- "Caged Birds Don't Fly High"
- by xenaRRa
To Kelley without whom this would have remained only a dream.
All characters in this work are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This work may not be reproduced in any form without the express permission of the author.
Copyright 1989 by K. Xenarra Brown.
I have always visualized my life as a ball of kite string. Each new relationship had played out and reeled in the first few yards so many times that the cord had become dirty and frayed. At points it had snapped; but I had always been able grab the free ends and tie a quick granny knot before the kite of my sanity drifted too far away. Over the years, the line had become impossibly tangled by fears and failure until I was unable to let anyone at all into the private world wrapped tightly, if not neatly, beneath the surface of my ball of string. Unable, that is, until a set of long red fingernails entered my life.
Her name was Rebecca. It is a queenly name, a name well befitting a woman of her statue and poise. Working in the same office, day after day, I'd always felt attracted to the tall Amazon. Her blond hair was always swept into stylish designs. Her clothes were classically fashionable. Her make1up, nails, even her shoes were exactly perfect.
But it really didn't matter how impeccably dressed she was; toward me, she had always been cold and distant. She was of the category I had dubbed R.D.B. - Real Dangerous Bitch. I was too consumed with my own fears to make the first move; to reach out to her, even a little. As a matter-of-fact, if my current boyfriend hadn't gone out of town for the weekend stranding me without a date for a required office party, I never would have discovered the part of me which had lain dormant literally all my life.
Both unescorted, we found ourselves competing for the same cab as we fled the boring party. Rather than argue and lose our chance at a ride, we decided to share. Rebecca lived closer, so I settled back to enjoy the ride. My companion seemed different somehow, and I began to scrutinize her to discover why.
Her dress was similar to usual office attire, but softened with a scarf at the neck. Her makeup was softer, too. But the most striking difference could be found on her hands. I had never noticed them before, but now I could hardly miss them. Each perfectly formed finger was topped with an incredibly long, bright red nail. Her personality had blossomed and flourished away from the stifling office atmosphere, becoming vibrant and magnetic as the red tips of her fingers. I sat mesmerized as Rebecca spoke, her hands and nails weaving patterns in the air.
We reached her apartment in a few minutes. After she had paid the driver for her portion of the ride, I got out to allow Rebecca to exit gracefully. The cabbie obviously misunderstood, for he pulled the door shut and sped off before we had a chance to protest. I looked at Rebecca, amazed at my predicament.
"It's late and you'll never find another cab at this time of night. Why don't you just spend the night with me?" Rebecca said.
"No, that's ok, I'll just walk down to the bus stop," I said as I turned to leave.
But she ignored my protests and, grabbing an arm, propelled me into the building and up the stairs to her apartment. The living room and kitchen of her place were small but tastefully appointed. The bedroom, however, was unusually large and nearly filled by an king-sized brass bed, with massive head and foot boards. I stood and stared in amazement.
Rebecca walked to a cupboard and extracted a towel. "Why don't you shower before bed," she said as she tossed the towel to me. "I think this bed's big enough sleep us both comfortably."
I nodded in agreement - it was a statement impossible to argue with - and headed for the shower. As I finished, I stepped back into my bra and panties, wrapped the towel around myself as modestly as possible and went back into the bedroom. The bed was already turned down and Rebecca, obviously naked, stretched luxurously between the sheets. She motioned for me to climb in.
I stood there, just looking at her, paralized by indecision. After the warm shower, I definitely was ready to hit the sheets. But to climb in practically nude with another woman _ it was just too strange to imagine. As if sensing my fears, Rebecca turned away from me, stretching and yawning. Clutching the towel to my body, I climbed in the other side of the bed and curled up facing away from her. I tried to sleep in that tight, cramped position for what seemed hours. Finally I felt the soft pressure of a hand on my bare shoulder.
"Relax, Susie," her voice was soft and sweet. "Tell me what's wrong."
When I told her I was scared, that I'd never been in bed with a woman before, her only response was to reach out with her other arm and pull me toward her. Instinctively, I pulled tighter into myself; but Rebecca only held me. Finally, something in me snapped; and I found myself crying. She turned me and pulled me onto her soft breast.
"Where are you?" she said after a long while.
"I'm not really sure. This is familiar. But how can it be? We've barely spoken before this," I answered, snuggling deeper and trying to mask my unhappiness.
"I want to talk to you about something, but I can't right now. Your troubles are getting in the way. I want you to imagine a blanket spread out in front of you. Put all your problems on the blanket, and it will float to the ceiling," she said.
I fought her, and myself. When I was able to speak again, the words came hesitantly. "Can't. Don't want to. It's knives. My problems are like sharp knives. If I put them in the air, they might slip off the blanket and hurt someone."
"I promise you that I won't let the blanket slip. Do it." Almost against my will I pictured a blue and white quilt spread out before me. One by one, I visualized each of my problems as a knife and placed it on the blanket. Work problems, troubles with my parents, disturbances with my boyfriend, the knives were various sizes, but all were very sharp. When I was done, my mind's eye watched the blanket float up to the ceiling. It seemed smaller there. I was safe from my troubles. The tension dropped from my shoulders, and I began to shake.
"Better?" Rebecca asked. I nodded, still shaking. She pulled me tighter against her body and began caressing my back with her nails. It seemed as though she was pressing against my mind, trying to get in. It was uncomfortable, unwelcome, and I turned away and pulled myself into a tight ball. The shaking got worse.
Rebecca slid closer and began to touch me again. This time, however, there was no pressure in my mind. Her nails were insistant, and I finally gave in to the bliss of being touched by someone who knew how to give pleasure. The more she stroked my back, the more relaxed I became. I loosened the hold on my knees and leaned back toward her. I could not believe how easily I gave in to her. It was as though she had started untangling the knots inside me with her shiny nails, and I was becoming open again.
I can still remember the coolness of her palm against my breast, the warmth of her breath against my ear, the pinch of her fingers on my nipple. She handled me as one would a pet - with both strength and playfulness. I felt loved and cared for. And suddenly, I craved her approval. More than anything, I wanted to please her. After a while, I could stand it no longer.
"I don't understand this," I said, "but I want to be owned by you. Just for tonight. I want to please you. How do I please you?"
"I don't think you understand what you're asking," she replied. "Just relax, I want to touch you."
I was torn between the need to please her and the deep desire to flee. I knew, somehow, that giving in, letting her continue to touch me, would take me along a journey that I might not want to travel. Fear got the better of me. I rolled over onto my tummy and turned my face to the wall.
Rebecca pulled away reluctantly. I closed my eyes and tried every trick I knew to go to sleep. Deep breathing, imagining I was in my own apartment, even counting sheep - nothing worked. With a mental sigh, I turned over and began working on Rebecca's back, kneading the muscles with my strong hands. If I could get her to sleep, perhaps I could relax enough to sleep also.
Rebecca's skin felt cool and soft under my hands. Using a technique learned from my chiropractor, I let my mental guard down slightly, just enough reach out and sense where the tension spots on her back were located. I pressed those points, holding each with an intensity designed to release the blockage of energy and allow her body to cleanse itself. She began to melt into the pillow, and I finished the massage with a light scratching of her entire back.
"Thank you," she whispered as I rolled back over.
"It's ok. I just thought you'd like that," I responded.
"I did. You're a good girl," she said. She began to stroke my hair again, her nails gently scraping my scalp.
As she spoke, my body pulled back up into a ball and the shaking began afresh. It was not her touch, but her words, which rocked me to my core. I had lived my entire life seeking the approval of others, but none mattered so much as hers. I felt so compelled by her words that I pushed aside my fears and moved back closer to her warm body.
"Good girl," she said again as she drew me to her. She tried to kiss away the shaking of my body, her lips tenderly brushing my eyes. She pressed my head to her chest, and the nails of one of her hands stroked the nape of my neck where the hair is cut short. The other hand began sliding down my body, running smoothly down the side of my chest to my thigh. I shuddered, and tried to draw up into myself, but the strength from her hands controlled me completely.
She turned me onto my back and lay beside me, one hand still on my neck, the other beginning to explore my thighs. No longer able to resist, I began to give into the sensations Rebecca was igniting. Her hand stroked my soft belly, then wandered down under my panties to play with the hair of my bush. Electricity began coursing through me as her fingers began their most delicate play on my clit. "Earlier, you said you wanted me to own you. Why did you say that?" Her voice was soft, yet urged a reply.
"I don't know. It's just that you handle me like a pet. It's like you already own me. I don't know."
"Do you still want me to own you?" she asked.
I nodded, "Yes, Mistress," I answered. I had no idea where the word Mistress came from, only that it felt right and proper to use it.
"Good girl," Rebecca said again and, lifting my bra free from my breasts, bent her mouth to my nipple. She began to suck and bite it, drawing forth the last shreads of my resistance with her mouth as her hand became more persistant, more demanding against my clit.
"I think you should be able to come on command. Can you?"
I looked up into her face for the first time that evening. Her eyes drew me into her soul. The total control and almost casual cruelity I saw there should have frightened me; but instead, I was excited beyond belief. I nodded a yes to her question, I was unwilling to speak, afraid of destroying the moment.
My body squirmed under her touch. The agony of needing release, yet knowing better than to take it without permission was nearly unbearable. Finally, as the sensations reached their zenith, she commanded "Now!" and bit down upon my nipple.
Power surged through my body, forcing my hips up and down. Legs spread wide, I thrusted upward, searching for a cock to fill my cunt. But all I found was the hand which had brought me to my peak, so I bucked against it. Rubbing my clit against her palm, lifting my breasts to her mouth, the excitement she created rolled over me in waves.
Finally, my body spent and useless, I collapsed against the bed and into her arms. "Good girl," she whispered. The words again chilled me to my core, and I began to tremble. She held me until my breathing returned to normal, stroking my face and hair with her nails.
As I regained control of myself, I realized that I was as vibrantly full of energy as I had ever been in my life. I wanted to share with Rebecca the joy that she had given me. I wanted to please her. I bent my head down and tentatively licked her upturned nipple. She sighed and in one smooth motion, threw her head back and pulled my face down tightly against her breast.
I licked and sucked that nipple until it was rock hard. I took it between my fingers and rolled and pinched it. Rebecca's breathing began to come in sudden starts and stops; but I could tell that merely playing with her breasts would not bring the total satisfaction her supple body was capable of feeling.
"Teach me to please you," I breathed, trying not to break my concentration. In response, Rebecca drew my mouth back to her breast and moved my hand down between her legs. Fumbling for a moment, I at last located the tight soft knot which was her clit. Her hand over mine, I rubbed that button back and forth with my middle finger, exerting a great deal more pressure than I myself prefer.
Her appetite for stimulation seemed without bounds, for as I rubbed and sucked, her hands held me more and more tightly against her twisting torso and bucking hips. She began to moan with the intensity of the moment, and I redoubled my efforts, determined to give her the same level of delight she had afforded me.
At last she came, the rhythm of her body perfectly in tune with the motions of my fingers and tongue. A flood of wetness washed over my hand, and I was momentarily tempted to scoop it up and lick my fingers clean, thus sharing in her ecstasy. But even as I recognized the thought as an option, I remembered exactly where I was and what I was doing. I tried to push away, but her strong arms wrapped around me and held me in place.
"This isn't right. I shouldn't even be in the same bed with you. We shouldn't have done that to each other," I protested, still wriggling to break free of her grasp.
"Hold still just a minute. Relax. Listen to me," she responded.
I tried to stop fighting her and listen, but it was difficult. I was frightened by what we had done and by how I had felt. I had asked a virtual stranger to own me, to use me. And I had responded to her with an animalistic passion far beyond my previous experience. It was unthinkable.
As if reading my mind, Rebecca began to speak. At first I didn't hear the words, just the tone of her voice. As I stopped defying her authority and began to listen to what she was saying, a feeling of calm swept over me. Someone else was in charge, truly in control. I didn't have to do everything by myself anymore. I had an ally - I had a protector.
"Be still. Be a good girl." The words no longer had the same overwhelming force as before. But they did rouse myself from my own thoughts and bring me back to the real world. "What about that didn't feel right? Were you hurt in any way? Did you feel alone, unwanted, or used? What was wrong about what we did?" The questions were spoken softly but the force behind them demanded answers.
"No, I didn't get hurt," I answered. "I didn't feel bad until we finished. It's just that women shouldn't do that stuff with women. It isn't right," I finished lamely.
"Do you feel bad? Do you honestly wish it had never happened?" she asked.
I lay quietly next to her, searching for an truthful response to her question. I battled my prejudiced moral convictions, the gender distinctions I had learned as a young girl, and my unspoken fears of non-standard relationships. The fight continued for such a long time that Rebecca repeated the question, apparently unaware of the war within me, forcing a resolution of my conflicting emotions.
The warmth of her body and voice as she held me close proved powerful enough to break through my preconceived notions as to the proper order of life. "No," I finally replied, "I'm glad it happened. I'm not sure I ever want it to happen again; but then again, I'm not sure I ever want it to end, either."
"Put it aside for now and get some sleep," she said, her words almost an order. Still eager to please, I closed my eyes and went limp against her. But my brain was still racing along unfamiliar roads. There was just one question still unresolved in my mind.
"Um. . ." Just that hesitation seemed to speak volumes to her. She turned me onto my back and pinned my wrists above my head with one hand. The fingers of the other hand traced the features of my face.
"What would you like to say?" she asked, looking through my eyes and into my soul with her gaze. I tried to break contact, to drop my eyes, but she held me almost hypnotically.
"Is it for always?"
"Is what for always?" she responded innocently.
"Will I always be yours?" I asked.
"Listen, darling, this isn't about a one night stand. I granted you what you asked for, and you belong to me now. I don't give up precious possessions easily, so don't look for an easy out. You can no more walk away from this that you can lift your hands." I glanced upward to where my hands were rivited to the pillow. "Go ahead, try."
At her challenge, I decided to fight her, to throw her off and break free. I pushed my hands upward, but the resistance that met my efforts was convincingly forceful. I tried to twist free from her grasp, but received a redoubling of her strength which began to cut the circulation off at my wrists.
As physically and emotionally drained as I was, I found it impossible to resist any further. I looked up and saw her smiling down at me - a smile chilling with its implications. I knew now that I indeed was owned by this woman, for better or worse, until I could find a way to break the spell she held over me.
"Satisfied?" she asked and I nodded. There was little else I could do. She leaned down and kissed me full on the mouth, a very warm, wet kiss. Her tongue probed against my lips, attempting to part them. I resisted this last intrusion, clamping my lips tightly together.
"Ah, yes," she said as she at last came up for air. "Everything in its own time. And now its time to sleep. Turn on your side," she commanded, and helped me roll over. She nestled close and completely enveloped me in her arms. Despite my mixed feelings, I slipped backwards against her, letting my confused emotions fall away from me like straw in the wind.
Sometime in the middle of the night I found myself awake and looking intensely into her eyes. the lights in the room had never been dimmed, so I could see every detail of the eyes which so totally held me.
She looked into me. I could feel her measuring my strengths and weaknesses. I felt her read the story of my life as one would scan a textbook, searching for pertinant facts. I tried to resist, tried to turn away, but I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I sensed her eyes still on mine, and I had to look, had to check. Each time I hoped and feared that she would be gone with equal intensity. Each time I found her still poised inches from my face, her eyes still focused on my inner soul. Finally, I could take it no more.
"This is about power, isn't it?" I said, grasping at a notion which had been floating through my brain for some time. "You want to make sure you are in control, don't you?"
"Oh, I'm in control, darling," Rebecca responded, "but you don't really know just exactly what that means yet." I shuddered at her words and forced myself to turn from her scrutiny. "You remember that I said I wanted to talk to you about something?" she continued.
"Yes," I responded guardedly.
"Now don't be frightened and don't close up. You're going to need to be totally open to understand this. Promise me you'll stay receptive."
"Receptive to what?" I questioned.
"Do you trust me?" she asked. "Have I given you cause to doubt my word?"
"Well," I hestitated. She had been very up front about everything so far. I couldn't help but feel that the stakes were getting higher by the minute, but what could I do? She hadn't been at all deceptive to this point. How could I possibly refuse what seemed a reasonable request merely because I was unsure of myself? "I guess I'll try to keep an open mind," I answered.
"Weak, but a start, I guess," Rebecca said. "Lay back and relax. Close your eyes. I want you to let your mind wander."
'That shouldn't be very hard,' I thought to myself. 'I've been wondering where it wandered off to for some time. How do I get myself into these messes?' The sharp tone of Rebecca's voice snapped me back to the present.
"I said wander, not walk away. Try to stay with me, Susie. Have you ever had the feeling that you have been somewhere or done something before?"
"Yes, I've had deja vue. But I don't really believe in . . ."
"Wait," she interrupted, "I'm going to ask you to suspend your beliefs for a few minutes. I want you to concentrate on the two of us. If you close your eyes and relax completely, I think you may be surprised."
An invitation like that is bound to arouse curiosity. It certainly worked on me. Against my own judgement I persuaded my body to relax and let my mind roam on its own.
A dim, barely lit picture floated into my head from somewhere. I had never seen the room before, yet it looked very familiar. There were couches covered with heavy brochaide, woven wool carpets splashed with brightly colored intricate designs, and there were people. A majestic, dark haired lady sat as if holding court, a child-sized woman at her feet. The men and women who flowed in and out of the room were dressed in rich velvets and furs. The scene could have come from any historical drama set in the 1600's. I felt a strange attachment to the small woman seated at her mistress' feet.
"What do you see?" prodded Rebecca.
"I see a fancy room and a fancy lady. She's surrounded by a lot of people. There is a small girl or woman seated at her feet. The lady is playing with the girl's hair as though she were a pet."
I came back to the present and looked up at Rebecca. "What does that mean?" I demanded.