SPOTLIGHT: The Meadow by Kristin Garth

(First 12 pages)

He had flown her to New York, and so she had dressed for him: short skirt, knee socks. Scarlet’s long dark hair, she’d braided carefully, at least three times, and tied with black ribbons. She was 25, but she barely looked 18.  Expected to be good, she wanted to be perfect.  Before they disembarked, the young blond male flight attendant leaned in close and produced a pair of pin-on wings.  She released her shaky grip on the armrest to accept them. 

This was only the third time Scarlet had flown on a plane, all three financed by her New York friend. Though the first flight, she hadn’t known he’d purchased the ticket.  Flying was a new experience, and she still felt scared during the takeoffs and the landings.

As she walked off the plane to meet him, her fingers shaking more and more each step, she realized it wasn’t just the flying that scared her. Alex scared her, the one she’d traveled so far to see. He enjoyed doing it.

“You’re fun to scare. Your reactions are as pure as that unmarked skin. It’s why I picked you.”

He’d said it to her over the phone.  He couldn’t see the goosebumps his dark whisper produced.

In truth, Alex hadn’t picked Scarlet, not at first. She’d been chosen for him, by one of his dom friends, at an out of state affair – Scarlet’s first fetish party.  Even though the party was local to Scarlet, less an hour away from her home, she’d been invited to attend by a man she’d met when her sexual curiosity led her into a BDSM chatroom. Over time, she learned he only lived 45 minutes away.  One of the members of the chat she had come to trust vouched for him, assured Scarlet he was safe to meet. So she’d taken a chance, agreed to dinner at a busy Irish pub, a Cobb salad with a talkative, disarming stranger – the former she was far too nervous to enjoy. Later in his car, to break the ice, he’d asked permission to tickle her.

Though she thought it silly, she’d said yes. His tickles at first were chaste, choosing modest targets: armpits and the sides of her ribs. But soon they became vigorous, probing and merciless, hitting all the hidden places, fingers pushing up her short shirt and grazing nipples. Then wandering up her skirt to the inside of the tops of her thighs, he made first contact with lips through cotton — wet cotton that made his mustache twitch when he smiled. She completely lost control of herself at these touches, fell over the seat onto him. 

Tickles turned to rough strokes.  Scarlet blushed hearing the uncontrollable sounds of pleasure her mouth made – if not words.  He spoke about her soaked panties out loud and how they told him all he needed to know.

He pushed two fingers inside quick.  Massaged strategically.  Scarlet involuntarily lunged towards him and moaned. His strokes inside her had a rapid, effortless efficiency, and she was soon writhing and grinding uncontrollably, shamelessly against him. He pulled her by her hair close against his chest and spoke rough in her ear, “Little girls need to be played with often.”

When she came, she made a sound that had surprised her, its volume she feared audible in the packed parking lot of this restaurant – even with the windows up.

After, resting against his chest, she’d responded to his queries of limits and safewords.  He suggested they start drafting a contract.  The Tickler asked so many questions — used several terms she had to ask him to define. Her innocence made him smile.  

It became clear quickly to Scarlet, from his questions he was, principally, a swinger, a term she didn’t need defined. She knew that word, a term she already knew did not define her.

Still, in the months she had been in the chatroom, this tickler was the only somewhat local and verifiably safe entry point to this secret world she longed to explore.  Scarlet was far too desirous of sexual experience to rashly throw one away without at least an attempt.  She would make her mind an open field — listen to what he had to say.

“Would you have sex with other people if I wanted you to?”

Scarlet thought about opening the car door to run.  Didn’t though.  Instead, she closed her eyes, took a breath and chose her words carefully.

“That’s not something I desire.”

“But would it ever be something you would do for me?”

She let the insane idea float around the open field, her meadow, like a stray neon balloon from some faraway party she was determined not to pop even if it irritated her.  Scarlet knew enough about herself now to know that pleasing someone, putting their needs first was something that did define her. This epiphany gave her a vantage point to see this bizarre activity in a new way.

“It might be possible as a gift, a special occasion.”

His face radiated joy. The offer itself had been a gift. It made her feel useful. Maybe the offer alone would be enough.

She’d been seeing him a month before the party. Details were relayed to her about some of the guests, most from far away, and their proclivities. Some she already knew online from the chatroom. It was clear the majority of these guests, like The Tickler, were swingers. He described one in particular, half of a powerful sounding couple from New York that The Tickler clearly very much admired. The Husband’s tastes were obviously in line with The Tickler; The Wife he’d described as enjoying “darker things.” A phrase he’d said with a little frown of disapproval.

“I’ve sent him your picture. He wants to have you in front of everyone. Would this qualify as a special occasion?”

She didn’t say anything. It made her nervous.

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course.”

The Tickler tried to give her gifts, too. He wasn’t much on beatings or pain, but he’d tried to please his comely little masochist. Once, he cuffed her to a bed and beat her with a crop and a flogger until she’d cried. All the mental detritus had floated from Scarlet’s brain to reveal, very briefly, the entirety of a pristine green meadow beneath. When she’d cried, though The Tickler had stopped in horror, dropped his implement of the moment and held her, to her disappointment.

The fragrant meadow faded fast as it had appeared before she’d felt its slender, gentle grass against her skin.

“You forgot your safeword.”

“I didn’t forget it.  I just didn’t use it.  Didn’t want to stop.”

“But you’re so upset?”

“Is that bad?”

“It makes me feel like I’m hurting you.”

“But isn’t that the point?”

He’d looked at her half confused, half betrayed.

“Not for me, I guess.”

And so The Tickler left it like that, agree to disagree. Scarlet was too excited about his party and the colorful characters arriving from out of town. She could only think now of one, The Husband. Hardly knew anything about him except his marital status, age (late 40’s) and a vague description of an important sounding job (an economic adviser to a popular former President). Scarlet only knew these few facts and that he wanted to fuck her in front of a crowd on The Tickler’s living room floor.

The night of the party, by the time the unmistakably striking middle-aged couple arrived, Scarlet was shaking in her see-thru black babydoll negligee. The Tickler met them at the door while Scarlet watched the three of them from across the room. The men whispered and exchanged pleasantries, never looking her way at all. The Wife, with her small, regal features and smooth gray long bobbed hair looked — even nodded appreciatively in her direction.

At first, she didn’t know how The Wife knew her, but then had the thought, ‘Oh, her husband must have showed her the picture. I guess she knows what’s about to happen.’ It was a new concept to her, this polyamory thing, as The Tickler called it. 

The Tickler left the couple and walked over to Scarlet. Whispering and checking out the other partygoers, the couple seemed to want to mingle — The Husband never seeming to notice Scarlet at all. She almost thought she was off the hook. Then The Tickler whispered in her ear.

“So is tonight a special occasion?”

Scarlet looked at the husband with his salt and pepper hair and beard, athletic build gregariously chatting with a group of out-of-towners, old friends apparently from the chatroom.  He wasn’t unappealing, actually attractive but not compelling enough to turn her into a sex performer in front of a packed living room of experienced voyeurs.

It wasn’t about him though. It was about trying to make whatever she was doing with The Tickler work. If she gave him this one thing that she didn’t really want to do, maybe he would return the favor. Maybe he could make her scream and cry enough to find the meadow again. Maybe he would try for her like she was willing to do for him.

She looked into The Tickler’s hopeful twinkling boyish eyes and slowly nodded her head.  There was not a second given for her to pause and reconsider.  He pulled her to the center of the room of at least 20 currently unentertained guests chatting and munching on hors d’oeuvres, absent-mindedly awaiting a show.

The Tickler walked over towards the couple conversing with his other guests and pulled down a bowl she hadn’t noticed from a nearby shelf. Scarlet watched The Husband, already pulling off his pants, extract a condom from the bowl as he finally made eye contact with her.  Eyes flashing with a dark intensity, he gave her body a hard look, appraising what he saw.  He moved like a boxer in his corner in before a match, a few jumps to warm up the body before the fight then cocking his head in either direction like he was gearing up to vanquish his opponent. 

It’s how Scarlet felt too – like an opponent in a game she didn’t how to play and was destined to lose, a sacrifice.  His pants were off, and suddenly Scarlet felt ashamed she couldn’t turn her gaze from his huge, erect cock.  He watched her appreciate it, knowing where it would soon be.

His wife, standing next to him during all of this, ripped open the condom and put it on him with a smile. As he walked towards Scarlet, people who had been standing and talking found seats where they were available, some even on the floor. The chatter turned to whispers and a little applause and “oh, yeahs,” as he pulled the nighty off of her and turned her around for everyone to examine before pushing her hard to the ground by the back of her neck.

Her face was buried in the carpet at first, her ass in the air, as he drove his cock inside her from behind with such ferocity she was glad that the carpet muffled the undignified sounds her mouth made.

The husband continued his powerful thrusts that filled Scarlet and, at times, seemed to propel her forward with their force, closer to the audience. The thrusts continued long enough her body finally gave into their rhythm.  Her face in the carpet gave her a safe space to hide.  

Scarlet heard so many different voices in a chorus of lewd commentary on his masterful performance and on her ” amazing tits.” Then she heard someone say, “I can’t see her. Show her to us.” And The Husband was pulling her up, one arm crooked around her throat and sliding her onto his resilient cock to ride him fully on display before all these greedy eyes.  Scarlet closed her eyes to avoid them, the last refuge of her dignity, until she heard a voice, the only voice she was even doing this for, The Tickler, calling out to her.

“Scarlet, open your eyes.”

And so she did while The Husband pushed her up and down with a rough, ruthless expertise on his relentlessly rigid cock. Finally, after lots of applause, Scarlet could hear his breathing get quicker, urgent.  She knew the show was finally coming to an end. As anyone in the room clearly knew from the embarrassing moans she could not control, she’d eventually come to enjoy the fucking.  All those eyes had left her feeling penetrated even more.

He pulled her off his cock and pushed her to the floor on her back this time. Inside her deep, his face so close, she could see nothing but gray eyes almost flat against her own; her whole body shook violently with each of his thrusts.  Beneath him now, in this privacy of embraced flesh she finally saw him smile.

The show was over.  Nobody else was there but The Husband and her now. No angling her body for better viewing or reacting to any direction from lecherous voices in the crowd. No longer was he a performer, but a man receiving his reward, and she alone could register how thoroughly he enjoyed it.

When it was over, he climbed off of her and made his rounds around the room high-fiving, accepting lavish praise. The party moved back to the business of small talk and belated greetings, having been so soon distracted from such things by this preliminary event.

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