Rendezvous With a Stranger by Lizbeth Dusseau Page B

am, at least so far.   But can I trust a man who won’t reveal himself to me?”
           “You have a lot of wants, Ellen Laurey,” he says.
           “You know that’s not my real name,” I say.
           “But I like the sound of it.   Some call you Lynnie.   Have you noticed the resemblance?”
           “Oh ….” I’m sure of it now.   “You must know someone I know.”   I’ve pondered this idea many times, but haven’t had the courage to think he gleaned information about me from Isaac, perhaps, or some other friend, or even Robby.
           “And maybe not.”
           “But why such secrecy?” I ask.
           “Because the secrecy arouses you.”
           “And so does getting whipped and fucked and taken into alleys.   But is it necessary anymore, or do I mean so little to you?” I can’t believe that any man with his passion can be aloof from love.  
           “You’re not in a position to be making promises to any man. Perhaps when you’re free, when you’re ready, you’ll know more.”
           “You want me to ….” I stop short of discussing my husband.   He likely knows about him too, but do I risk that?
           “I want you to do nothing you’re not ready for. And you have time, Ellen; so do I. Relish what we have, that’s all that’s necessary.” He gives me a playful tweak on the nose.  
“Now tell me about cumming this afternoon.”
           I start to blush and would back away, but his arms are as unbending as the fence he bound me to.  
           “Tell me.”   He looks so serious, like this really matters.
           “You really shouldn’t be in my office or prying into my life.”
           “But I have been there and I am prying into your life, and you love it.”    
           “But …”
           “Tell me how the pictures aroused you.”
           He compels me with the gentle-firm sound of his words.   “You force me into things,” I reply, making it sound like a protest.
           He chuckles.   But when he finishes his face turns grim.   “Tell me how you got off.”
           “Maybe you should have had a camera trained on me.”   I suddenly grow anxious, remembering those photographs lying in my bottom desk drawer—I should have brought them home.   “Who was that with the camera?”
           “Tell me, Ellen, about your masturbating,” he insists, as though I owe him the full story.  
           “You won’t let this rest, will you?”
           “And you’re dying to spill it out.”
           He always seems to have the upper hand and I allow it so easily.   He smacks my ass and grabs it hard, his eyes glowing with fire.
           I blush again and begin to speak.   “I was on the floor, like you were standing over me.   I imagined you there commanding my every move.   Crouching at your feet, I threw my skirt up over my ass and lowered my panties.   Then with as many fingers as I could manage, I fucked my cunt and asshole until I came.”
           He smiles, the picture as vivid and lewd to him as it is to me. “You must have been preparing for me tonight,” he says, as his finger probes my recently probed ass.
           I shake my head.   “How could I know?”
           His expression looks like a blank shrug.   “You knew,” he says, “just like I know you. Count on that, Ellen Laurey.   I think it will lead you when you’re swimming with contradictions.”
           I couldn’t have better described my weeks with him, than “swimming with contradictions.”   But now, the contradictions seem to be fading from my view and the picture of myself is getting clearer.   I’m not yet ready to jump off bridges, and I’m not wanting to fall down mountainsides because I’m going too fast without a guide.   But I am finding in the stranger’s arms a steadiness that