Chapter 79: Catching up with Caleb
The evening light in the apartment was the colour of honey, thick and slow, pooling on the polished floors. Sandi stood at the window, watching the city begin to sparkle. She was barefoot, wearing one of François’s dress shirts. It smelled of his cologne and, faintly beneath it, of her own scent and that of Henri. The memory of the study, the ripped lace, the impersonal thrusting, was a brand on her nerves. It didn’t feel like a violation. It felt like a credential earned.
François came up behind her, silent on the rug. His hands slipped around her waist, under the shirt, palming her bare stomach. She leaned back against him.
“You were remarkable today,” he murmured into her hair. “Your composure at lunch. Your… responsiveness after. You took him exactly as he was: a transaction. No sentiment. Just utility. That is a rare skill.”
He turned her around and kissed her, a deep, exploring kiss that tasted of ownership. Then he walked her backwards towards the bed, his hands already unbuttoning the shirt, pushing it from her shoulders. It fell to the floor. He looked at her, his gaze inventorying the faint red marks from Henri’s grip on her hips, the general softening of her body in the aftermath.
“On your back,” he said, his voice assuming that calm, instructional tone.
She lay back on the ivory silk, the cool fabric a shock against her warm skin. He undressed methodically, folding his trousers over a chair, placing his watch on the night-stand. His erection was already full and heavy. He didn’t join her immediately. Instead, he knelt on the bed between her legs, hooking her knees over his shoulders. He looked down at her shaven cunt, still swollen, the lips puffy and parted. He ran a single fingertip through her folds, collecting the mixed slickness of her arousal and the lingering traces of another man.
“You’re still wet from him,” he observed, showing her the glistening finger before sucking it clean. “That's good, I like that...”
Then he moved, positioning himself, and pushed into her in one smooth, deep stroke. She gasped, her back arching. It was a different fullness than Henri’s – familiar, yet charged with new meaning. He began to fuck her with a steady, rhythmic intensity, his eyes locked on hers. Each withdrawal was slow, teasing, each plunge a definitive claim.
“You belong to me in this moment,” he said, his breath coming harder. “This cunt is mine. Even when it carries the proof of other men, it answers to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her hands clutching at the sheets.
“And you will answer to me now in another way.” He maintained his pace, a relentless, pleasurable piston. “Reach for the phone. On the night-stand. Call Caleb. Put it on speaker.”
A thrill of pure adrenaline shot through her, sharper than any physical sensation. She fumbled for the phone, her fingers trembling. She found Caleb’s name in her contacts and pressed call, setting the phone on the pillow beside her head. It rang twice.
François never slowed his rhythm. The wet, rhythmic sound of their coupling was unmistakable.
“Hey, beautiful,” Caleb’s voice filled the room, warm and slightly rough. “How are you? How was your day?”
Sandi swallowed, trying to steady her voice as François thrust deep, making her jolt. “It was… eventful.”
“Yeah? What did you get up to?”
François nodded at her, his eyes glittering with encouragement.
“François and I… we reached an accommodation,” she began, her words starting to hitch. “He explained his… his goals. For me.”
“What goals are they, Sandi?” Caleb asked. There was no suspicion in his voice, only curious interest.
“To get me to… to fuck him… like I fucked you in the limousine, in the Bois de Boulogne, after the chauffeur, Pierre, and Francois himself... When you told me you were leaving a day early... Returning to London... And leaving me there with him... Francois... Giving me my freedom... For the purpose of having a deeper me take over... Enslaving me... To my growing need for sex... That raw need... That welled up inside me... In the car... In that moment. Like never before... Filling me with a new energy... And I just let it all out... My need... Not for you my darling... I hope you don't mind... But for cock... And fucking... And Francois told me he'd never seen anything like it... And that my first goal was to be like that with him...”
A moan escaped her as François angled his hips, hitting a spot that sparked white behind her eyes. “Oh, god…” she cried out.
“You okay?” Caleb asked.
“Yes. I’m… Francois is fucking me right now,” she said, the confession tearing out of her. “So you're on speaker... So he can hear you... I maybe should have said...”
There was a beat of silence on the line. Not a shocked silence. A charged one. She could almost hear him processing, imagining.
“It's okay,” he said. “I maybe should have said that I'm fucking Maya... Or rather... That Maya is fucking herself on me... And that you're on speaker too...”
This revelation sent a jolt through Sandi and filled Francois with a glee that he should have tried to hide for it made Sandi see him as juvenile.
“Are things going well with her?” asked Sandi, realising how self-centred she'd been when Caleb had been there with her, for it hadn't entered her head to ask. “And Ian? Is he there too?”
“Ian's in our bedroom with Imogen,” said Caleb calmly, prepared to elaborate but letting the reality of the situation in the marital home settle in her mind.
“Who's Imogen?” asked Sandi, just one of the many, many questions starting to swirl in her head.
“She's Maya's best friend,” said Caleb. “Same age, twenty two... Equally attractive... Equally adventurous... Curious... Eager...”
“Have you paired off?” asked Sandi.
“To a degree,” said Caleb.
“What do you mean, to a degree?” asked Sandi, realising that she was slipping away from Francois, from Paris, and being drawn back to Caleb, and London, and her home in Wimbledon.
“Well it's still free and easy, if you you know what I mean,” said Caleb, leaving it for Sandi to pry for more.
“You mean you're having sex with this Imogen?” she asked her husband.
“Yes, of course,” he said.
“What do you mean, of course?” asked Sandi.
“Well just like Maya, it's what Imogen is here for,” said Caleb calmly. “Sex... Our kind of sex... Not the kind that young girls like them can ever get from their boyfriends... Or one night stands... Sophisticated sex... Where their pleasure is paramount... Based on trust... On honour... And the knowledge that confidentiality is totally assured... So it's safe for them to give expression to their deeper selves... Like you do...”
It took Sandi several moments to take onboard the enormity of what was developing in the anonymous suburb of Wimbledon, London.
“But you said 'to a degree',” said Sandi.
“Well they all know that I'm hooked on you,” said Caleb. “So Imogen has homed in on Ian... And the two of them are getting something on together... But without any exclusivity yet... So Ian still fucks Maya... And I... Well... You get the picture...”
“And you and Maya?” asked Sandi, oblivious to Francois now even though he was still fucking her.
“Well Maya is hooked on you, my darling,” said Caleb. “She wants to be you... Or become what you are... And her interest in me is based purely on the degree to which I can help her achieve her goal...”
Sandi wrapped her arms around Francois and drew him close to compensate for the feeling of loss and insecurity that was sweeping over her.
“So talking of goals,” said Caleb, “tell me about yours... or should I say Francois's...”
“Caleb, I'm struggling to cope with what you've just told me,” confessed Sandi.
“Well put yourself in my position,” he said back.
“I can't,” she said.
Then Maya grabbed the phone.
“Sandi,” she said into it. “You don't have to worry about me... No Caleb's feelings for you... Because he's already asked me if I'd go to Paris with him... And whether I'd let him swap me for a night with you...”
“And what did you say?” asked Sandi.
“Well I said yes of course,” said Maya. “And Imogen would like to come too... Of course she would... I've told her so much about you... She's dying to meet you...”
This settled Sandi and so Maya passed the phone back to Caleb, who didn't dwell on her insecurities but chose to take things forward instead.
“So what are these other goals?” he asked his wife.
It took Sandi quite a time to compose herself and collect her thoughts again.
“He wants me to fuck other men too, Caleb,” she continued, the words coming faster now, fuelled by the dual sensations of physical penetration and emotional exposure. “With that same fervour... That's the reason he's frustrating me sexually... So I build up to explosive crescendos...”
“I get that,” said Caleb, approvingly.
“He’s planning parties too. Here, in the apartment. When I get to that stage. Where I’d be the only woman. For his friends. And then… larger one get-togethers. Elsewhere. With more men. Powerful men I imagine. And other women too.”
François’s pace increased, his balls slapping against her. She was getting close, the coil of pleasure tightening unbearably.
“We talked about limits too,” said Sandi as best she could with the pounding she was being given. “Physical and emotional limits...”
“Oh yeah?” asked Caleb.
“I told him how you taught me to separate sex and love,” she said. “How you told me it was okay and I told Francois that my new attitude to sex sprang from out love...”
Caleb said nothing as he just knew that Sandi was going to say more.
“He asked me if I thought it was possible for love to spring from sex,” she whispered into the phone. “He meant the same kind of sex that you allow me... Meaning with other men... Lots of other men... With it being special for him and me... Like it's special for us... He asked me if I thought it could lead to me loving him...”
“And could it?” asked Caleb.
“Yes,” said Sandi. “It most definitely could... So if that's a concern you'd better call me home before it's too late...”
“Did you tell him what I said?” asked Caleb.
“Yes,” said Sandi. “I told him you like the idea of fucking me when I was in love with another man...”
“And will you?” asked Caleb. “Let me fuck you... When you fall in love with him...”
Sandi said nothing.
“Stare up into his eyes and tell him,” said Caleb. “Because I know the answer...”
“Yes, I'll still let you fuck me if I ever fall in love,” she said. “Whenever you want... I won't be able to say no...”
A sharp, guttural sound travelled down the phone-line from the throat of Francois to the ear of Caleb. It wasn’t anger. It was something darker, more primal. Acknowledgment.
“So tell me about your day...” Caleb prompted, his voice barely a whisper.
“He said I'd been so good... So accepting of his strictures... So positive about his goals... That he said he'd take me out for lunch with a friend... A friend who would...” said Sandi, before pausing at the point that was so devastating.
“A friend who would fuck you?” asked Caleb calmly.
“Yes,” whispered Sandi.
“So you knew in advance?” asked Caleb, trying to build the scenario in his mind.
“Yes,” whispered Sandi.
“And did he?” asked Caleb, “the friend?”
“Yes,” whispered Sandi. “Francois called him and asked him... without being crude... he said I was the associate they'd discussed... that I'd just been totally liberated... that I was highly adaptable, with a notable capacity for enthusiastic compliance...”
“And how did that make you feel?” asked Caleb.
“It excited me,” she whispered into the phone. “I need cock... I needed fucking... And Francois wanted to watch me getting it... Taking it...”
“So that was part of the plan?” asked Caleb. “He was going to watch? It had been agreed?”
“Yes,” whispered Sandi. “So can you imagine how I felt from the very first moment when I set eyes on him... When he greeted me and politely kissed me on both cheeks... With that look in his eyes all through lunch... The certainty of it... He was going to fuck me... And I couldn't wait to let him...”
“So how was it?” asked Caleb.
“I need to take you back to the moment when Francois put the phone down... For he took me to the bathroom... Bathed me... Washed my hair... Dried me with a big white fluffy towel... Moisturised me all over... Sat with me at my dressing table as I did my hair and makeup... And then he dressed me in a special outfit he'd commissioned from Madame Selene... Starting with an open-cup bra... That simply raised my breasts... Leaving them naked with the nipples presented and offered... With dress doing little to hide them... Enough for the restaurant... I was presentable... Just... And had to be careful how I moved... And sat... For the dress was short too... And I had to take special care so that my stocking tops didn't show...”
“Were you wearing panties?” asked Caleb.
“A tiny lace thong...” whispered Sandi.
“He's grimacing Sandi,” interjected Maya, “and I have to agree... it would have been better if you hadn't worn any... He doesn't let me...”
Caleb glared at her.
“So how was it?” asked Caleb again, wanting to pass quickly over Maya's contribution to the conversation. “You'd been gift wrapped... Primed... And it sounds like Francois had created something exquisite for you and his friend...”
“His name was Henri... And he invited us back to his place after the meal... And what a place... A huge country house set in its own grounds... And he served us coffee in his study... And... Well... after the coffee... He just fucked me... Over his desk...”
The line was silent for three of François’s deep, pounding strokes. Sandi cried out, her heels digging into François’s back.
“Caleb…?” she gasped.
“I’m here,” he said. The words were thick.
“Are you… are you still fucking Maya just now?” The question burst from her, sudden and desperate. A need for parity, for shared corruption.
Another pause. Then, the sound of a shifting body, a low, female sigh in the background. “Yeah,” Caleb breathed. “Yeah, I am.”
The admission was the final trigger. Sandi’s orgasm ripped through her with a silent, seizing intensity. Her body convulsed around François’s cock, wave after wave of pulsating release tearing a ragged scream from her throat. François grunted, his own control shattering. With three final, brutal thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his release hot and sudden, joining the remnants of another inside her. He collapsed on her, his weight crushing, their sweat-slicked skin sticking together.
The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the faint static of the open phone line.
After a moment, Caleb spoke. His voice was husky, raw. “Sandi?”
“Yeah,” she managed, her voice wrecked.
“What was it like for you? This Henri... Did he do you justice?” asked Caleb.
There was a long pause.
“No... Not really...” whispered Sandi. “He made me come... But it was all over in five minutes...”
“I thought as much from your tone,” said Caleb. “No imagination... No indulgence... In your femininity... Your deep sexuality... Your profound eroticism...'
“What would you have done!” boomed the voice of an offended Francois down the line and into the quiet of the spare bedroom of the anonymous house in Wimbledon, London, where Maya was fucking herself on Caleb. She took fright at his attitude but Caleb merely laughed. Then Maya grabbed the phone.
“Sandi, tell him the offer's withdrawn! If that's his attitude then neither me nor Imogen are interested!” said Maya.
“Tell me what you would have done Caleb!” snarled Francois into the phone.
“You wasted an opportunity,” said Caleb calmly. “Yes, your friend got to fuck her... Yes, it's a feather in his cap... A notched on his bedpost... Or the leg of his desk... Whatever... But what did he do to establish a relationship with her? He simply used her when he could have explored her... He should have shown an interest in her deeper nature... Her motivations... Her desires... Her wants and needs... And the extent to which she'd allow him to use them to manipulate her for his own pleasure and satisfaction and hers too... Such that he left her wanting more... Left her daydreaming about him... About you taking her to see him again... About him becoming the first of many whom you treat her too, for your own reasons, for the kudos maybe of being able to give her to whomever you want... Even if it's in exchange for influence, widening the range of your networking, or securing deals that will benefit you financially...”
“What was I to do?” asked Francois. “What could I have done?”
“Given that you had her wear a thong,” said Caleb, calmly, “you could have had her take it off in the restaurant and pass it across the table to this Henri... Alternatively, given that you had her wearing that stupendous sounding bra, you could have had her take her dress off once you were all in private... You could have had her flaunt not just her body, in her underwear, but her permissive abandon... Her conflicted, guilty surrender to pleasure, in front of you, with a virtual stranger... You could have had her strip naked and open her legs wide so that your friend could see how just being with two men had aroused her, stimulated her sexually, set her aflame, to the point at which she'd set aside her dignity and offer all of herself to both of you... To be taken freely... At your leisure... Willingly surrendering herself to your predilections... For the gratification she got from having you both engage with her in the most complete way that men can... For the reward of having your friend consummate an association with her based solely on mutual attraction... One that could be ongoing... But instead... Well... It insulted her... It should have been a celebration of her unfettered freedom from moral constraints, inhibitions, and the judgemental attitudes of other... And what was it... It was pathetic Francois...”
The line went quiet. Maya smiled down proudly on Caleb as he raised his eyebrows wondering just what was happening on the other end.
“Are you okay Sandi?” he asked.
“Yes, I'm fine,” she said. “I think Francois is starting to understand that should I not be the consequences could be dire...”
“So shall we say goodnight?” asked Caleb.
“Yes,” said Sandi, “I'll call you in the morning...”
The call ended. François rolled off her, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. They lay in silence for a long time, the scent of sex and confession hanging heavy in the air.
Finally, François spoke.
“That was more honest than I anticipated. Was all that he said true? With regard to how you felt this afternoon?”
“Yes,” said Sandi, “but you weren't to know... you don't now me like he does...”
“Will you apologise on my behalf for blowing up like I did?” Francois asked her.
“I could,” she said. “But he'll respect you more if you do it yourself...”
“Okay, we'll talk to him over breakfast in the morning,” he said. “But how do you feel about me now? I'm prepared to apologise to him... To you... I'm prepared to learn...”
“Then we'll be fine,” whispered Sandi.
“Can we work on that ‘limousine fervour’?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she assured him.
“So you won't mind wearing the Sheath to work tomorrow?” asked Francois.
“No,” Sandi assured him.
“And the other things?” he asked, meaning the butt-plug and dildo.
“No,” she said. “It will be a challenge... Focussing on intellectual things... Concentrating on tasks to hand... Whilst on the verge of orgasm... All day...”
He turned out the light, plunging the room into a blue-grey twilight. Sandi lay awake, staring into the dark. Her body hummed with spent pleasure. Her mind replayed Caleb’s voice. It embodied his knowledge of her, his certainty, his vision for her, and it left her feeling that she had no alternative but to fulfil his expectations. It freed her of guilt for he wasn't merely tolerating her intemperance when it came to sex but driving it.
A strange peace settled over her, cold and clear. There were no limits. The borderlands they had entered were vast and unmapped. And tomorrow, she would begin her first dedicated study in this new country: the art of hunger. She closed her eyes, and in the darkness, she began to imagine.