness.
The woman I had met minutes ago had not yet been all-consumed with the depravity that had advanced within me. Leigh asked about the girl. I explained that she was busying herself in the library. Leigh inquired after my adored wife. I gave assurance that she would be absent for hours. My fingers crossed her glossy lips and conveyed to my fevered brain a wonderful slickness as they moved in speech. The proximity of my right hand to Leigh’s upturned nose also reinforced the induced delirium of the unknown fluid. My digits parted the satiny lips and wormed their way into her waiting mouth. Leigh now sucked on my index and middle fingers as I brought the zipper down. She stroked my embracing arm with one hand and brought the other behind her. She plunged this hand into my robe and purred as she felt what stood within. The back of the shiny dress parted and a matching blue brassiere was exposed. The orange tone of the agent’s tanned skin was dotted with freckles and lighter spots bereft of pigmentation. Her shoulder straps and back of the bra notched grooves in the padding of her voluptuousness. Exposed as well was the elastic band at the top of her panty hose. Flaring out from this waistband the white material stretched tightly over Leigh’s Raphaelite buttocks and lower limbs.
Expertly she brought her arms forward and slipped them out of the rustling synthetic; as she lowered the dress past the resisting broadness of her hips I busied myself with the hooks of the bra. My right fingers were slippery and they bungled at the task of unsnapping the undergarment. While the brassiere came free Leigh expressed reservations again. I nuzzled her neck and let my robe fall to the floor. I felt no conscience now; I whispered words of reassurance between kisses and suckings on the realtor’s pliant nape. Though unbound her brassiere remained steadfastly in place over her firm breasts. I pressed closer and enfolded Leigh in my arms. I placed my desirous hands under the band of the bra and began sliding my fingers down her supple abdomen. I paused at the funnel of her belly button and traced circles on the rim, then I gradually spiraled into the indentation.
I caressed her back with my lips and tongue while I knelt behind her. I followed the length of Leigh’s spine, passing between the blue back panels of the bra on the path to her dimpled and lordotic lower back. My hands brushed over the swell beneath her umbilicus and obtained the band of the panty hose. Leigh had become quiet as her breathing assumed the rhythm of arousal. The protuberance of her ample buttocks lay before me, and an enticing dark cleavage could be discerned beneath the panties. I brought my hands down the lateral aspect of her stout legs and lifted her right one by the ankle so I could clear the dress and remove her high heeled shoe.
This disrupted Leigh’s balance, and since we had been standing at the foot of the bed inspecting the master bedroom Leigh bent over and placed her palms flat on the bed to support herself. I repeated the maneuver of slingback removal on the left leg and moved the garish dress aside. At last I could remove the final impediment. As I did so Leigh began to speak again, but she didn’t reveal hesitation – instead she began to murmur lewd encouragement to my oral explorations. The shameful manner in which I lingually caressed and delved into the nether regions of her copious backside defy commitment to paper; suffice it to say that Leigh’s rapid and repetitive utterances brought me to my feet and led me to shed my own undergarment. The eager salesperson bent lower onto Mattie’s and my marital bed and thrust out her bum in a spread-eagle stance. We both had been reduced to oblivion, and at a stroke I plunged into the lubricious ingress of her femininity. An unconscious low moan accompanied my reciprocation, and my pale belly pressed against Leigh’s full tanned cheeks. Her artificial darkening encompassed the whole of her body without exhibiting any of the areas of pallor present in one who suns in even the skimpiest attire.
The agent directed me in the most unadorned terms in how she wished me to proceed, and her characteristic head bobbing informed me when the velocity and depth were of maximal stimulation to her. Her bejeweled fingers flexed and clenched on the expensive coverlet Mattie had chosen for the bed. The unattached back panels of her blue bra with their motion marked her excited respiration. I felt for her downy pubic region. At the motion of my fingers Leigh became even more animated; a reaction I had not yet experienced in my own encounters in that room.
A fleeting shadow impinged on my peripheral vision. Turning my head, I spied the cadaverous Helena moving quietly into the room; her darkly socketed eyes open wide in fascination. Her black-rimmed mouth was ajar, and my filmy eyes met the distinct gleam in hers. Even in the midst of the euphoria that I could not stop I recognized a young woman under the influence of the mysterious patchouli. She dropped her gaze from mine and took in every detail of the coupling before her. I had paused not a bit even after seeing her. Steadily Helena approached the bed. Leigh had not seen her client’s daughter enter and continued her urging and plaintive cries.
Silently the interloper stepped gingerly around the scattered clothing and stood beside me as I had intercourse with Ms. Anderson. The scent of the aromatic oil filled the atmosphere around Helena; it was very evident that she had applied it to herself. The bouquet only energized me and I went at my task with renewed vigor. The circulating air also carried the intoxicant to Leigh’s button nose and open mouth where her quick respiration insured its rapid absorption into her hyperactive body. Helena slowly and soundlessly unsnapped the straps of her oversized bib overalls; the flared cuffs only made it easier for the girl to extricate herself from them. Leigh was too enraptured to notice and didn’t look back; her mind was fixed on pleasure.
Was I going to compound my litany of sins with a girl just graduated from high school? In a different context her appearance would have been bizarre. She still wore her scuffed and frayed sneakers and the cap with its oversized brim. Her white long-sleeved pullover shirt’s hem stopped at mid-thigh, and the flawless pallid skin covering her spindly legs was translucent to the point that I could make out the bluish tint of her veins. I returned my attention to the bronzed realtor, but from the corner of my eye I saw Helena slide her tiny panties off and stand there with the underwear in her hand. The long shirt covered her pelvis.
What now?
I pivoted my head toward the slender figure and watched as she waved the undergarment beneath her angular nose and drew in a deep breath. Then she extended the silky white panties until they were at my nares. Helena’s long black-polished nails contrasted starkly with the sheen of the alabaster underwear. In the energetic circumstances I could not help but inhale deep draughts from the air surrounding her panties. The patchouli was strong here. Mingled with the complex aromas the fluid assumed, if it can be imagined, more potency. I licked my lips at the thought of Helena applying the oil there. She dropped the panties and clasped her bony hands behind my neck. Drawing my mouth to hers she began kissing me. As we separated and I gasped for air Leigh glanced back over her shoulder.
The agent had been leaning on her forearms on the bed. At the sight of a valuable client’s half-naked daughter watching her engage in flagrant immorality Leigh started and began to raise herself. Even the inebriating essence could not prevent the reflex. Leigh had gotten to the point where her arms had straightened and her palms were supporting her torso when, after separating from me, Helena reached the bed. Leigh tried to sputter some spurious explanation and her head shook frenetically. I slowed my pace but I could no longer cease from attaining my single-minded goal.
Helena darted onto the bed and I couldn’t help but think how livid Mattie would be at the sight of filthy sneakers on the pristine coverlet. The girl crawled on all fours to face Leigh. The girl repeated the same clasping maneuver she had employed on me to envelop Leigh’s neck. Thus locked the real estate agent couldn’t straighten any further. On the contrary, Helena tugged the woman back toward her previous body angle. Leigh’s stream of consciousness patter went uninterrupted until Helena pressed her lips over the realtor’s active mouth. The muffled efforts at speech accompanied by the motion of Leigh’s head only aided Helena in osculating and in sucking until the grunts abated and were replaced by the smacking of passionately engaged lips and tongues. This interlude allowed my rush to orgasm to subside and enabled me to resume the pace Leigh desired. The muscles of her buttocks, which had tightened at the sight of Helena, returned to their relaxed tone as I thrust against the twin cushions. The activity had knocked Helena’s cap askew. She unlocked her long thin fingers and deftly cleared the blue straps from Leigh’s shoulders so that the brassiere could fall away from the firm breasts. Helena pulled the cap back until it dangled from her ponytail, kissed the much reassured realtor, and rolled onto her back. She slid between the bejeweled hands and her head disappeared from my view. Leigh, however, lowered her chest and I could surmise the activity beneath.
Helena concentrated her attention here only momentarily; her reflecting ebony nailed fingers emerged and traced a path from Leigh’s lightly perspiring back down the sides of her breasts then were eclipsed by the woman’s torso. In an agile maneuver that reminded me of breakdancers Helena glissaded from beneath Leigh’s chest and spun on her petite derriere. The Burton girl now faced us. Her shirt remained over her lean thighs, but it rose perceptibly as she crabbed back toward us. Each of the rubber soled shoes was being directed to the outside of Leigh’s bracing arms. Depleted as I was from this morning’s tryst, I knew I could not restrain myself much longer. The level of arousal ratcheted upward with increasing intensity. I leaned forward and placed my hands on Leigh’s shoulders for support – and, I must admit, for a more panoramic view of the proceedings before me.
Leigh began to sluggishly shake her head while Helena spread her pencil legs and put her sneakers against the footboard. There was a squeak as the rubber gained a hold on the varnished wood. Helena pulled the top up to the flaring, bony crest of her pelvis and exposed a surprisingly full thatch of dark hair. The presence of the oil was evident and my earlier intuition was verified. My eyes met Helena’s and no verbal exchange was necessary. I lunged deeply into Leigh and pressed against the back of her neck with my right hand as simultaneously Helena sat partially upright and intertwined her fingers in the agent’s bleach blond bouffant hair. Leigh let out a squeal at the thrust and followed the pull of the pale girl’s arms to the hollow between her reedy thighs.
Now that her pert nose and parted lips were suffused with the sensual emanations of the perfume and Helena’s sex, Leigh began to bob her head and taste the coated area. Helena loosened one hand from Leigh’s hair and employed it to further facilitate the application of the realtor’s tongue by parting her own lubricated hair. While I could not see, I heard the distinctive sound of lapping. Now we all conjoined in a cacophony of cries and calls culminating in a series of ecstatic convulsions. I released first; the spasm so intense that it bordered on pain. Within moments Helena’s high pitched wail and arcing back heralded the orgiastic tremors that knotted her tiny abdomen. She had pulled Leigh so closely that her glossed lips completely enveloped Helena’s engorged clitoral region.
Helena released Leigh and sprung onto her knees. Moistening her fingers with her saliva, Helena massaged Leigh as she stood upright against me until I could feel the contractions of orgasm in the older woman. I felt for her breasts but Leigh guided my hands to her trembling belly. As was the effect of this substance, a rather quick return to reason after coitus occurred. Leigh swiftly scooped up her garments and made for the lavatory as I turned away from Helena in a ridiculous attempt at modesty. Leisurely Helena donned the panties and overalls. Helena accepted the event casually, even as Leigh emerged and commenced a discourse on how fine the house was and how she regrettably had to hurry due to a busy schedule. As I made my way to the toilet I glanced back and saw that Ms. Anderson had rushed out while Helena smiled a coquettish little grin. I ran water over my face and felt relief that Mattie was still away. To my surprise Helena remained as I came out. Now Helena questioned me as to the source and composition of the viscous oil I had so propitiously found in my possession. She also enlightened me as to the artificiality of Leigh Anderson’s firm breasts. Such deceits seemed to fit well with the woman’s chosen profession. Seeing no encumbrance of modesty considering what the young woman had seen and done, I stated everything in detail. There was a relief in unburdening myself – almost a confessional quality. I finished the tale, and I almost didn’t notice the opening of the front door downstairs. Helena heard it immediately and hurried out, but not before turning back and telling me that the word muttered by Marie this morning was not “Lolita.” The name – it was a name – was “Lalita,” an Indian goddess; I could look it up. There was no time for further elucidation.
I waited with the apprehension of the damned as Mattie sprung up the front stairs. Her somber dark attire matched her demeanor. Mattie scarcely ever wore a dress off of the tennis court. Needless to say I was interrogated concerning the odor of the fluid and I employed my prepared answer and cast the blame upon the visiting real estate agent. The scent appeared to have no effect upon her at all, on the contrary she seemed more abrupt than usual. I was informed that she would leave early in the morning to practice with her new doubles partner and that other business would keep her occupied most of the day. I knew that meant meals on my own. I also could sate my yearning curiosity about “Lalita” and how a young woman just out of high school would possess such knowledge. A question returned me to the present – why was I in a robe at home in late afternoon? I mumbled some sickly rationalization and retreated downstairs. I entered the library and made sure the small bottle remained in my jacket pocket before I emptied the contents of the trash bin and aired out the foyer. The remainder of the evening passed in icy sameness, and I slept fitfully.
I awoke to an empty bed. Determined to discover answers, I did the unthinkable and called in to my place of employment. I had accrued many hours of leave in service to the corporation, and now I felt compelled to avail myself of a few. Quickly I showered, dressed, and made for the library. For hours I scrutinized garishly colorful prints and exotically woven tales of the mythology and religion of India. Lalita was quite real, and her powers over alluring unguents and sensual nectar were well documented. A particular treatise even explained how the wantonness, when turned to evil practices, condemned the abuser to the most tortuous hell. Leela had discovered the means to tap this foetid fount and loose a stream of unchannelled debauchery on whomever happened in its path. Does evil need a rationale for its existence? Were we all deserving; did our karma draw her to us? I knew not her objective, but Steven had disappeared and I had become a multiple adulterer. Was there an end to Leela’s machinations?
I made my way to my house heavily burdened. To set things right required a return of my self-control; could I accomplish the task? Preoccupied as I was I defied routine and opened the garage door to pull my auto inside. Closing the metal door behind me I knew how perturbed Mattie would be if droplets of oil or coolant drizzled onto the bleached and scrubbed concrete, but I was too distracted to dwell on it. I went in and sat in the living room; I was in no mood for the library. I felt odd not wearing a suit. I felt bizarre at showing enough superstition to copy the ancient Hindu chant that had been transliterated into English. Could these gossamer glossolalia have any impact on an all too physical reality? Unconsciously I felt for the folded paper in my shirt pocket, then nervously tugged at my faded tie. Sighing I rose and slouched upstairs to remove the neckwear that I needn’t have worn anyway.
I opened the louvered doors of my closet. Half of the space inside was taken up with surplus garments that Mattie would never wear again but with which she would not part. My compressed belongings were crumpled onto the left side, and here I replaced my tie beside its equally dated and drab brethren. The sound of the front door being unlocked caught my attention; Mattie must have completed her tennis time at the club. My walk to the hallway to greet her was interrupted by the sound of her voice and another in response.
My wife was not alone.
Again I found myself compelled to skulk about to spy on people whom I suspected were up to no good. Why did I assume this suspicious aspect? I recognized the unmistakable lilt of the second voice, and the logic remaining in me led to the chastising conclusion that I should have reached last evening when Mattie offhandedly stated that she had a new doubles partner. The animus that had crushed the will of my foppish associate had infiltrated my own house. However, I knew that Mattie was steel; the machinations that induced mindless desire in weak or perverse constitutions such as mine should have no impact on the frozen anima nestled in her icy frame.
I traversed the hallway and crept down the back set of stairs to the polished kitchen. At this point I could locate the voices as emanating from the living room, and I could discern fragments of the conversation as well. Mattie’s stentorian speech was easily distinguishable from the dulcet tones of the East Indian. It was troubling to sense my voyeuristic satisfaction, no, enjoyment as I hunched down and waddled past the spacious center island to the egress of the kitchen into the formal dining room. From this vantage I could take in the entire hall and foyer as well as the portion of the sunken living room just in front of the library. The remainder of the view into the living room was blocked by the costly ornamental screen imported from Japan. The screen’s panels were hinged, and if I stayed close to ground I could employ these gaps to eavesdrop on the proceedings below.
Mattie was expressing her boastful confidence that the club championship would be theirs with the application of diligent practice and disciplined toughness from her new partner. Leela meekly concurred. She was a chameleon – relentlessly aggressive with Marie and now the subservience of a sycophant. Silently I found an aperture in the panels and could now cast a roving eye on the room below. Mattie paced in front of Leela who sat primly on the overstuffed sofa. Evidently they had both showered and changed at the club. Mattie was still ruddy faced and wore her khaki shorts and matching safari blouse. She resembled a paramilitary, but that reflected her view of tennis. Leela appeared much more casual in her baggy black gym shorts and tight white tank top with a colorful bandanna tied around her head. Both had brought in their equipment bags, and Leela’s had been opened, evidently so that Mattie could inspect the gear.
Mattie was mincing no words in enumerating the mental and physical deficiencies of her young partner. I could not see Leela’s face as her back was to me, but her head remained bowed as she softly agreed and promised to improve. Mattie ranted about Leela’s failures in concentration and technique then said that the fruit drink was the only positive she had brought to the court.
Fruit drink.
My memory flashed the images of Lalita and the importance of nectar in her worship. Yet I could plainly see that my wife was, as I imagined, not prone to the sexual excesses to which we had succumbed. Mattie administered the sort of tongue lashing I would have anticipated from her – acid and bitter. Mattie sandwiched Leela’s head between her callused hands and lifted so that the two would see eye to eye. Following this was a tirade on acting like a loser even while being told how to become a winner. I did not realize how much of a martinet Mattie was regarding what was just an amusement to me.
Mattie seized Leela’s wrists from their demure position in her lap and pulled the Indian’s hands between their faces. She then launched into a lecture on the advantages of short fingernails for the game; I could not believe the composure Leela displayed while listening to this. When would the evil lash out? Mattie freed her partner’s hands and turned her attention to the young woman’s racquet. She held it up as if it were a rotting fish. That racquet became an object of opprobrium as another harangue ensued. The tenor of Mattie’s declamations was beginning to disturb me; I also wondered whether Leela knew I was not at the office or whether she had phoned in and was unaware of my absence.
My musings were interrupted by Mattie’s next target. Still holding the racquet in her right hand, Mattie gathered as much of Leela’s lustrous long black hair in her left hand as she could. My wife continued unabated describing the encumbrance long hair could be to the serious competitor. I was frozen. Many times I had borne her wrath, but I had never witnessed such vitriol from her. She wrapped the hair about her wrist and wrenched Leela’s head such that to avoid the pain Leela had to half rise and turn away from Mattie, who used the hold to force her partner to lean forward while now facing the sofa.
Leela now faced me, but her eyes were clamped shut. Still admonishing, my wife stepped to Leela’s left side and pulled up on the shock of hair in her left hand. The shorter Indian woman stood on tiptoes as she draped her arms over the back of the couch. Mattie pushed Leela’s head down and her dark brown arms dangled freely as her breasts came to rest just over the edge of the sofa back. The taut white tank top gapped open and allowed me a glimpse of chestnut cleavage ensconced in a white brassiere. Leela’s perfect white teeth pulled at her red lower lip.
Mattie asserted that Leela would become a better player, then she swung the racquet and struck Leela on her backside. Leela’s buttocks were tensed as were her legs from the necessity to support herself with her toes. There was a whacking sound as the strings met the gym shorts. Leela grunted and her mouth fell ajar. Mattie was flushed and tensed as she swung again. Her partner emitted a soft hum after the blow and I could see no agony in her visage. Once more Mattie delivered a forehand. Leela’s tongue moistened her lips. My wife’s green eyes fairly gleamed as she made another pass. The younger player cried out in a keen of delight.
Mattie stopped; the racquet hung at her right side and she loosened the hold on Leela’s hair. Her hard demeanor was drawn with exertion and, dare I say it?, passion. Not entirely to my surprise Leela turned to Mattie, beseeching her to continue the flagellation as the young woman pulled her knees onto the couch and shoved her posterior outward toward her chastener. Mattie would have none of it. Flipping the racquet onto Leela’s bag, my spouse strode to the end of the sofa; Leela crawled forward in tow by her still gripped hair. Mattie stood facing the sofa just beyond the armrest; Leela remained on all fours stretched down the length of the couch with her arms at the armrest.
Mattie undid her shorts with her free hand and I realized how grossly I had underestimated Lalita’s servant’s ability to probe for a peccadillo to exploit. Even now, enlightened by research, my penchant for voyeurism held sway and kept me transfixed. I had never seen my wife thus aroused. The crisply ironed shorts yielded to gravity and uncovered her white briefs. Leela’s long serpentine tongue played at her lips. Mattie released the jet hair and kicked her shorts away. Leela reached over the armrest for the wide elastic band on Mattie’s panties and had her arms brusquely slapped down for the effort.
In a flash Leela sprang shrieking from the settee and tackled Mattie. Caught by surprise, Mattie fell sideways on the plush carpet where the Indian pinned the angular frame and rolled it face down. Straddling the lower back and using her strong thighs as pincers, Leela held ad in this game. With a flourish she took the bandanna from her hair and swiftly tied Mattie’s hands behind the writhing figure’s back. Mattie began cursing in the crudest terms I had heard uttered from her thin-lipped mouth. Leela leaned for her bag and removed two items. One was a sweat-stained headband; the other, more ominous, object was what could be described in Sanskrit as a chhurikaa – a knife. This particular dagger had an ornate cloisonne haft and a polished, etched blade. Leela cut the headband into a strip. The ease with which the blade performed this task indicated a razor sharpness.
Mattie gruffly gushed a stream of invective until, after placing the dagger aside, Leela harnessed her partner’s mouth with the severed headband. Pulling the pliant strap taut Leela knotted it against the short straw-colored hair. Thus secured Mattie could only force out laryngeal squeaks. The activity had caused the clinging tank top to creep up to the thinnest portion of Leela’s waist, and her willowy midriff was laid bare. She reached around Mattie and tore open her safari blouse. Buttons popped and Leela’s biceps flexed as she ripped and pulled the shirt down from her captive’s lanky freckled shoulders. Soon Leela had sundered the length of the blouse and bunched it against the bound wrists of my wife. Mattie’s straight lines now were juxtaposed with the curvaceous form of the young Indian woman.
Leela grasped the knife again and I began to move down the panels of the screen; I anticipated having to charge Leela to prevent injury or worse. Peering through the next gap I observed her lifting the slim back strap of Mattie’s contour bra, cutting it, and slicing the shoulder straps as well. I paused. Leela put the knife aside. Mattie had fallen oddly still. Leela snatched the bra from the prostrate body beneath her then languidly slipped off her tank top. Leela’s brassiere unhooked from the front, and, positioned behind her, I could see that her hands were working to unfasten the sturdy sport bra. She sinuously squirmed out of the bra then pressed her torso against my wife’s back. Mattie extended her spine and raised her head as far as possible to push against Leela – whether this was a sign of resistance or an attempt to improve the contact of the Indian woman’s sepia nipples and areolas I did not know. I witnessed Leela’s hands, the right one still clamping the bra between two fingers, disappear at Mattie’s chest and I supposed that they were massaging her ruby pips.
I was very wrong.
When Leela pulled her hands behind Mattie again I realized that our new employee had her brassiere gripped in both mitts. The solid back strap was intended as a garrote! Even before Mattie commenced a high pitched whistling sound I sprung to my feet and dashed from behind the screen; I clawed at the folded paper in my shirt pocket and freed it. Leela was too absorbed in her obeisance to evil to notice me. She was strangling Mattie with all her might. Would the ephemeral words save her now as the Vedas promised? I trusted for once in my wretched life and intoned in a wavering, sickly voice the anglicized morphemes as I drew closer. Failing this I would have to chance Leela and her blade with my bare hands. Leela jerked and swung her head in my direction at the impingement on her auditory sensorium. I glanced up as I read. Her clenched teeth and drawn mouth gave a devilish visage, but the searing glare from her pitch black eyes was positively hellish. I stumbled over the words as I saw Mattie’s bulging oculi. Swiftly I returned my attention to the text and heard Leela hissing as I recited; presently I felt the nearness of the maleficent minion and my hands quaked as they held the scrap. Unconsciously I kept raising the volume of my voice but even so I heard her words plainly – one more terrible than herself would follow. I dared not look up and called the syllables out until there were no more. At the last few sounds I felt a rush of wind and the cursed scent with which I already was too familiar. The front door slammed against its stop. A fresh breeze drifted through the passage.
Quiet. For an awful moment I could not bring myself to avert my eyes from the page. When I did I beheld Mattie bound on the carpet and noticed the absence of Leela Dhampur and her accoutrements. I undid the bindings and freed my wife. She did not speak; she covered herself with her torn clothing and went upstairs. I felt weak, foolish, and guilty. Outside agent or not, my entrancement had come scant moments from costing a life. As I shut the front door I noticed the moving van leaving the Burton’s house for the last time. I never discovered the source of Helena’s knowledge, nor did it make a difference now.
Alone I sat for hours in the living room on the sofa that had figured so prominently in this afternoon’s drama. The sun set, and I pondered the threat. Was it the final gasp of a defeated demon, or would something else come? I considered my own immolation; I wondered if I would be prepared if the sequence began again. For fresh air I stepped outside. In the east a bright full moon was rising. At the edge of memory a portion of a Hindu text intruded on my astronomical observations. Lalita was the goddess of the waxing moon, but the waning days were the provenance of another goddess. I could not think any more and joined Mattie in bed. I knew that she would accept no comfort from me, and her own disclosed proclivities would prevent her from castigating me for my own callow nature. I recognized that we would continue as we had for years – in an uneasy entente.
I rose very early. With the full understanding that I would see the Indian woman no more I determined to rectify as much injury as I could. Police involvement was useless; certain levels of reality were beyond their ken. Entering the corporate lobby I paused at the wall opposite the portraits of our present and past executives. The aerial photographs of our worldwide facilities were arrayed in a display of wealth and might. A certain overseas complex no longer had such honor; the image had been removed before I received my reassignment here. The illness and death that resulted from the accidental, but nonetheless poisonous, release of effluent into the river that provided water for the surrounding villages led to the corporate decision to divest. I had personally screened and approved those employees responsible. I had worked there – I omit the name of the country for your speculation. It was not my fault.
I could consider it no longer. The company had exonerated me; I accepted my title and office and waited for an early retirement. I drug along to the elevator, ascended to our floor, and opened the suite. Even the efficient and conservative Marie had not preceded me this morning. Many phone calls later I located Steven; I should say I contacted a close relative. The inpatient facility where he had been admitted would allow no contact, and his family insisted there be no further attempts to reach him to insure the continued improvement of his mental health. After yesterday afternoon there would be no prying for details of what had transpired between Steven and her. A tap sounded at the office door. Marie entered and proffered a folder. One meeting of our eyes promised the safekeeping of our own encounter; it would be repressed. Marie assured me that all could now return to standard procedure. I gazed blankly at the manila file – “Seaver, C.” After a time I lackadaisically flipped the file open. The temp had cleverly scanned her photo and printed it with her resume. An unsophisticated round face surrounded by white blond hair smiled impishly at the camera. Callie Seaver was not due to arrive for processing and training for another month, so thankfully there would be no new trainees present Monday. I had to replace Steven, and that task would be an arduous one.
Leela Dhampur was terminated due to her failure to report. This file would be closed as far as the corporation was concerned. I didn’t feel any personal sense of closure forthcoming soon. Exhausted, I vacated early and went home. Mattie was gone; I presumed she was being tended to at her club. One task remained for me to perform to finish the past week’s lunacy. I entered the library. My rumpled jacket remained on the recliner. The patchouli that had contributed to the debacle had to be disposed of. I put my hand into the breast pocket and felt at the bottom seam; I must have forgotten where the container had been before. Uneasily I explored all of the pockets.
The phial was gone.
THE END