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Naughtybynature
Spanko
Username: Naughtybynature
Post Number: 118
Registered: 04-2005
| | Posted on Thursday, January 26, 2006 - 06:03 pm: | 
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Special Builder
III
Two days later, despite Leslie’s promises and presentations, it happened again. Through the special builder she allowed herself into a world of pain and sexual experience that she had never before encountered. The spankings were hard, with serious bouts of lovemaking. She tried to understand her willingness to take part in the increasingly furious coupling which left her bruised and exhausted, but she knew that the key to explaining her behavior lay with first understanding her partner. Blaine Feller rarely spoke, was barely civil to her, but made love with a passion and intensity that shocked Leslie to her core. Each performance became a display of power more violent than the last, but afterward he always dressed and left the apartment at once, returning home to who knows where. She managed to establish that he was single, and he originally came from a town in southern Texas. Beyond this, she knew nothing.
That week, colleagues at work began to pass comments. She had started arriving at the office less than immaculately dressed. Her hair was often out of place, her blouse not quite so well pressed. She seemed a little wilder now, a little less composed. Her attention seemed harder to hold. She explained the reason for the change to no one. Perhaps, though, some of them guessed when she was forced to use makeup to cover the bite marks that the builder frequently left on her throat.
And the apartment started to take shape.
Electrical circuits were installed, pipes were plumbed, and walls were erected, then plasterboarded and painted. The kitchen was to become a bedroom, the bedroom a bathroom. Imported Italian tiles were to be installed with inlaid parquet blocks. And in the debris of the apartment, in the shavings and woodchips and wiring and plaster and brick dust, lay Leslie, with the builder towering above, dripping sweat onto her upturned bottom delivering harsh spanks followed by kneading to her twin cheeks as he thrust into her more powerfully than he had ever done before. She wants it to stop; but she wants it to continue forever while his rough circling finger makes its final strike.
One rainy Sunday afternoon late in October, as she lay on the floor of the bare guest room watching the rain sweep in from the river and spatter against the windows, she asked him why he made love to her so fiercely. He thought for a moment, his fingers tracing the delicate red marks that embroidered her bottom. It was the closest she ever got to an explanation.
Leslie decided it was time to discuss her situation with someone she could trust. Smoothing her grey linen skirt covering the painful welts on her bottom cheeks she left the office and went to lunch with Allie.
As she picked her way through her Caesar salad, she told her old school friend about the bizarre relationship she now found herself involved in.
“What I fail to understand,” she concluded, “is why I’m doing this. It just isn’t like me.”
Kinky sex is a great release,” said Allie. “Sounds to me like you’re getting your booty hauled without having to worry about any responsibility. If you were a man, you wouldn’t think twice.”
“Well, I’m not, and I am.” Leslie pushed the half-eaten salad aside.
“Leslie, I have a little confession to make,” said Allie slowly. “I kind of expected this to happen.”
Leslie frowned. “You kind of expected what to happen?”
“Well, let me explain. A few months back there was a woman at the office whose apartment had been rebuilt by Feller, and she kept going on about his brilliant craftsmanship. But I got the feeling that she meant something else entirely. It became apparent that among her female friends he was very popular for… giving great décor.” Allie ground out the cigarette, coloring with embarrassment. “Let’s say that the guy has a reputation for being more than just a terrific builder.”
Leslie sat in dumbstruck silence for a moment. Then she rose to her feet, unclipped her handbag, and threw some money onto the table.
“You booked me a stud?” she asked, her voice taut. “I looked that desperate to you?”
“But I didn’t mean any…”
“I’m sure you probably thought you were doing the right thing, but believe me it wasn’t, Allie. It really wasn’t.” She turned on her heel and left the restaurant.
That evening, Leslie worked late. At nine-thirty, seated on the train going home, she considered her options. One, she could dismiss Blaine from the job and have someone else. But would she be able to find someone who could take over from his plans? Two, she could confront him and settle the matter out in the open. Then she would face the risk of him walking out, leaving the place unfinished. Three, she could act as if nothing was wrong and let him complete his work in peace. But what would happen when he made a move to continue their liaison? Carrying on with someone who had turned out to be little more than a male prostitute was unthinkable.
As Leslie stepped off the train, she knew that the affair was over. When she arrived back at the apartment, she found the builder still there. Blaine Feller was sitting in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by blueprints, panels of plasterboard, and cut lengths of plank. The room smelled of shaved wood and fresh paint.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he began slowly, climbing to his feet and dusting down his jeans. “I need to talk to you about the kitchen.” His unruly black hair was slicked neatly back as if, in anticipation of her anger, he was now anxious to make a good impression. “You look real good.” He gestured at her suit.” A little severe, though.”
“Listen, Blaine,” she said coolly, “I have to know something. What’s been happening between us is that all part of the service? When you decorate a place, do you usually get to sleep with the lady of the house? Was I supposed to be thrown in as part of the deal?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He took a step toward her, but she backed away behind the low wooden counter he had built along one side of the room.
“No,” she agreed, “I don’t suppose you do. I am talking about sexual liberties and…”
“Hey, I don’t take liberties. You wanted it.” He suddenly moved around to the other side of the counter and reached out his hand, grabbing the hem of her skirt and pulling her toward him. Fitting his wide palm onto her bottom cheeks he squeezed and rubbed almost like he was waiting for the shape his hands would give to them.
“Let me go,” she said firmly, disentangling her self and moving away. The last thing she wanted to do was provoke him into leaving the apartment, but at the same time it was important to establish the new boundary lines between them. “You’ve been employed to do a job of work, and it doesn’t involve giving the kind of service you’re used to providing. Just leave out that side of it from now on, and we’ll get along fine.”
Blaine stared down at his boots, as if he had been caught betraying a trust. “You just made a grave mistake,” he said finally. “But if that’s the way you want it, you got it.” He returned to work without another word.
After that, she tried to spend as little time in the apartment as possible. Chance meetings with Blaine merely invoked injured looks and uncomfortable silences. She left him money to purchase the materials he needed, and passed long evenings working late at the office. At the beginning of November, she took a two week vacation to visit her parents in Florida. When she returned she found the apartment finished and a set of neatly labeled keys on the new kitchen counter, along with a final handwritten bill for labor. There was no sign of the builder. She wrote a check and forwarded it to an address in Queens. Then, as a peacemaking gesture, she invited Allie over to inspect the apartment and come up with a few furnishing ideas.
“It’s unbelievable,” Allie marveled as she passed from room to room. “I never would have known it was the same apartment!”
Even without furniture, the transformation was nothing short of miraculous. Every rafter and surroundings gleamed with proud detail. Allie sat on a packing crate staring about her as Leslie made coffee in a kitchen of gray slate and black marble surfaces.
I’m sorry for what happened between us,” said Allie as she stirred her coffee. “It was my entire fault.” Beyond the windows, a fleet of tugboats signaled the arrival of a large freighter.
Leslie came over and stood beside her friend, watching the pale sunlight sparkle against the bow of the ship as it progressed up the river. “Forget it,” she said. “It was nobody’s fault. I chose to let it happen.” She fell silent for a moment. “Help me pick out a dining room table instead.”
“A dining table?” said Allie, equally eager to change the subject. “What do you need a dining table for? You don’t cook.”
“No, but I eat. And I may learn to cook.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“You know, I’m going to love living here,” she said, sitting down on the broad window ledge. “It feels right.”
II
By early December most of Leslie’s new furniture had been installed and the first snowstorm of the winter had jammed Manhattan streets.
In her apartment, Leslie sat in her powder blue living room overlooking the river, curled in her mother’s old patchwork quilt watching a rented movie and eating a peanut butter sandwich. The movie had almost reached the end of its running time when the picture suddenly faded and died. Leslie irritably stabbed at the remote control, but nothing happened. The screen remained blank. The video machine refused to play or rewind.
“God-dammit.” She unwrapped the quilt and walked over to the set, but there was nothing she could do to restart the tape or remove it from the machine. A minute later, the film started up by itself. By now, though, Leslie had grown tired of watching television, and prepared for bed. After she had rinsed her cup and plate, she walked into the polished bathroom and ran the shower. Immersing herself in the shaft of steaming water, she replayed the events of the day. The publishing house was looking at ways of cutting back on personnel, and after Leslie’s recent failure to secure the rights to a hotly sought after new novel, she knew that it was time to strengthen her position in the company by putting in some extra hours.
She was just considering the best way of doing this when the shower jets slowed to a trickle, then ceased altogether. The sound of roaring water fell away to a single drip as she started to shiver and reached over the frosted cubicle door for a towel.
But instead of cotton brushing her hand, something cold and slippery seized it. Yelping with fear, she pulled free and jumped back against the tiled wall. She could feel her heart pounding as she slowly pushed open the glass door. The towel lay neatly folded across the heated rail, just where she had left it.
“I tell you, that is the last time I watch a horror movie by myself,” she told Allie over the telephone at work the next day. “I could have sworn there was something there.”
“Don’t tell me.” There was a pause as Allie lit her customary cigarette. “I can’t even watch the eleven o’clock news without getting goose bumps”
“You mean the mugging reports?”
“No, George Bush. Too scary! Speaking of which, did you see the news last night?”
No, I went straight to bed and slept with the lights on. Why?”
“I guess if you’re nervous I shouldn’t tell you. It’s in all the papers this morning.”
“I don’t have time to read the papers. Tell me.”
“Ok. Hold on.” Leslie smiled, knowing that Allie was making herself comfortable on the other end of the line. “You remember all that trouble at Boulder Beach last July when those infected syringes washed up on the sand?”
“Didn’t they find a pair of legs as well?”
“That’s right, and a bunch of dead lab rats and a human stomach. Well, it’s started again. Only this time they don’t think its medical waste.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some woman just got washed up on shore at Boulder Beach last night, or rather parts of her. She has been cut to pieces with a bone saw.”
“Allie, I haven’t had my lunch yet. Why are you telling me this? You know I live alone, you know how I get!”
“Sorry.” Allie did not sound very sorry at all. “I thought you would be interested. Maybe there’s a book in it.”
“No, thanks. We already did a children’s guide called “Things to look for on Coastlines.”
“Can I buy you a drink after work?”
“But you know I’m working late. And I am. I will have to take a rain check. The weekend, maybe.”
“Ok.”
Leslie worked until nine, then went home and reheated some lasagna. As she ate, she studied the freezing river from her window. The apartment was so warm that the snowflakes melted the second they touched the window pane. She changed into a robe before heading for the television and turning it on. The screen showed a policeman being interviewed by a CNN reporter on a bleak, snowswept beach. Behind him on the sand, a pair of white female legs protruded from one end of the secured canvas.
“Fears are growing that another consignment of lab waste is being washed up on the New York beaches, said the News announcer. “Last summer’s outbreak saw the closure of many beaches and plunging attendance figures at nearly all of the major resorts. But with the temperature staying around the zero mark, that is one problem New York may avoid. This is…”
The picture suddenly dwindled to a point of light.
“Shit!” Leslie searched for the remote control, but it was nowhere to be found. “This is ridiculous…” She pulled out the sofa cushions and stacked them on the floor, running her hand around the back of the seat. After a fruitless search she rocked back on her heels, baffled. “It has to be here somewhere,” she said to her self. “Things don’t just disappear.”
Finally she gave up looking and went to bed.
That was the first time she heard the rat.
At least, it sounded like a rat. Its movements were small and sharp, and could only be heard if she kept very still and held her breath. There, behind the familiar sounds of the old building, beneath the creaking of the floorboards and the clicking of the cooling water pipes, was another noise like nails scratching across wood. Leslie sat up and reached for the bedside lamp switch. She clicked it on, half expecting to see a rabid rat crouching on the bedspread ready to pounce, but there was nothing unfamiliar to be found in the room. The sound continued, so faintly now that she began to wonder if it only existed in her imagination. Leslie did not sleep well that night.
“There’s nothing wrong with the TV.”
To prove his point, the TV repairman switched it on and off several times in rapid succession. “Or the video player. It has to be your power supply source.”
“What do you mean?” Leslie gave the television a doubtful look.
“The electrical system. You’ve just moved in?”
“What has that got to do with it?” she asked, roughness in her voice.
“Theses building have old wiring. Half the time it’s dangerous and you don’t even know it.”
“I’ve just had new wiring installed.”
“There could be a fault in that, something overloading. Are you running any other appliances while the TV is on? The iron, maybe?”
“I don’t do the ironing while I watch TV,” she said coldly. “I’m from New York, not Ohio.”
“Well, I think it’s your circuits,” said the repairman, closing his tool box and heading for the door. “Get your electrician back in to take a look.”
The next evening, an hour before Peter and Joan came by the apartment with Chinese takeout, the bedroom lights started to act up. Leslie was just changing into her jeans when the room was plunged into darkness. Swearing to her self, she checked the bulb and the fuses but found nothing wrong. Ten minutes later, the lights worked again. It was a very confused Leslie who opened the door to her old friends that night.
“So, how are you enjoying the place?” Peter asked through a mouthful of noodles. “It really looks great.”
“There are one or two irritating problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Oh, lights, plumbing.” She tried to make it sound casual. “And I think there’s a rat.”
“You’re being melodramatic,” said Joan, passing a carton filled with bean sprouts across the table. “Every building has mice and roaches.”
“I guess so. This sounds bigger. I hear it almost every night.”
“You want me to take a look?” Peter offered, but he didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the idea.
“No, it’ll sort it itself out. It’s OK.” She picked at the bean sprouts, wishing she was as confident as she sounded.
The next morning Leslie was seated at the kitchen counter dropping pieces of oranges into the blender when the Channel Eleven local news report began. Her mind was half on the preparation of breakfast, half on the day’s planned meetings as the image on the screen changed. Lettering stripped across a beach scene: ' Boulder Beach Victim Named.'
“Police today identified a body of the murdered woman found on Boulder Beach as Mrs. Irene Lassiter, a forty-two year old CPA, declared missing from her Upper West Side apartment last Thursday…”
At first Leslie failed to register the name. It wasn’t until she looked up at the picture that her blood ran cold. The orange knife slipped in her fingers, gashing the back of her hand. Blood welled in the cut and dripped heavily onto the marble counter as she continued to stare at the picture of Mrs. Irene Lassiter displayed on the screen.
She was standing proudly in an apartment that appeared to be an exact duplicate of her own.
Did is a word of achievement, Won't is a word of retreat, Might is a word of bereavement, Can't is a word of defeat, Ought is a word of duty, Try is a word of each hour, Will is a word of beauty, Can is a word of power.
*(Unknown Author)
Don't take life so seriously.....it isn't permanent
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Redhinney
Junior Spanko
Username: Redhinney
Post Number: 150
Registered: 10-2005
| | Posted on Thursday, January 26, 2006 - 07:49 pm: |
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Oh how could yu just leave us hanging. Great
Love can't always be seen or hear but will always be felt with your heart
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Kaos25
New member
Username: Kaos25
Post Number: 3
Registered: 01-2006
| | Posted on Saturday, January 28, 2006 - 04:00 am: |
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great story!! im on the edge of my seat waiting for more!! |
Reader_girl
New member
Username: Reader_girl
Post Number: 48
Registered: 07-2005
| | Posted on Saturday, January 28, 2006 - 09:43 am: |
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Hmm...not going where I thought it would....very intriguing...can't wait for more! I'm really enjoying this.
Reader Girl
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Ziggy
Advanced Spanko
Username: Ziggy
Post Number: 2303
Registered: 08-2005
| | Posted on Saturday, January 28, 2006 - 11:16 am: |
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I am sitting on the edge of my chair, Wow how weird, hummmmmmm I wonder
when caught run faster then him !!
I am a TA junkie !!
Hubbie is due back home in march.................pout stomp !!!
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Tammynx
Spanko
Username: Tammynx
Post Number: 272
Registered: 10-2005
| | Posted on Sunday, January 29, 2006 - 09:43 am: |
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This is a GREAT story!! I can't wait for more!!  |
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