The Penitent

Chapter Three - Mister Stein-2

“It was obvious right from the start. The way you subjected yourself to that fool, Wally. And, of course, your letter: the guilt you felt about your parents’ deaths, the strict Catholic home, the voyeuristic uncle who refused to give you what you really wanted. What exactly was it you longed for after those steamy sessions in the basement?’’ He did not wait for her reply. “You wanted to be beaten. You wanted him to remove his belt and whip you with it. You wanted him to punish you for your sins. And then there is your weak husband jumping through whatever hoop you hold up. Did he have to be absent this weekend or did you send him away?”

“I urged him to go.”

“Ah, yes. And finally there was Wally begging for your kisses. Three men in your empty life and all of them emasculated.”

She lifted her head and for the first time looked directly at him, “I knew that afternoon in Harry’s Bar, that you were different. I knew you would not be like...like other men.”

He leaned forward, his eyes narrow slits, “Of course you did. You understood that to me you are nothing. You are of no earthly use other than to be used. Your face is beautiful, but I’m not interested. Your small, young body is exquisite, but it doesn’t excite me. Your innocence is as rare these days as honesty, but it is of little consequence to me...except...” He left the sentence hanging, incomplete. The color had risen to her cheeks. She looked away from him. He smiled. “Tell me,” he said, “have you ever seen the old film version of ‘The African Queen’?”

His question surprised her. She’d watched it for the second time just two weeks ago. “Yes, once at the movies and recently on television.”

“Which scene do you remember most vividly?” He sat up as if her answer were important to him.

Before thinking about it, she answered, “The part where Humphrey Bogart is pulling the boat through the swamp and those...those...”

“Leeches,” he supplied the word.

“Yes,” she said, closing her eyes and shaking her head, “they were horrible. I couldn’t look.”

“I take it you don’t care for leeches?”

She was confused, not understanding the unexpected direction his questions had taken. “Well, I...I never thought about...”

“Don’t you know, Mrs. Ryan, it isn’t fair to make hasty judgments about any of God’s creatures: rattlesnakes, scorpions, those of us who are obese and no longer young. Even leeches, disgusting as you may find them, are creations of the God who made both the lion and the lamb.”

“Yes, but...”

He interrupted her once more. “It’s too bad you feel as you do. About the leeches, I mean. I happen to be quite fond of them. In fact, I have a small but select collection. However, I don’t like to think of them as a collection. They are pets. You know how people feel about their pets?” He waited for her to respond. She didn’t know what to say. “I’m asking you a simple question. I’m asking you to tell me how people feel toward their pets.”

Tears came to her eyes. She began to stutter, “They...they...love them.”

“And just how do pet owners show their love for these poor, dumb creatures?”

“They...they talk to them, I suppose, and play with them. See that they don’t come to any harm, feed them...”

He slapped his hands down on the arms of the chair startling her. “Ah, yes,” he said, “feed them. There we have it.” He looked at the ceiling for a moment, then placed his hands on his knees. “Most pets like variety in their diet and require daily nourishment. Did you know there is a type of leech that needs to be fed but once every six months?”

“No,” she said, “I...”

“And did you know that leeches subsist on only one kind of food?” She shook her head. He paused, rocking back and forth slightly. “Yes,” he continued, “only one.” He folded his hands over his stomach and leaned back. “It’s too bad you have such a negative attitude regarding leeches. I was hoping we might find that we share a common interest. However, people have been known to change. An open mind. A willingness to accommodate new experiences.” He closed his eyes for a moment and smiled. “Familiarity,” he went on, “does not always breed contempt. Quite often it has the opposite effect. Don’t you agree?” He leaned forward, staring at her.

“Yes,” she answered, nervously, “I...I...guess that’s true.”

“Of course, it is. We hate and fear the things we don’t understand. Knowing leads to caring.”

“Yes, but...”

His upraised hand stopped her. He shifted in his chair and sank back, closing his eyes once more. After what seemed a long time, he began to speak, “Well, then, Mrs. Ryan, in the matter of my leeches, don’t you think you might alter your unfair opinion if you had the opportunity to, well...to get...to get closer to them?”

The fear curled round and round in her stomach. She opened her mouth to speak but could not. She felt the heat between her legs. When she did not answer, he began with more questions. “As a child, Mrs. Ryan, did you own a pet?” She shook her head yes. “A dog?” She nodded again. “And you played with him, and bathed and brushed him, and saw to it that he had a clean, warm place to sleep?”

“Yes,” she said.

“But what did you do for him that really proved you were his loving and trustworthy friend?” He waited, his eyes still closed. She formed the words but could not speak them. “What, Mrs. Ryan, did you do?” he asked sharply.

“I...I...fed him,” she whispered so softly he made her repeat it. “I fed him.”

“Yes, that’s the way with pets,” he went on as if they were discussing the weather. “It’s the same with babies. You’ve had no children?”

“No,” she said, “I...I can’t.”

His eyes bore into hers. She could not look away. “Then, it seems, the delight in nourishing another life at your breast is to be denied you forever,” he smiled slightly. “If I recall,” he leaned forward, “you have such healthy breasts, small but full and firm.”

She was suddenly conscious of the blood pulsing in her n*****s. Abruptly, he got up and crossed to stand before her. He untied his robe and it fell open. After a moment, she slid off the couch to her knees. Her face was not six inches from his crotch, which was as hairless as her own. His c**k hung limp and fat like a pale sausage. His testicles were enormous smooth white globes. The skin drawn tightly over them seemed almost transparent. She could see the network of their blue veins crisscrossing and intersecting like a detailed road map.

She inched forward to lick him. He slapped her, not hard, across the face. More surprised than hurt she fell backward. She huddled between the couch and the coffee table like a frightened child.

“I am not your uncle or your husband or Wally,” he said. Unable to speak, she nodded. He lifted his dead, white c**k and let it go. “You want to suck this?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“And these?” He cupped his huge testes.

“Yes,” she said, getting to her knees.

“How much?”

The burning between her legs was unbearable. She shut her eyes and clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. “Very much,” she said.

He closed his robe and retied the cord. Then he returned to the leather chair. “There is a jar in that paper bag on the table. A gift for you.”

She knew before she opened the bag what she would find. It was a squat, wide-mouthed glass jar with a screw-on lid. It contained approximately two quarts of murky water and three flat worm-like creatures. Two were brown-gray and at least six inches in length. The third was longer and brightly colored with bands of orange and yellow and blue. The sudden light caused all of them to expand and contract. They propelled themselves listlessly, sliding against the curved surface of the glass container.

She drew back, pulling her robe together, her hands instinctively covering her breasts. She stared at the bloodsuckers, hypnotized by their slow contractions. Even through the dirty water, the light glinted on the slime that covered their bodies. Stein watched her intently for a few moments then sat back and folded his hands over his stomach again, apparently satisfied.

“My pets,” he said, “phylum-annelida; class...hirudinea...common name, leech. But they are most uncommon, don’t you think?” She continued to gaze at the jar, hardly hearing him. “I believe I mentioned that they have a tiresome diet, subsisting on just one food. Can you guess what it is, Mrs. Ryan?” She did not answer. “Mrs. Ryan,” he spoke forcefully, “I’ve asked you a question!”

“Yes,” she said, her face gone pale, “yes, I know what it is.”

“They are hungry, Mrs. Ryan, not weak yet but hungry nonetheless. It’s been about five months since they’ve eaten.” She shuddered visibly. “Do you really want me that much?” he said pointing at the jar. “Does the disgusting thought of holding this limp, white, shriveled c**k between your lovely lips excite you that much? Are you so anxious to lick these,” he lifted his testicles, “that you would...” he did not finish the sentence.

She stood up, facing him, the coffee table and the jar between them. Her trembling hands loosened the belt of her gown. Her high, firm breasts rose and fell rapidly. Without taking her eyes from him, she unscrewed the lid of the jar.

“Yes, Mr. Stein,” she said, “I would like to feed your pets.”

If her response surprised him, he did not show it. “Come here, Mrs. Ryan.” She stepped around the coffee table and stood between his open legs. He reached up and squeezed her n*****s between his thumbs and index fingers. At his touch she gasped and her breath came faster. “Yes,” he smiled up at her, “they will enjoy these.” He pointed to her crotch. “Let me see it.” She spread the lips of her shaven cunt for him. The pink membranes were dark with blood, and he could see the come beginning to ooze from her v****a. Her c**t stood up, red and hard. He pressed it with his forefinger. She thrust her hips forward. He quickly withdrew his hand and looked up at her angrily.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I couldn’t help it.”

“Perhaps we can take care of that.” She glanced at the jar and drew in her breath sharply. She shut her eyes. Stein watched her closely. “Yes, Mrs. Ryan, I’ll leave it up to you. I will always leave the choices up to you. Tell me, how many of my little companions do you want?”

Why didn’t he tie her down or something and drop them on her? Why must she help? Why must she agree? Her eyes were still closed and her head bowed. “Two,” she said softly.

“What?”

“Two. I want to feed two.”

“Well, Mrs. Ryan, you are very kind indeed. Feed them, that’s what you said, wasn’t it, feed them? Feed them from your sweet virgin breasts?”

“Yes.”

“But they don’t subsist on milk, do they?” She didn’t answer. “However, I’m sure they will find some nourishment, Mrs. Ryan. Won’t they?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Shall we go to the bedroom?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Will you take them?” He motioned toward the jar. She picked it up carefully but did not look into it. From the paper bag, he removed a pair of rubber gloves and followed her down the hall. “Oh,” he said, entering the bedroom behind her, “candles. How thoughtful. Will you light all of them, please?” She placed the jar on the end table and, in a few moments, the room was flickering in candlelight. He switched off the floor lamps. “Good,” he said, “bright enough to see and yet softly romantic.” He touched her arm. “Perhaps, in these matters, you have the habit of making last minute preparations?” He smiled.

She sat at her nightstand and took up her lip-gloss. Her hand trembled, but she willed herself to steady it. She brushed her hair and turned to him holding up a vial of perfumed oil.

“Yes,” he said.

She began to rub the oil over her body. Her skin glowed, reflecting the warm light. “Is this what you do before receiving a lover?” he asked.

“I...I…want to look...attractive.”

“For them?” he pointed at the jar and chuckled.

“Yes,” she said. She cupped her breasts as she had done that afternoon at Harry’s. She crossed to the jar and, kneeling, pressed one of her n*****s to it. Perhaps sensing the change in light or heat, all of the leeches stopped circling and hung suspended in the water just opposite her breast. They undulated slowly. She stared at them. They were flat, narrow at one end and wide at the other.

Stein watched her. “The broad posterior contains the primary sucker,” he explained. “It is large and serves to attach the body firmly to its host.” She could see the suckers sticking to the glass. “The head and, of course, the mouth is at the narrow end,” he continued as if he were giving a lecture. “There is a smaller but very powerful sucker at the head as well as three small teeth. The punctures they make heal very quickly.” She stood up, almost knocking over the jar. “Are you afraid?” he asked.