further, I tore at my trousers.
“Please close the window,” she dismayed me by saying in a dispassionate tone. “I am cold.” Impatient with the new interruption, I looked up and saw that a dormer was open on the far side of the large room; the attic was in fact a little chilly for us to be undressed. Reluctantly and with considerable awkwardness—for I did not know whether to discard my trousers or pull them up—I stood up and dashed to the window. By the time I returned to the bed, Marika was lying naked. Her powerful legs opened like a pair of scissors and wound around my waist. In one beautifully fluid motion and without a break in contact, she rolled me over and rose triumphantly astride my loins. With her thick brown mane loose about her splendid shoulders, she resembled an Amazon mounted proudly on a broken stallion. Overwhelmed with admiration, I cried out to her under my breath.
Her rhythm was deliberate and languorous as she rode me like an equestrienne at an amble. Rocking upon the enchanted stalk, her rapturous cheeks churned unrelentingly until a great tenderness washed up in me like an ocean tide, and in its depths life's seed rose straining toward the feminine fount. Like the insect that in mating yields up his life, I was at that moment so completely absorbed that I would have abandoned life itself to our union. Surging toward consummation, I cried out her name and my love for her. She, sensing the imminence of my inebriate offering, breathed her assent but quickly amended, “No, not yet! Wait . . . wait.” Our eyes locked. She slipped a finger into my mouth, as if to placate my urgency.
Then, as in a dream, the voice came, calling Marika's name. It glided by my ears without at first touching me, for the world and its realities had fallen away like so many dry petals around my generative core. “Oh, my God,” Marika sobbed, “oh, my God.” For a moment, she continued her gyrations as if hoping the intruder would go away. But the voice came closer, boots clattered up the stairs. We froze, our fingers tightly entwined, swaying in a suspension of ecstasy.
The door flew open. I saw Kate framed in the doorway, and still I did not quite grasp the reality of her presence. She was dressed in a black equestrian outfit, her right hand clasping a riding crop. Marika, erect on top of me, had her back to the door and out of shame or fear did not turn. I too would have looked away, but my eyes were irresistibly drawn to the livid face frozen in its petrifying beauty.
For just a second—it could not have been more, though time seemed to have stopped—I was all but sucked up by those dark burning eyes. And I saw in them, as in a magic crystal, the entire length of my love and the depth of my betrayal. I saw myself falling endlessly amid a dazzling flurry, as if a celestial diamond had shattered to dust. At that same instant, even as I looked into her eyes, my lust broke. I could not doubt that Kate saw. What Ifelt was beyond remorse, beyond despair. I remember wishing that my life would flow out with my desire, and that she would plunge her riding crop through my heart.
A terrible hardness that I had never seen came into Kate's eyes, but instead of venting her rage on me, she turned on Marika. “Shameless hussy!” she let out in a voice trembling with fury. The next instant she fell upon the girl. Immobilized by the latter's weight, I looked on in helpless consternation as the black-gloved hand rose and descended in one swift, deadly movement; I heard the crack of the whip on Marika's naked back, heard her scream; I saw her face crumple in pain and felt the violent recoil of her body hurtling from my embrace.
Indignation broke through my shame; I completely forgot—to my later astonishment—my own state. “Stop that!” I shouted. Already the whip was rising for a second blow. I lurched and threw myself between the menacing arm and its victim. “What do you think you're doing!” I demanded,
“Please close the window,” she dismayed me by saying in a dispassionate tone. “I am cold.” Impatient with the new interruption, I looked up and saw that a dormer was open on the far side of the large room; the attic was in fact a little chilly for us to be undressed. Reluctantly and with considerable awkwardness—for I did not know whether to discard my trousers or pull them up—I stood up and dashed to the window. By the time I returned to the bed, Marika was lying naked. Her powerful legs opened like a pair of scissors and wound around my waist. In one beautifully fluid motion and without a break in contact, she rolled me over and rose triumphantly astride my loins. With her thick brown mane loose about her splendid shoulders, she resembled an Amazon mounted proudly on a broken stallion. Overwhelmed with admiration, I cried out to her under my breath.
Her rhythm was deliberate and languorous as she rode me like an equestrienne at an amble. Rocking upon the enchanted stalk, her rapturous cheeks churned unrelentingly until a great tenderness washed up in me like an ocean tide, and in its depths life's seed rose straining toward the feminine fount. Like the insect that in mating yields up his life, I was at that moment so completely absorbed that I would have abandoned life itself to our union. Surging toward consummation, I cried out her name and my love for her. She, sensing the imminence of my inebriate offering, breathed her assent but quickly amended, “No, not yet! Wait . . . wait.” Our eyes locked. She slipped a finger into my mouth, as if to placate my urgency.
Then, as in a dream, the voice came, calling Marika's name. It glided by my ears without at first touching me, for the world and its realities had fallen away like so many dry petals around my generative core. “Oh, my God,” Marika sobbed, “oh, my God.” For a moment, she continued her gyrations as if hoping the intruder would go away. But the voice came closer, boots clattered up the stairs. We froze, our fingers tightly entwined, swaying in a suspension of ecstasy.
The door flew open. I saw Kate framed in the doorway, and still I did not quite grasp the reality of her presence. She was dressed in a black equestrian outfit, her right hand clasping a riding crop. Marika, erect on top of me, had her back to the door and out of shame or fear did not turn. I too would have looked away, but my eyes were irresistibly drawn to the livid face frozen in its petrifying beauty.
For just a second—it could not have been more, though time seemed to have stopped—I was all but sucked up by those dark burning eyes. And I saw in them, as in a magic crystal, the entire length of my love and the depth of my betrayal. I saw myself falling endlessly amid a dazzling flurry, as if a celestial diamond had shattered to dust. At that same instant, even as I looked into her eyes, my lust broke. I could not doubt that Kate saw. What Ifelt was beyond remorse, beyond despair. I remember wishing that my life would flow out with my desire, and that she would plunge her riding crop through my heart.
A terrible hardness that I had never seen came into Kate's eyes, but instead of venting her rage on me, she turned on Marika. “Shameless hussy!” she let out in a voice trembling with fury. The next instant she fell upon the girl. Immobilized by the latter's weight, I looked on in helpless consternation as the black-gloved hand rose and descended in one swift, deadly movement; I heard the crack of the whip on Marika's naked back, heard her scream; I saw her face crumple in pain and felt the violent recoil of her body hurtling from my embrace.
Indignation broke through my shame; I completely forgot—to my later astonishment—my own state. “Stop that!” I shouted. Already the whip was rising for a second blow. I lurched and threw myself between the menacing arm and its victim. “What do you think you're doing!” I demanded,
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