obedient.
I had not cried out.
I had not called for guards.
Was I not pleasing him? He must not tell that I had been by the wall!
What more could I do? He must be quiet.
He must not make noise.
This place was not safe.
How long had we lain together? Did he not know that we could be seen from the wall? I feared that guards might see!
The rest period must be nearly over.
Others will be coming into the garden.
What if the one who was first amongst us should come to the garden? What if we should be discovered? But it was the helplessness which precedes the yielding.
All was in his hands.
I moaned.
I looked up at him.
He had brought me to the point where he could do with me what he wanted.
I was now his.
How it must amuse them, and please them, I thought, to have such power over us! But I clung to him in my helplessness. He could do with me what he wished.
All was in his hands.
Oh, let him be merciful! Let him be merciful!
How they can wring from us our surrender!
Let him be kind! Oh, please, be kind! Please be kind!
He looked down at me, I fastened in his arms.
With my eyes I begged him, piteously.
I wondered suddenly if he had come to steal me, or one like me. To pluck a flower, to seize, and make away with, a luscious fruit of the garden? But such things are almost impossible to do. To be sure, sometimes a flower would disappear, but then so, too, usually, would have a guard, or member of the staff. That was dangerous, but possible. But he was not of the house, or of the staff, or the guards, I was sure of that. How, thusly, without the knowledge of the house, without the keys, the passwords, perhaps even friends within, could he hope to get me over the wall, or through the gate, past the guards? How could he even hope to ascend the wall himself, with the incurved knives at the summit? But he had said he was known in the house.
Could that be true? If that were so, then I supposed that he might, quite unlike one such as I, simply take his leave. Perhaps, waiting, he had wandered into the garden, to pass the time. He might then have seen me by the wall, and, perhaps taken with my beauty, as some men were, decided, on a whim, to accost and enjoy me.
How hateful he was!
But now I was his.
Helplessly!
He had brought me to this point.
He could now do with me what he wanted.
But I knew in my heart that I had wanted him perhaps a thousand times more than he had wanted me.
He was a man of this world, and the sight of one can wrench out our insides.
We are made for such men.
He moved slightly.
I whimpered, begging.
I sensed whispers of the yielding, tiny whispers, becoming more insistent, Already I was within the throes of the helplessness, that helplessness which precedes the yielding, which heralds its proximity, which warns of its imminence, that helplessness which sometimes seems to hold one fixed in place, where one, as though chained to a wall, knows that there is no escape, which sometimes seems to place one on a brink, bound hand and foot, in the utmost delicacy of balance, at the mercy of so little as the whisper of another's breath.
I bit on the silk.
He moved, slightly.
I whimpered, gratefully, eagerly.
I looked up at him.
No heed did he pay me.
I clutched him.
How could I be brought more closely to the yielding? I wanted it!
My eyes begged it.
I thought I heard voices from the house. I groaned.
Was this some torture to which he was subjecting me? It may as well have been, so helpless I was, so much at his mercy.
To be sure, I was nothing, only a girl in a garden.
I had, of course, in chains, and in ropes, learned what such as he could do to me, how they could bring me again and again, gently, surely, cruelly, as it might amuse them, to such a point, to such a delicate, exact point, to the very threshold of release, to the very edge of ecstasy, to where I was only the cry of a nerve away, begging, and then, if they wished, simply abandon me there, letting me try to cling there, in
I had not cried out.
I had not called for guards.
Was I not pleasing him? He must not tell that I had been by the wall!
What more could I do? He must be quiet.
He must not make noise.
This place was not safe.
How long had we lain together? Did he not know that we could be seen from the wall? I feared that guards might see!
The rest period must be nearly over.
Others will be coming into the garden.
What if the one who was first amongst us should come to the garden? What if we should be discovered? But it was the helplessness which precedes the yielding.
All was in his hands.
I moaned.
I looked up at him.
He had brought me to the point where he could do with me what he wanted.
I was now his.
How it must amuse them, and please them, I thought, to have such power over us! But I clung to him in my helplessness. He could do with me what he wished.
All was in his hands.
Oh, let him be merciful! Let him be merciful!
How they can wring from us our surrender!
Let him be kind! Oh, please, be kind! Please be kind!
He looked down at me, I fastened in his arms.
With my eyes I begged him, piteously.
I wondered suddenly if he had come to steal me, or one like me. To pluck a flower, to seize, and make away with, a luscious fruit of the garden? But such things are almost impossible to do. To be sure, sometimes a flower would disappear, but then so, too, usually, would have a guard, or member of the staff. That was dangerous, but possible. But he was not of the house, or of the staff, or the guards, I was sure of that. How, thusly, without the knowledge of the house, without the keys, the passwords, perhaps even friends within, could he hope to get me over the wall, or through the gate, past the guards? How could he even hope to ascend the wall himself, with the incurved knives at the summit? But he had said he was known in the house.
Could that be true? If that were so, then I supposed that he might, quite unlike one such as I, simply take his leave. Perhaps, waiting, he had wandered into the garden, to pass the time. He might then have seen me by the wall, and, perhaps taken with my beauty, as some men were, decided, on a whim, to accost and enjoy me.
How hateful he was!
But now I was his.
Helplessly!
He had brought me to this point.
He could now do with me what he wanted.
But I knew in my heart that I had wanted him perhaps a thousand times more than he had wanted me.
He was a man of this world, and the sight of one can wrench out our insides.
We are made for such men.
He moved slightly.
I whimpered, begging.
I sensed whispers of the yielding, tiny whispers, becoming more insistent, Already I was within the throes of the helplessness, that helplessness which precedes the yielding, which heralds its proximity, which warns of its imminence, that helplessness which sometimes seems to hold one fixed in place, where one, as though chained to a wall, knows that there is no escape, which sometimes seems to place one on a brink, bound hand and foot, in the utmost delicacy of balance, at the mercy of so little as the whisper of another's breath.
I bit on the silk.
He moved, slightly.
I whimpered, gratefully, eagerly.
I looked up at him.
No heed did he pay me.
I clutched him.
How could I be brought more closely to the yielding? I wanted it!
My eyes begged it.
I thought I heard voices from the house. I groaned.
Was this some torture to which he was subjecting me? It may as well have been, so helpless I was, so much at his mercy.
To be sure, I was nothing, only a girl in a garden.
I had, of course, in chains, and in ropes, learned what such as he could do to me, how they could bring me again and again, gently, surely, cruelly, as it might amuse them, to such a point, to such a delicate, exact point, to the very threshold of release, to the very edge of ecstasy, to where I was only the cry of a nerve away, begging, and then, if they wished, simply abandon me there, letting me try to cling there, in
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