les histoires de chrislebo

It had been three days since my after hours meeting with Ronen, and I was still trying to make sense of it all. After he had found out about my 'second job', I had thought for sure I'd be fired, but Ronen had surprised me. Instead of a pink slip, he'd given me something quite different.

My backside had stung for hours afterwards. As for the other parts he had dealt with, well, that was another matter. I replayed the scene over and over in my mind later that night. The feel of his cock inside me as he had thrust himself into me again and again, the feel of his breath in my ear as he murmured words, dirty words, promises of things to come, had brought a heat to me that I hadn't felt in years.

When I arrived at work the next day, I went about my usual business, although my mind was elsewhere. Ronen showed up shortly before 9, and after a curt "Good morning" to us had gone into his office and closed the door. We didn't see him until lunch. The office was strangely quiet, strange because before Ronen it had been a rather chaotic place. But it was a friendly chaos. Although we weren't the most efficient unit in the company, we worked well together and managed to get things done. Our old boss, Mr. Harding, had allowed us a lot of freedom, and even though we took advantage of that freedom, we always got our work done in the end.

Ronen, on the other hand, had his own ideas of how the office should be run. The first day, he had called us all into his office and read us the riot act. Things were going to change, he had said. The office was going to be professional and efficient, as were we. I remembered how he had looked directly at me as he went on to say that no permisteral business was to be conducted on office time. He had found out about my little hobby.

I had been writing stories on my office computer, erotic stories, and had been bringing in a nice extra income from these. Although Harding had known I was moonlighting on office time, I hadn't been aware that he knew exactly what I had been writing, and had evidently enjoyed reading them. Ronen had found them on Harding's computer, and traced them to my own office computer. When he confronted me with them, I was certain I'd be fired, but it turned out Ronen had something else in mind.

After everyone else had left for the day, Ronen had called me into the office and I had ended up bare-assed and over his knee, then bent over his desk. My initial fear and outrage had quickly turned into something else as he pounded me from behind. Although he never came right out and said it, I knew that my job depended on Ronen's good will. And after he was through with me, he had promised more to come. I had been waiting to learn what he had in mind, it turned out I wouldn't wait for long.

After lunch I sat at my desk, finishing up a project, when Ronen emerged from his office. He walked over to me, and dropped some paperwork next to me. I looked up.

"I need you to finish these up this afternoon, Miss Ryan. I need the reports completed for a morning meeting tomorrow." I nodded, and began to shuffle through the papers.

"Yes sir, no problem. I'll get right on it." Ronen stood over me, and I could feel him looking at me, and my heart began to beat a bit faster when he didn't move. I tried to ignore him and focus on the work before me, but nervousness made my hands begin to shake. Then he leaned closer to me, his hand on the back of my chair, and spoke softly.

"I'll need you to stay awhile tonight. So make whatever arrangements you need to. We'll need about an hour." Without looking up, I nodded. He turned and left, returning to his office.

Once he was gone, my hands began to shake uncontrollably. I knew what he had in mind had nothing to do with work, and could only imagine just what it was. I was afraid, but under my fear there was a tingling excitement as I thought about what would happen once that office door closed behind me.

Ronen was a very handsome man. But there was something cold and calculating about him, something dangerous that both frightened and excited me. That first evening, when he bent me over his lap and spanked me, I knew he enjoyed the pain I felt as his hand fell, again and again, on my wiggling bottom. And it was no playful spanking I received, the man meant business, and the sting of his ministrations lasted for awhile afterwards. When he was done with my bottom, he had fucked me from behind with an intensity that left my pussy sore and tingling. And incredibly aroused. The feel of his big hard cock deep inside me as his fingers worked me in front had given me the most intense orgasm I'd had in years, and had left me weak kneed and gasping.

With my mind on these matters, I did my best to finish the work I had to do. The rest of the day went by quickly, and it was soon near 5 o'clock, and everyone began to gather coats and purses as they left for the day. I stayed at my desk, my eyes on the closed office door where Ronen waited.

After the last permister left, I stood, smoothed my skirt, and walked slowly towards the door. Before I could knock, I heard his voice from within. "Come in, Miss Ryan."

I did. Ronen was at his desk, his cold blue eyes moved over me slowly from top to bottom and back again. "Did you finish the report I asked you to?"

"Yes sir," I said, placing the papers on his desk. He looked them over briefly, nodded, and put them aside.

"Very good." He rose, then walked around the desk and over to where I stood. He stepped behind me, then I felt his hand lightly brush the back of my skirt. He was silent for a moment, then he said softly, "You have a nice ass." He pressed his hand against me, more firmly this time, and said again, "Yes, very nice. I think I'm going to enjoy it."

I said nothing, not trusting my own voice. Ronen's hand continued to stroke me, then his fingers slipped under my skirt and into the top of my panties. He rubbed the cleft of my ass, pressing more firmly with his fingers against my tightening hole. My breath caught as he pushed a single finger against my asshole.

He didn't try to enter me, just continued to press and stroke. Then he withdrew his hand, and guided me over to his desk. "Undress." he said.

With shaky hands, I obeyed. As I started to roll down my stockings, he stopped me. "No. Leave those on." I stood there, in only my stockings, as he looked me over. He returned his fingers to my ass, my little hole squeezed tightly shut as he stroked. "You're very tight back there. I like that."

"Sir, I haven't..." My voice trailed off as he continued to caress me. "I mean, I'm not used to, uh.." It was hard to get the words out.

"You haven't what? " he said.

"I haven't done it that way." I answered. It was true. Despite writing about anal sex, the only experience I'd had was some light finger play during fucking. I had never had anything bigger than my husband's finger up there, and had used my imagination to write my stories.

"Really?" he said. "Then this is probably going to hurt." The tone of his voice told me that he didn't care. He took his hand away and went over to his desk, where he took a tube out of a drawer. I saw what it was, KY jelly. He placed the tube on the desk and looked at me.

"You write so well about it. I'd have thought you had plenty of experience." He smirked. "Well, Miss Ryan, tonight you are going to get your experience. Open it." He handed me the tube.

With trembling fingers, I did as he commanded. As I squeezed the tube, the clear gel ran over my fingers. I looked up at Ronen, he had opened his belt and zipper, and had his cock in his hand. "Bend over the desk and open your legs." I obeyed. "Now, get that stuff in there."

I slicked myself up with the KY as he watched me from behind. "Get it in there, use your fingers." I worked the gel into my ass as he breathed, "Yeah, that's it, get it good and wet. Maybe it won't hurt so much." He laughed.

I felt him move close to me, then gasped as he began to rub the head of his cock against me. I held my breath as he pressed in, then gasped as he started to enter me. He put his hands on either side of me as he pushed past resistance and thrust himself slowly and deeply inside me. I cried out in pain as his cock went in to the hilt.

"That hurt?" he asked, then laughed again. "Good, I want it to hurt." Then he withdrew, almost out of me, and thrust again. The lube helped, but the pain was still bad. He began to fuck me from behind, slow and deep, as he breathed hot and heavy in my ear. "Oh yeah, good and tight." As he pulled out, he'd slap my ass, hard, as I squirmed under him. When he was deep inside me, I felt his balls slap against me, and I tried not to cry out, but he was merciless. He drove into me again and again as he gasped into my ear, "Oh yeah, that's good, c'mon, move that ass, bitch."

I squeezed my eyes shut and moaned as he plowed into me. I felt a hot, liquid sensation deep in my belly as he tore into me again and again. He grunted as he thrust, faster and harder. He moved his hand around the front to my pussy and started to stroke my clit with his fingers, and despite the pain, I began to move back against him as his fingers worked. My ass started to relax around his cock, and gradually the pain eased as he worked up a rhythm. He must have felt that, because he grunted into my ear, "That's it, that's it...fuck yeah!" He reached up, grabbed my tits and squeezed them, pinching my hardened nipples between his fingers. I could feel myself begin to respond, and as the pain eased his cock slid in and out without difficulty. His fingers worked my clit, and he pushed one, then two into my now thoroughly wet pussy.

"You like this, don't you?" he grunted. "You like me fucking your ass, you want it." I was gasping along with him, and he was right. I did, like it, no, I loved it. I was meeting each thrust with one of my own, and felt my own orgasm start to build.

I abandoned myself to the intense sensations, and heard myself moan, "Oh God, yeah, fuck me, fuck me!" as I began to come. I threw my head back and moaned as it overtook me, felt him deep in my belly as his own orgasm began. His cock and fingers felt so good, I didn't want it to end.

But, it did. With a long gasp, he emptied his balls into my ass, thrust one last time and he pressed me against the desk as he breathed against my neck. We stayed that way for a few minutes, him against my back, his arms on either side of me. He moved his lips against my neck, my ear, as he murmured "Oh yeah, so good...so fucking good."

I felt his softening cock slip from my ass as he stood. I heard him adjust his clothing, heard the swish of his zipper. I could barely move from where I was. He finally spoke.

"Get dressed, Miss Ryan." I eased myself off the desk, and retrieved my clothing. Knees shaking, I quickly put my clothes back on. Now that I had come, I realized how sore my ass was, and knew I'd be feeling it later.

I stood there, waiting to see what he would do next. To my surprise, he drew me to him and kissed me deeply, his tongue sliding past my lips. He put both hands on my buttocks and squeezed my ass. "You'll be sore later." he said.

"Yeah," I sighed. He released me, took a final look at me, and then walked back around his desk and sat.

He picked up the report I had completed and said, "Thank you for getting this done. I appreciate efficiency in my employees." He smiled. "You can go now." As I turned to leave, he spoke again.

"Miss Ryan?"

"Yes sir?"

"I think we're going to enjoy working together. See you tomorrow."

I smiled back, "Yes sir." He was right, I was definitely going to enjoy having Ronen as my new boss.

So, it appeared that Ronen and I had an "arrangement". Everything had happened so quickly, it was difficult for me to wrap my mind around it. How had things progressed so fast?

The first night he took me, over his desk, had awakened in me a lust that I didn't know I was capable of. I had written about a lot of sexual scenarios, based mostly on my own fertile imagination. And although I thought the stories were pretty good, and seemed to be popular, it turned out that the reality was very different.

When I was writing, I was the one in control. I decided who did what to whom, and how they reacted to it. I also decided when it was enough, and could, with a few stabs at the keyboard, bring everything to a stop at will. However, with Ronen, I had no control over anything.

The man had me by the balls, so to speak. Having discovered my very extensive collection of erotica on Harding's old computer, he had, by implication, made it clear that my job was on the line. My job, and my reputation. I had always used a pseudonym when writing, the nature of the stories made that a necessity. But now, my cover was blown.

Ronen had all the information he needed to make my life very difficult. And I really had no defense, as I had been doing the writing on office equipment, and on company time. He could have fired me on the spot. But he didn't. He chose another means of dealing with me, one that was quite unexpected.

I had become Ronen's plaything. His toy. And he had some very specific ideas on how he wanted to play. After establishing our roles and the rules by which things would be done, it seemed I would keep my job after all, but at a price.

I had learned just how costly it would be the first time I broke one of his rules. He had decided that I was not to wear panties under my skirts anymore, and had told me so one evening after one of our "meetings". No reamisters were given, no explanation, he simply told me that from now on, I was not to wear them at the office. He liked my thigh high stockings, and said I could wear those, in fact, insisted I do, but panties were out. I was to go 'commando" at all times while at work.

The very next day he called me into his office shortly after 9 am. This was unusual, as he usually wanted to see me after office hours. So, with some trepidation, I entered the office.

"Sir? You wanted to see me?" I asked.

"Come in Miss Ryan, and shut the door." He sat behind the large desk, his back to me. I did as he directed, and took one of the seats in front of the desk, waiting to see what it was he wanted of me.

He suddenly swiveled in his seat and said sharply, "I didn't tell you to sit down, Miss Ryan. That's the trouble with you, you don't know how to obey instructions." My face must have looked a complete blank, as I had no idea what the man was going on about. He rose from his seat and walked around the desk to stand behind me.

"What are you wearing, Miss Ryan?" I stumred for my words, still not sure just where this was leading.

""Um, a skirt and blouse, sir." It came out more of a question than a statement, but whatever it was, it was obviously the wrong answer. Ronen's hand came down, hard and sharp, on the desk in front of me.

"No! What are you wearing under the skirt, Miss Ryan?" Then it came to me in a flash. I had been in a hurry to get to work, and had completely forgotten about what he had said about the panties.

"Oh, sir, I'm sorry. I was in a hurry this morning and completely forgot. Here, I'll take them off right now." Ronen put his hand up.

"That won't be necessary, Miss Ryan. Come here."

I walked over to where he stood, by his desk. He was sitting on the edge, his blue eyes fixed on me. When I got close to him, he reached a hand under my skirt, his fingers brushing the edge of my underwear. He slipped his fingers under the elastic and with a sharp yank, tore them off. I gasped as the elastic cut into my hip. Without a word he tossed them onto the floor.

He opened one of the desk drawers and took out a slim black rod. It was one of those telescoping things, like a pointer or something, looked like a car antenna. He strode over and stood behind me.

"Bend over the desk, Miss Ryan." As I started to comply, he pushed me face down across the desk, my face resting on the blotter. His hand held me fast as he lifted my skirt up over my hips. I heard a light swish, and the rod landed across my ass with a crack.

Searing pain took my breath away, but I had no time to catch it as his hand rose and fell, again and again. He whipped me repeatedly over my ass and thighs, and I put my fist into my mouth to stifle my screams as continued without mercy.

Without thinking, my hand moved between my legs to touch my pussy, but he slapped it away. "No! I didn't give you permission to play with yourself. Do you think I'm doing this for your pleasure, slut?" He whipped me again. "This is punishment, not play. You need to learn the difference." The rod rose and fell several more times before he finally stopped.

My ass and thighs were on fire. Ronen snapped the rod shut and placed it back in the drawer. As I lay, gasping, across the desk, I felt hot tears begin to roll down my face. Ronen watched me for a moment, then his hand reached over and stroked my cheek. He traced the wet tears with his finger, then lightly stroked my lips.

"Taste your tears, Miss Ryan. And remember that when I give you an order, it is to be obeyed. No excuses. The next time, if there is a next time, I will not be so merciful." He turned away from me, then said, almost as an afterthought, "Fix your clothes and your makeup and get back to work."

I did as he told me, and left the office. The rest of the day went by in a foggy haze. My ass was so sore I could barely sit. After lunch, when I went into the ladies room, I looked at myself where he had hit me. Fiery red welts rose along my backside and thighs. On my God, I thought, how would I be able to explain these to my husband?

As it turned out, I didn't have to. Bill called me later that afternoon to tell me he had to make an emergency trip to see his parents, as his man had taken ill and was in the hospital. I told him not to worry about me, not too rush back, to spend as much time as he needed. He was gone when I got home, much to my relief.

The welts faded after a few days, to the point where I could, if necessary, disguise them with makeup. But I never again forgot about the panties.

So then, this is how it was with Ronen. He ordered, I obeyed. There were times during our sessions that he seemed almost kind, when he would hold me after and kiss me tenderly, telling me I was a good girl. Then there were the other times.

He could be unspeakably cruel and cold. He enjoyed causing me pain, his blue eyes would grow hard and glitter with excitement as he would whip, or spank me. Sometimes he would grab hold of one of my nipples and squeeze, twist, until tears came to my eyes and I would beg him to stop. He would smile then and tell me that my tears gave him pleasure. And I knew he was telling the truth. His cock would become hard as wood as he would thrust it into my mouth, my pussy, my ass, whatever he was in the mood for that day.

In the meantime, I continued with my writing. Ronen had read all of the stories on Harding's computer, and had told me that I was a pretty good writer. I knew he was enjoying them, as well as enjoying enacting some of them with me. But, as good as many of them were, there had always been a slight distance from my subject. Since I worked mainly on imagination, I didn't always get it right. But that had begun to change.

For now I was writing from actual experience, not merely my active imagination. My agent had been surprised at the quality of the work I had been sending. "Damn, Carla," he had said. "These are good! It's almost like you were actually there." I had smiled ruefully, if only he knew!

And, as things would turn out, my experience was only just beginning.

Once we established what was, for all intents and purposes, a master/slave relationship, Ronen decided to kick things up a notch. Our sessions had always taken place in his office, after hours. He'd let me know at some point during the day, discreetly, that I was needed. Not whether or not I was available, but that I was to be there. That I might refuse was unthinkable, the slave does not refuse the master's order. I would make whatever arrangements necessary, and would stand before him in the office after everyone had gone home for the day. He would look me over, handle me, probe my most intimate parts with his fingers. My pussy was always wet, his fingers would glide slickly over me, sliding in and out of my cunt, over my clit, my asshole. All the while his eyes would be fixed on me with a quiet intensity that was both arousing and frightening. Sometimes I would be spanked almost playfully and fucked like a lover, at other times Ronen's eyes would go cold, and I'd be whipped hard enough to raise welts across my backside, and he'd take me from behind, hard, in the ass. I never knew how things would happen until they happened.

So, on the day that things turned in a new direction, I was not expecting it. I entered his office, as requested, and waited for instruction. But Ronen was silent. He sat, going through some papers, did not even look up as I stood there. After a few moments, I decided to speak up.

"Sir? Is there something you want me to do?" He looked up, almost seemed surprised to see me there, then said,

"Miss Ryan, I'll have need of you this weekend. You will be needed overnight, from Saturday into Sunday." He gathered the papers up, placed them in a drawer, then stood. "I realize this is short notice, but I trust you will be able to make whatever arrangements needed."

I nodded. Bill would be home for the kids, and it wouldn't be too much of a problem to convince him I had to go for an overnight conference. "Yes Sir. Is there anything else?" I waited.

He walked over to the door and opened it. "No Miss Ryan, we're through here. Thank you, and I'll get back to you with the specifics. Good night." I left, bemused by his seeming indifference.

What did Ronen have in mind for the weekend, and why an overnighter? And where? Surely not here in his office. And why didn't he touch me at all this time? He seemed distracted, his mind elsewhere. I felt a bit of relief that it wouldn't be one of those times I'd be whipped, but part of me was disappointed not to feel his hands, his lips, his cock. Despite the pain he often caused me, he also had aroused me to an almost natural-like lust. I had never come so often, or so intensely, before. Being at Ronen's mercy had been scary, but liberating. I didn't have to accept responsibility for the things that happened in that office. I could convince myself that I had a job to protect, a reputation to guard. And, freed from responsibility, I was able to let myself go and enjoy the things he made me feel.

I learned nothing until Friday afternoon. Ronen stopped by my desk after lunch, and dropped an envelope in front of me. "These are your instructions, Miss Ryan. I'll see you tomorrow." And that was it.

After he left, I opened the envelope. It contained a single sheet of paper, with a list of instructions. I was to come dressed in skirt and blouse with buttons down the front. I was to wear a pair of black thigh highs and heels. My hair was to be worn loosely, and, in parenthesis was the notation that I could wear panties, with a smiley face next to it. At the bottom of the note was an address.

I recognized it as being in one of the wealthier sections of the city, lots of old brownstones. Some of the oldest monied families lived there, as well as numerous nouveau-rich who had been gradually taking the neighborhood over to the chagrin of the established residents. I idly wondered which camp Ronen was in.

I took a cab on Saturday, arriving at the appointed place at precisely 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I knew to be precise, when Ronen said 2 o'clock, he meant 2 o'clock, not 1:45 or 2:15. Whatever was going to happen today, I had no wish to begin things by pissing him off.

I was greeted at the door by an impressively dressed butler. After taking my coat, he lead me into a parlor and invited me to sit. After sitting there for what seemed like an eternity, I heard a door open and looked up.

A woman entered the room. She was absolutely gorgeous. Medium height, slender build, with short dark hair, she wore an outfit similar to mine. Skirt, blouse, heels. I wondered if she also wore thigh highs, as I did. She walked over and extended her hand to me.

"You must be Carla. I'm Simone, it's a pleasure." I took her hand and lightly shook it. She smiled, and continued.

"Mr. Ronen is expecting you. But I'm sure you know that." She gestured for me to follow her. "Mr. Ronen has been looking forward to this evening, as have I." Her face was turned away from me, so she didn't see my surprised expression. What on earth was going on here?

I followed her down the hall, and up a large impressive staircase. At the top was a long hallway, with many doors leading to what I assumed were bedrooms or bathrooms. All were closed, save the door at the end of the hall, which was ajar. We went through that door.

It was a huge bedroom, and beautiful, like something out of Architectural Digest. I caught my breath as I took it in. My companion chuckled.

"Nice, isn't it? Wait till you see the rest." But she made no move to show me. Instead, she took a seat on a small chair by the window and waited.

We didn't wait for long. Ronen entered the room, spoke to someone I didn't see outside the door. "We'll have dinner at 6." then closed the door behind him. He stood there a moment, glancing at the woman by the window, then looking over at me.

"Very nice, Miss Ryan," as he checked my apparel. "Very nice, indeed. Wouldn't you agree, Simone?"

From her seat, Simone smiled. "Yes Micheal, she's lovely."

Micheal, that was his name. Funny, but during the past weeks I had never learned his first name. Here I'd been, fucking this guy in every way possible, and I never even knew his first name. I wondered about this Simone, and who she was. Was she his wife? If she was, she didn't seem too upset at me.

Ronen leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips. Then he placed both hands on either side of my face and kissed me more deeply, his tongue sliding past my lips and exploring the inside of my mouth. He pulled away and turned to Simone. "You haven't greeted our guest properly, Simone."

She rose from the chair and walked over to where we stood. "You're right Micheal. Please forgive me my lapse." She looked at me and smiled again. She raised a hand to my face, then placed it behind my neck and leaned in to kiss me.

Her lips touched mine briefly, lightly, then she pulled me towards her and kissed me, deeply this time. I was startled by the feel of another woman's lips on mine. As my mouth opened slightly, she pressed her tongue into my mouth. Ronen stood, watching, as Simone explored my mouth with her tongue.

I had never been kissed by a woman before. Although I had written about it, it was from imagination, not actual experience. This was real. This woman was real, as were her lips. And they felt good. I was aware of Ronen standing there, watching us.

Simone pulled away and broke our kiss. She turned to Ronen and asked "May I fix you takes?"

Ronen said to her, "Yes, Simone, that would be nice. And please give us a few moments, will you?" She nodded, and walked over to the bar. Ronen looked down at me, taking me in for a minute, then he said to me, "Simone is not my wife. That's what you were wondering, is it not?"

I hesitated, then said, "Yes, Sir."

"She is someone just like you, that''s all you need to know." He fixed his cool blue eyes on me. "And you are both here for my pleasure. Do you understand that?" I nodded.

"Good girl." he said. He took the take from Simone and she handed me mine. He looked at both of us, then said, "Well, I think we all understand one another." Simone smiled and said, "Yes, Sir."

I also said "Yes Sir, " although I had no idea what I was agreeing to. To be honest, I didn't care. This woman's kiss had aroused me, and no matter what they had in mind, I wanted it.

"Why don't you girls go and get ready." Ronen said. He took his take and went to sit on the bed. Simone took my hand and said, "Let's go." She lead me to a room off the main bedroom.

It was a master bath, with a huge walk-in closet. Simone, still holding onto my hand, leaned in and whispered to me, "You know why you're here, don't you?"

I nodded. "I can guess. Is that why you're here, too.?

She smiled. "Yes, Carla. I am, too." She turned away and turned the shower on. The water ran, gradually becoming hot. She looked at me a moment, then said, "It's not so bad, you know? He just wants certain things, and he makes me..." Her sentence hung, unfinished. But I knew what she was going to say.

"He makes you hot?" That's what she was going to say, I knew it.

"Oh God, yes Carla!" She watched me, then said, "He makes you that way, too, doesn't he?"

Of course I agreed, she was right She began to undress, and I did the same, taking note of her beautiful little body, similar to my own, but with darker hair. When the water had gotten nice and hot, she stepped in and took my hand, and we stood under the stream. She picked up a bar of soap and began to lather herself, then me. Her hands, slippery with soap, glided over my body, lingering on my breasts, which she squeezed gently, then slid down my belly to my pussy. I did the same for her, and we spent several minutes just rubbing the soapy lather over each other. She slipped a single finger into my ass, then said,

"Has he taken you this way yet?"

"Um, yes," I murmured as she slid her finger gently in and out. Her hands felt wonderful and I began to breath more quickly as she worked one, then two fingers into my ass. Without asking, I ran my hands down her body and slipped my own soapy fingers into her as well. Her little hole twitched as I fingered her the same way she was doing to me. But where I was still very tight, she opened to my exploring fingers.

"Did you like it?" I told her that indeed I had, but that it had hurt. "It does, the first few times. But after that..."

I knew what she meant. When Ronen had taken me that way, the pain had been intense at first, but had soon eased, replaced by a pleasure just as intense. Right before I had come, I was meeting him thrust for thrust as he plowed into my ass. And even though I was very sore back there for a few days, I also found myself craving it, wanting again to feel that big cock impaling me from behind. I hoped I would soon feel it again, but knew that, in all likelihood, I would be.

When we finished up in the shower, she toweled me dry, then herself, and led me back into the bedroom where Ronen waited. As she did, she leaned to me and whispered, "Just follow my lead." I nodded. Of course, she had done this before, and knew what to expect. I, on the other hand, was still new at this game.

Ronen was still dressed, white shirt, black slacks, he even still had his shoes on. He sat in a chair, looking us both over, take in hand. He inclined his head towards the bed, and Simone gently pushed me down across it, on my knees, ass in the air. Without a word, she knelt behind me and began to tongue me, first my pussy, then up along the cleft of my ass. With both hands, she spread my cheeks and licked at my asshole, probing it with her hot, wet little tongue.

The feeling was like nothing else I had experienced. I sighed, and opened up wider for her as she began to lick at me in earnest. Ronen watched us, his eyes intense, his expression unreadable. As Simone worked at me with her mouth, I began to breath more quickly. This woman knew her business, knew all the spots to lick, where to apply pressure, and where to tease me lightly with her tongue. She continued a little while longer, then just as suddenly as she started, she stopped and pulled her face away from me.

I caught my breath, wanting to grab her head and put her right back where she had just been, but she had gotten up from the bed and was moving around behind me. I turned my head to see what was going on, and with a bit of surprise, saw that she had a large dildo in her hands, with straps of some kind hanging from it. She placed it around her hips and fastened the straps, I realized with a start that she was wearing it. The thing was huge, and jutted from between her slender thighs obscenely. With quick,expert movements, she positioned herself behind me and eased the tip into my soaking pussy. Despite it's size, there was little resistance as she pushed it all the way into me.

I moaned with pleasure as she began to fuck me, slowly at first, then building up a faster rhythm. I moved back against her, trying to get as much of the thing up inside me as I could. With one hand, she reached around and cupped one of my tits in her hand, gently twisting my hardened nipple between her fingers. Her breathing too was becoming rapid and ragged as she fucked me. I could feel myself begin to tense as orgasm started to build. But before I could come, she pulled the dildo from my pussy and rested the tip against my asshole.

I felt a cool sensation back there, and recognized the feel of lubricant, which she worked into my ass with her fingers. Then, she pressed the dildo against my hole, and slid the entire length into me with one movement. I gasped at the sudden pain, and she stopped, letting my ass adjust to the pressure. After a few moments, she began to slowly glide the dildo in and out of me.

Ronen had gotten up from the chair and was standing next to the bed. I heard the soft swish of the zipper as he opened his pants and freed his cock, now rock hard and jutting towards my face. He held it in his hand and said,

"Open your mouth and suck it." I did as he told me, and took him between my lips, relishing the by now familiar feel of his velvety shaft, the musky taste of his pre cum as he began to fuck my mouth. Simone thrust from behind me, pushing me onto Ronen's cock, then he thrust forward, impaling me on the dildo. We soon had a rhythm going, and the only sound was of our combined breathing and the wet slap of our bodies against each other. Then Ronen began to whisper harshly,

"Yeah, that's it. Suck that cock, bitch, take it all." He thrust harder and faster as Simone stepped up her own. I was lost in the sensations of being fucked at both ends. I could hear Simone gasping behind me, and knew she was coming. Ronen pushed his hands into my hair and pulled me onto his cock. I gagged once or twice, then suddenly I was taking him, all of him, deep in my throat. I could feel him harden further as his thrusting quickened, and with a low moan he came, hard, in my mouth. The semi salty taste of him filled my mouth, and I sucked at him eagerly, wanting it, all of it, wanting to taste his come. I swallowed it, then continued sucking at him, drawing the last drops into my mouth. With a cry and a shudder, my own orgasm built and peaked, and I was gasping and panting along with the two of them.

I collapsed onto my belly as Simone eased her movements, then felt the dildo slip gently from my tender ass. Ronen pulled his softening cock from my lips, and gently ran his fingers through my hair as I tried to catch my breath. "Such a good girl," he whispered. "A very good girl. Don't you agree, Simone?"

"Oh yes," she breathed. "So very good." She lay on the bed alongside me, as spent as I was. Ronen tucked his cock back into his slacks and refastened his zipper, then walked over to the wall and pushed an intercom button. A deep masculine voice said,

"Yes Sir?" Ronen spoke towards the intercom.

"We will take our dinner now, Daniel." He went into the closet and took out two silk robes, which he handed to each of us. "Cover yourselves and join me on the balcony. We'll have our dinner and relax for awhile. I think you'll enjoy this, Carla. Daniel is an excellent cook."

A short time later, Daniel arrived with a cart, and set up a table on the balcony, lit several torches and served an absolutely wonderful Chateaubriand. As we ate, Ronen spoke.

"Well Simone? What do you think of my choice?" Meaning me, I assumed. Simone smiled at him.

"An excellent choice, as always, Micheal. It's a shame we can't keep her to ourselves." Ronen raised his hand, shook his head.

"Now Simone, that would be selfish. And we are not selfish people, are we?" Simone lowered her head at Ronen's words.

"No, of course not, Micheal. Please forgive me." He smiled, and reached across the table and placed his hand on hers, gave it a squeeze.

"You are forgiven, my dear." He turned to me and said, "I'm sure Carla would agree that it would be wrong to think only of ourselves." He took my hand, too, and looked at me with an expression I could not read. He continued.

"However, for tonight she will be ours, and ours alone." His words confused me, what were they talking about? Keep me to themselves? As opposed to what? Thoughts ran through my head, troubling me. But I didn't get the chance to dwell on them. After dinner, we returned to the bedroom and Simone showed me how to use the strap on. Again, my lust overcame me, and I found that I enjoyed being on the giving as well as the receiving end. We fucked and sucked each other for hours, in multiple combinations. I lost track of how many times I came, and we finally fell, exhausted, into as deep a dream as I'd had in years.

When I woke the next morning, I was alone in the large bed. A single red rose lay on the pillow beside me, along with a note.

"Dearest Carla,

Again, you have exceeded my expectations. You were, indeed, a good choice, and I am very pleased. I trust you slept well. When you wish, press the intercom and let Daniel know, he will prepare your breakfast and arrange for your transport home.

I know that you have had a busy night, so go home and get some rest. There are no doubt many questions you have, these will all be answered in due time.

I will see you at the office Monday morning. Please be on time, tardiness displeases me. We have many things to discuss."

The note was signed simply, "Micheal."

After Daniel brought me breakfast, I mulled over the events of the previous night. What on earth had I gotten myself into here?

I was not to wonder for very long.

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When Lyssa met Joanna


Joanna picked up the plates and started to the kitchen. Lyssa grabbed more of the china and silverware and followed her. They continued this until the dishwasher was loaded. When they could hear the dishwasher running, they moved back to the dining room and finished cleaning up. They had been having dinner several times a week at Joanna's house for the past four months.

As usual, Joanna suggested they take their takes down to the media room in the finished basement and relax. There were chairs around the huge TV and the two women sat and sipped their takes.

Joanna's dog, Brutus, was lying on the floor between the two women. Joanna had told Lyssa that Brutus had been a police dog but had been too aggressive. At one point in his career, he had torn the throat of a fleeing felon instead of grabbing the man's arm and, of course, there had to be an internal investigation. As it turned out, the man had a gun and was about to shoot Brutus' police handler. Brutus got a second chance. Nineteen months later, under similar circumstances, Brutus almost disemboweled a man about to shoot his handler. Because the large Rottweiler had done his duty as he saw it and saved his master's life, he was not put to relax, but could no longer be a police dog. Joanna had heard Brutus' story and convinced his owner to sell the dog to her, as she needed protection. Brutus' owner's wife insisted he be sold because they had three small youngren and she was afraid to trust Brutus. Brutus had been a pussycat when Lyssa came to visit; however, Joanna warned her not to go to the door or a window when Joanna was not around. Brutus had been trained to attack anyone at a door or window unless Joanna told him to sit and stay. Brutus had also been trained to hold someone at bay until he was told to stand down. One day, Lyssa walked into Joanna's house when Joanna failed to answer her knock. Brutus, even though he knew Lyssa, held her at bay, pinned to the spot until Joanna appeared from the bathroom and said, "Brutus, stand down." Lyssa never made that mistake again.

==============

"jo, how can I ever repay you for your hospitality? You never let me pay for anything."

"Honey," said Joanna, "there is a way for you to repay me. You're going to be my sex toy from now on."

"Wha-what? sputtered Lyssa. "Is that supposed to be a joke? What would you do with me? Ha-ha."

"Well, first I'd never allow you to wear clothes again in the house. Then I'd play with your body until I was extremely aroused and my pussy was throbbing and dripping juices. At that point, you would lick those juices off my legs and pussy. Then you'd press those sweet cheeks between my thighs and dip your tongue deep inside me lapping out the rest of my juices. Of course, that tongue going in and out of my pussy would stimulate more lubrication and pussy juice. So you'd have to keep lapping it out - vicious circle don't you see. You would do that at least three times a day to keep me satisfied. I can even foresee you eating me out a dozen or more times a day."

Lyssa was stunned. "Joanna, what are you thinking? I'm as straight as anyone could be. In fact, I'm really homophobic. I never dreamed you were bi let alone lesbian. I would no more perform oral sex on a woman than I'd have a sex change operation."

"Lyssa honey, you don't have to be a lesbian to eat pussy. A lot of straight women do it. Anyway, you don't have a choice, sweets. This is going to be your new life."

"What in the world are you talking about, Joanna? You must be mad. Ooooh, I see. You're trying to get a rise out of me. Is this one of your psych games? You had me going for a minute there. Please, Jo, don't do that again. You'll give me a coronary."

"This is not a joke or a psych game, honey. I'm dead serious. I thought you might refuse to give me what I want. That's why I laced your take with a rufie, flunitrazepam, a date **** have. That's why you feel so lethargic. I didn't give you much, so it's taking longer than I thought, but it'll do."

Lyssa tried to get up, so she could run up the stairs and out of the house. Her legs wouldn't hold her. She fell back in the chair...

===========

Lyssa taught English to fourth, fifth, and six graders in a private school. Her classes were small, 12 to 15 youngren, and Lyssa liked the job, but the private school pay was abominable. If she hadn't been receiving rent from her house back home, she would never have been able to make ends meet. All the other teachers were married and were two income families. This presented another problem. With no other single women, she had no one to make friends with, to have dinner with, to go to movies with, or even have chat sessions. Of course, there were no single men either. She had never been so lonely.

Both Lyssa's parents had died in a car accident just after she graduated from high school. They had left her their small house, their life insurance, and little else. She had no siblings and no aunts, uncles, or cousins. She was truly alone in the world. She knew she'd have to make her own way, so using the insurance money for tuition; she enrolled in a teaching course at the state university. She rented out the house for barely enough money to pay for clothes, a dorm room, and the school cafeteria. There was no money for extras. Taking more than the standard number of courses, she was able to graduate in 3 1/2 years. However, that left no time for a social life.

There were no teaching jobs available in her hometown when she returned from university, so she sent out her resume to several dozen schools around her home state. While waiting for replies, she stayed in the small bedroom above the garage, so she could keep receiving rent from the main house. The couple renting the house was nice enough to let her use it. The Coopers told her that she was welcome to use it any time she needed it. They were grateful to her for renting the house to them for an amount they could afford. She had only used the garage bedroom once during her university years, so the Coopers knew it wouldn't be often.

After several months, the only job offer she received was from a private school over two hundred miles from her hometown. The school told her that times were hard, and they could only afford to pay so much - less than she was hoping for. She had no other offers, so she took the job. She started teaching in mid semester - January. The job was fine, but the low pay and the crushing loneliness were deeply depressing her. The small dingy apartment she was able to afford was another source of her depression. She had rented it because it was close to the school, so she could walk to work. She couldn't afford a car. She thought of selling the house to buy a car but backed away from that idea. She needed the rent to supplement her salary.

Lyssa brown-bagged it every day, and ate her lunch in the park across from the school. One day in March, there was a woman sitting on the bench that Lyssa had always sat on. They struck up a conversation, became good friends, and Lyssa was ecstatic to find a friend. The woman, Joanna, began inviting Lyssa to dinner several times a week and wouldn't hear of Lyssa paying for anything. During their chat sessions, Lyssa had told Joanna her whole life history. Joanna knew as much about Lyssa as Lyssa did.

Joanna was 37 years old. She was very attractive with dark blond hair, grey eyes, and a beautiful smile. She was 5'7" tall, weighed 122 pounds, had a very feminine figure, 35 inch bust, 24 inch waist, and 36 inch hips. She had a sexy walk and a slow, graceful, feminine movement as she sat down, stood up, or even when she seemed to be standing still. Lyssa, on the other hand was 22 years old, 5'4" tall, and weighed 116 pounds. She had a very ripe figure: 34-22-35. Her movements were not as graceful as Joanna's but were more younglike. She had blue-black hair, blue eyes, full lips, and an impish grin. She was beautiful. If she had been in a different place where there more single men, she would have been swamped with date offers and propositions.

Near the end of the school year, Lyssa's landlord told her that the building would have to be tented for termites and Lyssa would have to leave for two weeks. There were only five days left of the semester, and Lyssa was concerned about having to look for another apartment for such a short time. Joanna volunteered her second bedroom until Lyssa went home, so Lyssa told the landlord she would be moving and asked for her deposit to be returned. Joanna and Lyssa loaded Joanna's car with Lyssa's clothes and gear, and Joanna helped carry them to the second bedroom.

During that week, as Friday approached, Lyssa's colleagues told her how much they liked her and asked if she would return in September. She told them that she hadn't been offered a contract yet and didn't know if she'd be back. In her heart, she felt she should look for another job that paid a decent salary.

Lyssa asked Joanna if she would drive her and her suitcases to the bus terminal on Sunday, so she could go back to her hometown. When she would be at the bus terminal with her ticket in hand, she would call the Coopers, tell them she was returning home, and ask if she could use the garage apartment. She didn't want them to go to any trouble getting the bedroom ready, so she would call at the last minute. She would also ask them if they could pick her up at the bus station. Lyssa never got to call them.

==============

Lyssa woke up with a headache and wondered where she was and what had happened. She tried to move and found herself sitting on the floor of the media room. She was startled to find that she was nude and that her wrists were manacled to a triangular bar attached to the ceiling with a thin braided rope like mountain climbers used. She struggled to her feet but was only able to reach one of the chairs, as the rope wasn't long enough for her to go further. She sat down and waited to gather her wits.

She had the triangular bar in her lap and studied it. The lower rung was almost 3 feet wide. The side arms met one foot above the lower rung. There was a ring inside each corner of the triangle. The rope was fastened to the top ring with a heavy-duty snap fastener. The cuffs on Lessees' wrists were fastened to the rings at each end of the lower rung. Lyssa was able to move her hands around but couldn't put them together. The wrist cuffs were made of some very soft leather; however, there were metal stays between the leather layers. There were small semi circular rings coming through the leather where the cuffs overlapped. One end of a short double snap fastener was hooked to the triangle ring and the other end to a wrist cuff. Lyssa's eyes followed the rope to the ceiling where it passed through a ring in the ceiling and dropped down through a metal box on the wall. On the floor below the ceiling ring, there was a metal plate three feet wide and extending two feet from the wall. A metal tube was welded to the plate and rose almost two feet. A smaller diameter tube showed above the lower tube and ended in a small knob. The knob didn't look to be part of the tube. A knurled ring encircled the top of the lower tube.

There were metal eye rings attached at various heights on either side of the wooden wall panel behind the metal floor plate. Lyssa had noticed these contraptions in the past and had asked Joanna what they where, and Joanna passed them off as being attachments for her camera equipment. She had told Lyssa that she was a photographer. Although she thought they were strange, Lyssa didn't question Joanna's answer.

Sometime later, she heard a key in the lock of the media room and Joanna came down the stairs with Brutus right behind her. The door closed and locked automatically,

"Oh Jo," Lyssa cried, "I'm so glad to see you. Can you unlock these cuffs? I can't move around attached to this contraption, and I have to pee badly. Where are my clothes? You're really mean to take off my clothes and leaving me here nude. Really, Jo, this game has gone on long enough."

"Sweetie," cooed Jo, "of course I'll unfasten you. You can't have clothes, but I'll release you as soon as you've licked me to orgasm."

"Jo. Stop fooling around and undo these wrist cuffs before my bladder bursts."

Joanna opened a cabinet and took out a clear plastic pail that must have been an ice cube bucket.

"Lys," she said, "you can use this to pee in."

"You're not serious. You can't expect me to pee in that thing. Please unfasten me."

"Not a chance until I've had at least a couple of orgasms. You just don't get it. You're mine, now, to do what I want with you. You're my toy, my plaything, my sex machine. Now, pee in the bucket or hold it in. It's up to you."

Joanna continued, "Lys honey, sweetie, babykins, I've been hunting for a gorgeous girl like you for several years. It wasn't a coincident that we met. I watched you eating your lunch in the park for two or more weeks before our "chance" meeting. When you walked back and forth from the school to the park, I mentally undressed you and knew you were the girl I wanted to own. All of our dinners and chats together were to learn about you and your relationships - or lack thereof. You're just perfect for what I want.

Lyssa was close to crying and was having a difficult time holding her sphincter tight enough to keep from peeing. She grabbed the bucket, held it steady on the floor, squatted over it, and with a sigh of relief, let her urine flow. The bucket filled.

"Well sweet cheeks, are you ready to eat me? Joanna asked.

"Please Jo, I just can't do that. It's disgusting."

"I'm sorry to hear that, honey, but you will in the very near future."

Joanna pressed a keypad on the metal wall box. A panel opened and Joanna pressed and held a large red button. A motor sounded and the rope attached to the triangle was pulled up through the ceiling ring and through the left side of the box. Lyssa had to stand and walk to the metal plate as the rope pulled up and up. When Lyssa was standing on the metal floor plate under the ceiling ring with her arms over her head, Joanna stopped pushing the red button.

"Please Jo, unhook my wrists. This is uncomfortable."

"I intend to do just that, sweet. Give me a minute or two but turn and face me."

Joanna opened a cupboard next to the wooden wall panel and retrieved a condom, which she placed over the pole knob that she had pulled from the vertical tube. She pushed the three-inch long base of the knob back into the upper tube.

"It may have been dirty," she said, "and I want to keep you clean and healthy. I want you to last a long time."

She then took a tube of lubricant from the cupboard and squeezed some out on the condom. She didn't bother to spread it around. She turned the knurled ring at the top of the lower tube and pulled the inner tube up until it was a few inches from Lyssa's pubes.

"Lys, " said Joanna, "move your feet apart. Further. Further. That's it."

Joanna pushed clear plastic strips 4" by 3" inches into slots in the metal floor plate. The strips were just to the inside of Lyssa's bare feet. Lyssa thought that wouldn't keep her from lifting her feet over the top of the strips if she wanted to move her legs together. She was wrong.

Again, Joanna's hand moved to the inner shaft, turned the knurled ring, and raised the top knob into Lyssa's vagina. Lyssa yelped but couldn't move out of the way. When the knob reached Lyssa's cervix, she rose up on tiptoe to relieve the pressure, but Joanna kept pushing it upward.

"Please Jo," cried Lyssa, "that's going to do damage if you don't stop. You said you wanted to keep me healthy."

Johanna hesitated, and then moved the tube downward until Lyssa could put her feet flat on the floor again. She couldn't feel the knob anymore and she sighed with relief.

"i wanted you to know that you are at my mercy and what could happen if you don't behave. Understand?"

"Yes. Yes. I do understand."

Joanna reached up and undid the clips that held Lyssa's wrists to the triangle above her head. She pressed the red button, raising the triangle until it was out of Lyssa's reach.

"I've been planning this for a long time, Lys. It's been at least four years. I knew that someday I'd find you. I had to have this set-up built a little at a time so that no one would become suspicious of my motives. Are you ready to eat me, sweet cheeks? I'm really horny. No? Well, I can wait. In a very few hours you'll be begging to suck me."

Joanna continued, "You are going to stand there until you decide to do as I ask. I won't beat you or *** you to get what I want. You're going to have to want to do it. When you're ready, reach up to that white button beside the gray metal box. It's an intercom. Press the button, wait until I answer, and say, 'Joanna, I want to suck and lick your pussy.' If you say anything else, you'll have to stand there until you use the right words. If you use those words and don't perform or don't perform to my liking, I'll leave you on that post for 24 hours. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Jo, I understand, but please don't do this to me. I thought we were good friends."

"Oh we are, honey, but I desperately need this scenario. Try to understand that I'll almost die if I can't have it my way. Other than when you are eating me out a few times a day, we can be bosom buddies. That 'bosom' thingy was not meant to be a pun. I've been drooling over your boobs since I first saw you. Now that they're bare, I'm even hungrier for them." She reached out and squeezed Lyssa's breasts.

"By the way, I've left your arms free, but there is no way for you to lift yourself off that shaft. If you try to move your feet, you'll probably impale yourself. Don't lean forward, or that post will tear your insides especially if you fall forward. You can lean back against the wall panel, but that may cause other problems. You're like a pinned butterfly, precious. You can't move from that position."

Joanna turned to go, but Lyssa called her back. "What am I supposed to do when I have to pee? I have a small bladder. Do I just let it go?"

"Then I will have to punish you, doll. I don't want this room to stink and urine smell is difficult to get rid of. But, be of good cheer, I know exactly what to do. Thanks for calling my attention to it. I prepared for that eventuality, too."

Joanna opened the nearby cupboard again and took out a package that contained a coiled, small diameter, plastic tubing. She tore open the pack and removed the tubing. She placed the ice cube bucket on the floor in front of Lyssa and clipped the tube end to the inside of the bucket rim. Uncoiling the tube, she brought the other end close to Lyssa's genitals. She lubricated the end and moved it closer to Lyssa.

Lyssa exclaimed, "Jo, I'll never be able to pee into that narrow tubing. Do you have a funnel or something that could catch my pee?"

"Not a problem, sweet cheeks." Answered Joanna.

She powerd an inch or more of the tube ending into Lyssa's urethra. Lyssa screamed with pain and almost sagged down on the shaft she was straddling.

"There," said Joanna, "you're all set. You can pee any time you want and not get a drop on you or the floor." She turned, walked up the stairs followed by Brutus. The door locked shut behind them.

*

Dear readers, I won't bore you with more of this story unless it is something you would wish to continue to read. Please let me know. I am writing this with most women in mind, not necessarily lesbians. Please let me know if you are female and what your sexual orientation is. That will help guide me in writing future chapters. I also wish to know if you would like to have this story become more intense. I will try to make the story somewhat interactive depending on your directions. I hope you want to read more of the ongoing Perils of Pauline or in this case, Lyssa.

Lyssa finds herself a primisterer in Joanna's basement where she has been 'pinned down' to make a decision that will change her life forever.

When Lyssa met Joanna Chapter 02

Johanna's house, is a very large, four bedroom/two bath ranch style. Its outer walls are made of multicolored fieldstone and beautiful wood, but the architecture of the house itself is not outstanding. It was built of expensive, quality materials, but it would not have looked out of place in any suburb in the U.S. It is located in a town called Mackey in the middle of a northwest state.

Toward the back of the house, next to the kitchen is a stairway from the first floor to a finished basement that takes up the same area as the house above. The stairwell is six feet wide with a landing half way down.

The basement is large, forty by eighty feet. The major part, thirty by forty feet is finished and is very well appointed; however, even with quite a few white leather chairs and a large walnut table, it still isn't crowded. It is hidden and soundproofed to the outside world.

The area nearest the door is almost devoid of furniture. There are several heavy-duty hooks attached to the ceiling and extending out from one of the panels. That panel has eyebolts screwed into it in various places; there is a three-foot wide metal plate on the floor extending from the panel. Directly across from that panel, on the other side of the room, the panel has been mirrored.

Standing on the two foot deep plate is a very attractive young lady – a naked young lady. To a casual observer, she appears to be free to move around. Her arms and legs are not bound although she does have leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles. A tube or pole can be seen between her legs and appears to be behind her. Upon closer inspection, the tube is actually directly under her and extends up into her genitals. She is pinned to the spot. There is no way for her to lift herself high enough to get off the post.

Lyssa is extremely pretty and has a very sexy body. Her breasts are the size of large peaches – ripe and juicy. There is no discernible sag and they could easily pass the pencil test. There is a slight slope at the top of her breasts that show that they have some weight. Because of her narrow frame, her breasts fill her entire chest.

The pencil eraser nipples are a light shade of pink and pointed slightly upward and outward. The aureoles are virtually non-existent. It appears that her nipples poke out directly from her breasts without aureoles as transition. Although Lyssa is twenty-two years old, she appears to be a teen – at that age when a girl fully blossoms into a woman.

Even Lyssa's face appears to by that of a teenager. She has tried to make herself look older with makeup and more mature clothes; however, now her face is scrubbed clean and she is naked. She appears to be a young until her body is observed.

Lyssa's narrow waist flares into widening hips and full heart shaped buttocks. Her thighs are large enough to accommodate that beautiful bottom, but they do not have saddlebags. Her belly is rounded just enough to be feminine. Her legs are tapered and lovely; her ankles are slim and her feet are dainty. Her skin is velvety soft, still retaining some baby fat. She has no tattoos and no piercings. All in all, she is a lovely package.

Although only 5'2", Lyssa is so well proportioned that if she were across the street from you, it would be difficult to tell how tall she is. She can appear to be much taller.

Although younglike, Lyssa is beautiful.

Maturity would bring character to her face, and she will be even more beautiful.

Upon reaching middle age, she will be stunning.

She has great genes, but she has wished that she were several inches taller. Her height and lack of facial maturity are thorns in her side.

Now, she thinks that nothing matters anymore. She is Joanna's primisterer and is no longer in control of her own destiny. Lyssa has no idea of how she could live if she were had to perform lesbian acts. The very thought of performing oral sex on a woman makes her slightly ill and – terrified. She might not survive actually 'doing' it. She is too sensitive to perform cunnilingus.

A few years earlier, she had had a yeast infection and while taking care of the problem had gotten a bit of the yeasty substance on a finger. Inadvertently, she had put the finger in her mouth. The taste of it sent her into spasms and she threw up until she had dry heaves. The pain of the dry heaves left her exhausted, and she spent the next two days in bed, crying.

She has been standing over the tube for over three hours now and her legs are trembling and cramping. She cannot get comfortable and is in danger of passing out from the strain of maintaining the posture necessary to keep from hurting herself. She feels that if she could only get her feet together that she would be able to deal better with her situation. Unfortunately, the plastic strips beside her bare feet keep her from moving her legs to a more comfortable stance. She doesn't dare lift a leg over the strip; she might lose her balance if she did so. She is tiring and knows she has to make a decision soon; she can't bear to make that decision.

She has cried at times during her ordeal, but she knows that if she is to survive she has to be strong. She will try to put off the inevitable by steeling herself, but she knows in her heart that she can't hold out much longer. She will have to agree with Joanna's terms or allow herself to be impaled on the post: a no win situation.

Lyssa has thought about giving in to Joanna's wishes, but her upbringing won't let her. She has told herself that she is only prolonging the agony, but still can't tolerate the idea of performing orally on a woman. She wishes that a man had taken her. She thinks that she could have given in without abandoning her morals. Upon reflection, even that scenario is blotted out by her strict moral church education. Strangely enough, she no longer believes in religion, but the teachings still direct her life. She gave up believing in a Divine Creator when her parents were *******ed. How could a loving God do that to them and to her? It would take a miracle to get her to believe again; a miracle like getting out of the horrible situation in which she finds herself. She is torn to the point of near madness. She has not been hurt badly, but the fact that she can't move and that someone else has complete control over her, has devastated her. A few days ago, she wouldn't have dreamed that she could be in such a predicament. The fact that her captor is someone she considered a close friend; someone she had spent a lot of time with; someone she cared about; someone she trusted makes her situation even worse.

Lyssa has been standing in the same position for over three hours; there is a tube from the floor extending up into her vagina, and she is unable to lift herself off it. She can't move her legs, and they are cramping; she is at the end of her strength. She believes that she has no choice but to agree to Joanna's terms or be torn apart.

Being very careful to maintain her balance, Lyssa turns slowly to her left, presses the intercom button, and holds it until Joanna answers.

"Hi honey, I'm happy to hear from you," Joanna says. "Are you ready to comply?"

"Oh Joanna, I am so uncomfortable, but I can't do as you ask. I'm going to let myself go and ******* myself."

"Lys, I'll be right down," said Joanna.

A few minutes later, Joanna enters the room and, shaking her head, walks over to Lyssa and gently kisses her forehead.

"I'll make you more comfortable, my sugary sweetness," she says.

Joanna opens the supply cabinet next to where Lyssa is standing, takes out a wide mesh belt, and puts it around Lyssa's waist and chest just under her breasts. She snaps it on either side of Lyssa to eyebolts in the panel behind her.

"Now, sweet cheeks, you can lean on the belt, that's around you without falling. That should make you more comfortable."

"But I can still impale myself if I slide down the pole," Lyssa argued.

"My sweet darling, that would be very hard to do," Joanna laughed. "That knobby thing that's up inside you is the size of a golf ball. It's made of a firm gel that will flatten out somewhat if you try to sit on it. It will keep you from moving further down on the 'peg'. Before you could damage anything inside you, you would experience so much pain that you would have to stop and lift up again. Even if you fainted and slid down, the pain would wake you immediately. Believe me, I've thought this through from every angle. You'll have to stand there until you agree to do what I ask. You have NO other choice.

"Jo, I can't do it. I can't do it. I just can't do it," Lyssa sobbed. "Please don't try to power me to...." She couldn't even complete the sentence.

"Lyssa, my sugary sweetness, I'm going to tell you my situation, my sad tale of woe, and why there is only one choice for you to make.

I'll be very frank with you and not muddy the waters because I want you to know exactly why I've taken you, why I need you, and why I can't ever let you go.

Joanna continued, "My man drank, ran around with other women, and physically used my lady throughout their entire marriage. My lady was always black and blue and had welts all over her buttocks and thighs and sometimes her breasts, as far back as I can remember. How do I know? From the time I was six or seven until he died from takeing when I about fifteen, my man made me watch him beat her. He was still angry that she had used her pregnancy with me to power him to marry her. He was also punishing me for being that cause. When I wanted to call the police, my lady would stop me and tell me that she had agreed to the use in order to have him marry her. She never said so, but I know now that she wanted me to have a man. Further, she said that the physical pain was not a problem because she didn't really feel it, but the emotional use was tearing her apart. She would feel the initial stroke each time he hit her, but the pain dissolved immediately after. She told me that she wanted me to accept it because she would, in time, take control of the situation herself. I was afraid that she planned to ******* him, but that never happened.

My man would bring other women home and power my lady to have sex with them. My lady was straight and hated that, but she, too, had no choice.

My man did only two things for me. His hobby was photography, and he taught me every aspect of still and video photography that I could possibly learn. I don't need to work, but I still pursue my career in photography. It's the only real pleasure I've had in life. The other thing that my man did for me was willing me half of the estate that his very wealthy parents had left him.

Anyway, Lys, I grew up hating men and knew I'd never let a man touch me. I have mellowed over the years and have some men friends, but I am a staunch lesbian and could never have sex with a man. My feelings against having sex with a man are probably how you feel about having sex with a woman. But you must and WILL be my sex partner. Lys, honey, you can never have sex with a man. I must see to that. You must overcome your heterosexual nature and be my - wife.

From the time I was seventeen until now, at thirty-seven, I have been looking for the perfect life partner for me. I passed up a few opportunities to have sex with other women, but I wanted someone special to love, cherish, and adore. I finally found that someone -- you.

I feel bad that you don't feel the same way about me, but I'm madly in love with you and I can never let you go. I know I must keep you my primisterer always because you're straight and wouldn't stay with me if you were free.

Since I met you, I daydream about you constantly. My panties are always wet because of you even when I'm not near you. When we're together, having dinner, seeing a movie, or just hanging out, I have to wear a panty liner, or I'd be dripping down my legs. I dream of you in color and have the only sexual releases that I don't get by masturbating.

Can't you see why I must have you and can't let you go? I am so in love with you that I ache for you, and I can't set you free. As you say you can't do what I ask and would rather die, I feel the same about losing you. I'd rather die.

Although it really and truly hurts me as much as it pains you, I must keep you on that post until you give yourself up to me. I will treat you like a princess and give you anything you want, need, or ask for except your freedom. I can't promise that I won't beat you for pleasure or punish you for misbehaving. I might even use you in other ways, but it will always be for sexual pleasure. I guess that it's true that what you experience in younghood causes you to follow that pattern, as you get older. Lys, honey, you may even come to enjoy a little pain.

Now that I've explained why I must have you, does it make any difference in how you feel about your situation? I fervently hope so."

"Jo, I am so sorry about your past, but, no, I just couldn't go through with what you want. I want to get married some day -- to a man -- and maybe have a family. That's been my dream since I can remember. I really am so truly sorry that I can't be your lover. Please, you have to let me go. I promise I'll never tell anyone what you -- what we've done. I can still be your friend. I do care about you. Now that I know how you've felt since you were a young, I want to help you. I'll even help you find another woman whom you can love. But I can't be whom you want me to be," Lys sobbed with compassion for Joanna.

"I've looked for twenty years for you, Lys. As I grow older, my chances of finding someone I could love as much as I love you are so slim as to be nonexistent. No, I want you, I love you, I need you, and I'll die if I can't have you. Please, won't you reconsider? I'll really be so very good to you."

"Jo, the thought of tasting another woman's secretions is so abhorrent to me that even the thought of it makes me nauseous. I know what comes through a woman's vagina: her lubrication, discharges, cuckold women flow, and heaven knows what other fluids. I suppose that a lesbian can enjoy them or learn to enjoy them, but I just couldn't. I am too heterosexual."

"I can understand how you must feel, but you're mistaken. I know that my lady and my aunt, Karla, while being as straight as you are, have had no problem performing oral sex on other women. A lot of straight woman are willing to have sex with other women especially if their husbands want threesomes. Although I haven't tasted another woman, I imagine it can be pleasureful. I have tasted my own juices, and they taste good to me -- sweet sometimes, sometimes salty, sometimes spicy, but never awful.

I'm going to leave you on the post for a bit longer while I go on the internet and see if I can find anything on how pussy tastes to other women. Possibly, I might find something on Literotica. Wait, I'll be right back. Oh, silly me, you have to wait."

Joanna ran up the steps to her office, logged on to the Internet and googled something about the 'taste of female vaginal secretions'. She found pages and pages on the subject. She found one site that seemed best suited to what she needed. She scrolled down until she found the specific information she looked for: what women thought about the taste.

Females describe the taste of vaginal secretions:

"A mixture of citrus and MSG."


"Soy sauce, the light Kikkoman."


"Indescribable."


"It didn't have much flavor, but the sensation inside my mouth was what I remember most. It was a very warm, comforting feeling."


"Like semen, the taste ranges. Sometimes the taste is very clean -- in fact almost tasteless -- but it can also taste kind of like a penny late in the cycle or when I've been smoking or takeing too much."



"Kind of sweet and sweaty."


"Sweet, not like anything I've ever tasted."


"Around the clitoris, it tastes like sweet tarts. In the vaginal canal, it tastes kind of like an artifetish tuna salad."


"I've only tasted my own which I've been told is quite tasty. Again, it is hard to say what it tastes like, but it could be described as spicy. The taste varies during the month also."

=======================================

Joanna printed out the selection and ran back downstairs to Lyssa. Lyssa was crying softly and practically hanging in the mesh belt around her waist.

"Jo, I can't take any more. Please, isn't there something else I can do?"

"Honey, please stand straight so you can read this."

When Lyssa was fully standing with her head up, Joanna held the printed page up so Lyssa could read it.

"See honey, it won't be so bad. I'll tell you what. If you just taste my, uh, juice, I'll let you off that post for a while. Okay?"

"No Jo, I can't. Please don't make me."

"Lys, did you fight your lady this much when she wanted you to try some new vegetable or meat? What about artifetishs, spinach, beets, or some meat? Tuna, for instance? My fluids aren't any different than the foods you eat every day. Think about beef gravy. There is natural red in it. Are you even concerned about the fact that you are eating an natural and its red?"

Lyssa was silent for a few minutes thinking how good it would feel to get off the post that was up inside her vagina.

"Jo, I'll try, but you better hold the bucket up to my mouth for me to throw up in."

Jo went into the bathroom and removed her panties -- her very wet panties. She used a washcloth, soap and water, to wash her pubic area. She was trembling with excitement. She returned to Lyssa almost faint with emotion. She pulled her skirt up and tucked the front into her belt. Lyssa had her eyes shut tightly.

Jo rubbed her clitoris a bit and then pushed her finger into her vagina. She needed no lubrication to get her finger in. She was soaking wet.

"Open your mouth, honey, let's try this."

Lyssa did nothing for about fifteen seconds, then slowly opened her mouth, closed it again, and waited another ten seconds or so. Finally, with a sob, she opened her mouth wide but kept her eyes closed.

Joanna almost had an orgasm as she withdrew her wet finger from her vagina and moved it close to Lyssa's mouth. Her red pounding, her pulses racing, she put her finger in Lyssa's mouth and wiped it on Lyssa's tongue. Joanna felt her red pressure soar and her knees go weak. She almost fainted. She steadied herself and waited for Lyssa's reaction. Lyssa's mouth was still wide open. She had closed it for a few seconds after Joanna had wiped Lyssa's tongue but opened it again.

When nothing happened, Lyssa closed her mouth and then said, "Jo, stop teasing me. If you're going to make me taste you, please do it and get it over with. Please."

Joanna lost control of her bladder. She grabbed the ice bucket and held it between her legs. Lyssa heard the gush and splash and opened her eyes. She was puzzled by what she saw. She had expected to throw up in the bucket when she tasted Joanna's juices, but Joanna had peed in the bucket. Lyssa was very confused.

"Wha-what's happening, Jo? She asked.

In a shaking voice, Joanna said, "Doll, you DID taste me. I wiped my juices on your tongue."

Lyssa stared at the other woman for a while and said, "I didn't taste anything, Jo. You must be mistaken."

Joanna approached Lyssa, put her arms around the younger woman and cried softly into Lyssa's neck. She reached down, turned the knurled ring and pulled the knob from Lyssa's vagina. Lyssa moaned from the slight pain and whimpered as Joanna pulled the catheter from her urethra. She slumped into the mesh belt around her waist as her legs gave way. Joanna put her arms under Lyssa's arms and knees, unsnapped one end of the mesh belt, picked her up and carried the mewing girl to a leather chair. She put Lyssa on the chair and pushed the back to a reclining position. Lyssa fainted. Jo pulled up another chair and sat beside the younglike girl. She held Lyssa's hand, brushed her hair from her face, leaned over and planted kisses over Lyssa's face and upper body -- everywhere she could reach. The kisses were not sexual but an indication of Joanna's emotions and love for the beautiful girl. She didn't stop kissing Lyssa until the girl woke up.

Joanna took her clothes off, picked up Lyssa, and carried the limp girl into the bathroom shower. She told Lyssa to stand up, turned the water on, and began to bath the compliant girl. She enjoyed soaping the satiny smooth skin and rinsing it. Lyssa's skin was almost baby soft. After bathing herself, Joanna shampooed Lyssa's hair, dried her with a thick terry cloth towel, dried herself, donned a heavy terry cloth robe, picked Lyssa up and carried her to one of the leather chairs and sat the girl on her lap.

"I'm cold. I've been cold since you left me on the post. Please, can I have some clothes?"

"I'm sorry, honey, but I don't want you to wear clothes anymore. I enjoy seeing you nude and, too, you're less apt to try to run away if your not wearing anything. But I can warm you."

She pulled her bathrobe around Lyssa, so they were both enveloped in it. She also put a lap blanket around the girl. The feel of Lyssa's naked body against hers was delicious. Lyssa curled up against Joanna and fell arelax. A while later, she picked Lyssa up and placed her on several thick towels on top of the table. Lyssa woke up and stretched. Joanna told her that she was going to shave the "fur" from her pubes. The girl didn't resist. She moved her legs apart when Joanna nudged them. Joanna shaved the fine silky hair from around Lyssa's pubic lips, but left a triangular patch above her clitoris. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, shook her head, and shaved the rest of the patch. Lyssa's pubes were now bare.

Joanna sensed that something was different. Lyssa was too submissive and compliant.

"Are you feeling okay, sweet baby?" asked Joanna.

"Mmm, hmm," murmured Lyssa. "I'm just hungry."

Joanna led her upstairs and sat her at the kitchen table.

"What would you like, honey? Asked Joanna. "How about a roast beef sandwich?"

"Hmm uh, " mewed Lyssa. "Can I have some hot oatmeal?"

Joanna fixed the cereal, but knew that Lyssa was not herself.

After Lyssa had eaten, Joanna led the girl into her bedroom, put her to bed and covered her. Lyssa was arelax immediately. Concerned that Lyssa was sick or traumatized; Joanna called her family doctor who said he'd come right away. He examined Lyssa from head to toe and told Joanna that the girl was fine. He thought the girl was just emotionally drained.

"Jo," he asked, "are you two ..."

"Are we what?"

"Are you a couple? Are you physical? Are you having sex with her? She's much too young, Joanna. She must be pre-teen. She doesn't even have pubic hair yet. Are you sure you know what you're doing? You must have had some sex session for her to react like this."

Joanna giggled, "This 'pre-teen' is twenty two years old, Doctor Janssen. She's a schoolteacher. Unemployed at the moment, but still a schoolteacher. You must know that women, nowadays, shave their pubic hair."

Dr. Janssen looked embarrassed and tried to apologize to Joanna.

"No need. She does look very young, especially lying there arelax."

The doctor reached down, turned the girl over and looked at her buttocks.

"Beautiful, aren't they, doctor. I don't blame you for looking." Sighed Joanna.

"Joanna, her bottom is beautiful, but I wanted to make sure it wasn't welted. Don't look shocked. Your lady would come to me to have her wounds taken care of when your man beat her. She made me swear that I wouldn't report him, but I knew what was going on in your house. Your lady was concerned that your man a***ing her might traumatize you. She knew that some used youngren grow up to be users. Celia sent you to doctors, but they were unable to determine how you would turn out. Your lady, and the doctors, told you that you were taking aptitude tests. Do you remember?"

Joanna laughed. "I wondered what that was all about. I'm going to chide Mom about it. She has never mentioned it since I took those 'aptitude tests'."

They left the room and Joanna asked the doctor how much she owed him.

"Nothing," he sighed, "I ought to be paying you. The sight of that beautiful nude girl will stay with me for days. At my age, I don't get to see beauty like that often. Actually, not at all. The women who come to see me are clothed or in a hospital gown."

"Will you come back and check her in a day or two, and maybe you can check me, too. In fact, you could check me right now. I haven't visited you in several years."

"Joanna, my heart couldn't take it. First, that lovely flower in there and then your sexy figure. My heart would give out. Have pity on an old man.'

Joanna laughed, "Doctor Janssen, you delivered me and have seen me nude – or near nude – many times over the years. Any time you need to see a naked woman, please feel free to examine me. It would be an honor. I love you like a man, or would that be ******? You were there for us when Dad died. For now, I'll see you out and go back to Lyssa."

The doctor left and Joanna returned to the bedroom, took off her robe, and crawled in beside the relaxing girl. Bliss.

Lyssa woke up in Joanna's arms and snuggled up tight. She lay there feeling Joanna's warmth for a while.

"Jo, can we do this, just cuddle, instead of having sex? I really can't be your lover, but this feels nice. You have nice breasts. Maybe I could even suck your nipples a little. We can go places and do things like we did before you made, uh, I had to sit on that post."

"No honey, I need to have sex with you. I haven't had sex with another permister in my thirty-seven years, and, sweet baby, I really want – need –sex. If you can lie here with both of us naked and possibly suckle, I think that eventually you'll be able to do as I ask." Lyssa was quiet.

"Jo, when you first told me what you had in mind, you used such crude terms that I was shocked. I knew what you meant, but I've never heard a woman say those things. A man either, for that matter."

"I realized that afterwards, but I wanted to see your reaction. If you were a lesbian, you might have smiled and said all right. I took a chance, but... Did those words offend you? Haven't you heard them before? In high school? At university? At work?"

"Jo, I was a nerd in high school, a drudge at university, and a loner at the private school.

In high school, I had a boy friend for all of two weeks. I had been a beanpole up until the end of my senior year and the boys never looked at me. Robert asked me out when I started developing boobs, but I didn't have big ones like some of the other girls. I used to cry at night because my breasts didn't jiggle like theirs. My boobs were and are very tight – too firm – to bounce and jiggle. I don't like them.

I remember one girl at school who wore low cut blouses and was always spilling over. The guys would say, 'Hey Helga, how about a wiggle waggle' and Helga would shake her shoulders – like that girl in the movie, Grease. Her boobs would jiggle and sway and the boys would go wild. I'd go home, stand in front of the mirror and shake my shoulders back and forth. Nothing Jo. They wouldn't jiggle like Helga's.

Robert and I started petting about ten days after we met, and he'd put his hand under my blouse and feel my boobs, but I knew there wasn't even a handful for him. One day after I had been seeing him for almost two weeks, he put his hand under my dress and slid it up and down my inner thigh. It felt nice and I thought I better let him have sex or he'd find someone else.

We went to a field near some woods and I pulled my dress up and took off my panties. He was ready immediately. I wasn't, but I let him put 'it' in anyway. Something seemed to break inside me and he jerked out and spilled his semen all over my leg. He was redy and so was I. I wiped us off with a handkerchief, and he took me home.

We saw each other only one more time. He didn't touch me 'down there', but he put his hand under my dress again and rubbed my buttocks for a few minutes. He said he liked my bottom, but he never called me again. That's my total sexual experience.

I know sex terms from a book my lady gave me just before I started menstruating, but not the words you said to me. The girls at university knew I was a bookworm and they never discussed sex with me. Those crude words make me blush and feel very uncomfortable. Please don't use them."

"Okay, honey, but I may slip sometime. Please forgive me in advance." Joanna admitted. "Now, what are we going to do about having sex together?"

"Nothing, Jo, I just can't do it."

"I'm sorry, sweet," sighed Joanna, "but I'll have to put you back on the "peg" until you can do it. I don't want to, but you leave me no choice."

After breakfast, Joanna led the girl back downstairs. Lyssa didn't resist, but she was tearful.

Joanna pulled the firm gel knob from the post and replaced it with a gel dildo. After lubricating the dildo, she raised it up into Lyssa's vagina and tightened the knurled ring to keep it from coming out of the girl. She lubed another length of tubing it and pushed it up into Lyssa's urethra. The girl winced, but said nothing. She looked so forlorn that Joanna ached for her.

"Lyssa, please agree to have sex with me. I love you, and I don't want to use you. We'll just keep doing this until you agree. Eventually you'll have to, so why not give in now?" Joanna put the web belt around Lyssa's waist and fastened it to the eyebolts. "At least you won't be in danger of falling over and hurting yourself," she said. "Are you at least willing to taste my juices again, honey?"

"I think so, Jo. It tasted okay. Yes, I'll do that. I didn't mind it."

"Do you understand that it won't always taste the same depending on the time of month and what I eat?"

"Yes, I got that impression from that article you showed me from the Internet." Lyssa giggled, "I did learn to eat vegetables that my lady wanted me to try. I understand what you meant about being stubborn."

"Then why are you being stubborn about having sex with me?

Lyssa didn't answer. Joanna went back upstairs.

About two hours later, Lyssa pressed the intercom button and asked for a glass of water. Joanna brought it down and handed it to Lyssa.

"I'm going to put my 'wet' finger in your mouth again. Okay?"

Lyssa nodded her consent.

"Lys, You were concerned about how I would taste, but you're willing to keep tasting me; why can't you do it directly?"

"I'm not a lesbian, Jo."

More than a little annoyed and frustrated, Joanna reached under her dress and panties. She was already wet in anticipation. She worked her finger around inside herself until she had gathered moisture from every part of her vagina. She reached her finger out to Lyssa's mouth and placed it on the girl's tongue. Lyssa sucked wetness from Joanna's finger until it was dry.

She smiled at Joanna and said, "It did taste different from last time. It's sweet – like red. Are you having your period?"

"No, I'm in mid cycle, sweetness. How do you know what red tastes like?"

"I cut my finger on a piece of paper at school, and it started to red. I sucked my finger to stop the reding. It does taste sweet."

"Is it okay if we do it again, honey? Asked Joanna.

"Sure. It tastes all right."

Joanna did it half a dozen more times; she would put her finger in her vagina and get it wet. Lyssa would suck her finger and then smile at Joanna to let her know it was okay. Joanna would have kept it up, but by this time, she was so turned on that she ran upstairs to her bedroom and masturbated - several times.

She let Lyssa stay on the post for almost two hours but knew she'd have to take her off or the young might pass out again. She pulled the dildo and catheter out of the girl's genitals and bathed her again. She laid Lyssa on the table on some heavy towels, but this time she bent and licked the girl's clitoris until she moaned and opened her legs wide. For the first time in her thirty-seven years, Joanna was performing a sex act on another permister.

She bent again and slowly probed Lyssa's vagina with her tongue. She felt awkward at first but maintained a rhythm until she was able to get her entire tongue into the girl's body. She was using an in and out motion withdrawing Lyssa's secretions with each stroke of her tongue. The flavor was delicious and Joanna was on the verge of another orgasm. She pulled her tongue from the girl's vaginal canal and began licking her clitoris again.

At the same time, she put two fingers into Lyssa and stroked the upper surface where she judged the G Spot to be. Lyssa pulled her knees back to her shoulders, wrapped her legs around Joanna's neck and ejaculated.

Joanna had to carry the girl back into the bathroom for another shower. Joanna had Lyssa's fluid all over her face, hair, and upper body. She, too, had to shower and shampoo. Because her mouth had been open, licking the girl's clit, her mouth was filled too. She didn't swallow it all immediately, but savoring the taste, waited until she was bathing Lyssa before ingesting the rest. She didn't rinse her mouth, hoping the taste would last for a while.

She couldn't remember being so happy in her entire life. Just sucking and licking Lyssa's vagina was enough for now. She'd have more patience waiting for Lyssa to eat her.

For weeks, the ritual went on: Joanna would ask Lyssa to lick her; Lyssa would refuse; Joanna would put the girl "on the peg" for a while and then release her. She would feed Lyssa her secretions each time and the girl seemed almost eager to oblige, but would not relent otherwise.

The two women slept together every night, cuddling and spooning; one morning, Joanna awakened to an intensely pleasurable sensation. Lyssa was sucking her nipple. Johanna could feel a reaction in her loins and she was about to orgasm.

Holding back her own desires, Joanna slid down on the bed and began licking Lyssa's genitals until the girl arched her back, squealed softly, and came. Joanna had not stroked the girl's G Spot. She didn't want to soak the bed.

However, down in the basement with Lyssa on her back on the table, Joanna would perform that dance and Lyssa would come and gush her fluids over both of them. Time for another shower.

"Lys, I've reached the conclusion that you enjoy being 'on the peg'. Joanna conjectured.

Lyssa grinned. "Well, I can't lie, the soft dildo feels good inside me especially since I'm being powerd to endure it and have no choice. I can tell myself that I can't help it, so I can just stand there and enjoy. But, after an hour or so, my legs begin to cramp, and I'm in pain, and I don't enjoy that."

Lyssa continued. "Jo, you know it's odd. It seems that I will do something I don't naturally want to do if I'm powerd to do it, and then I don't feel guilty about it. I know you're suffering for need of sexual release and I don't want you to suffer. I have an idea. Force me to 'do your bidding'. The 'peg', as you call it, won't work; I'm too used to it, and I do like it at first.

Maybe if you hurt me to the point that I can't refuse, that will overcome my natural reticence. I don't want to be hurt; I'm not a masochist, but I don't see any other way to overcome this resistance. I've eaten enough of your juices that that's not the problem. It's the lesbian act itself that I can't, of my own volition, perform. Please think about it.

When you open the cabinet next to the 'peg', I can see all kinds whips and switches in there. Try one of those on me. I think I can tolerate the physical pain more than the emotional pain that I feel because I can't do what you need me to do. Force me to do what you want me to do. Then, I won't feel guilty about performing what I was brought up to believe is an immoral act.

I love it when you bring me to orgasm. I'm in heaven when it happens. I want to give you that same pleasure, but I can't overcome my upbringing.

I need to tell you something else, Jo. Every day I struggle to keep from trying to escape. I want so much to get married and have youngren that I can't possibly stay with you forever. Sometimes, in the morning, while you're still arelax, I get up, wrap a sheet around me and walk near the door. Of course, Brutus stops me. He doesn't bite or even growl. He just pins me to the spot until I walk back to your – our – bedroom. But someday, I will escape. I have to do it, Jo. I must. In the meantime, I really do want you to be happy. I do love you, but not in the way you want. I'm so sorry."

-------------------------------

Readers, Again, I ask you to please identify yourselves, anonymously, but with:

F/S, F/L, or F/bi. (Female/Straight; Female/Lesbian; or Female/Bisexual) when you offer feedback. Otherwise, I'll assume that you're male.

The end of this chapter is weird; why would someone in this situation tell her captor to power pain on her? Joanna should have figured out by now that the peg wasn't the appropriate instrument for accomplishing her goal and tried another way. However, she has fallen deeply in love with Lyssa.

Joanna also finds it weird and can't believe it, but that is Lyssa's naivete. It may be and IS actually hard to believe; however, this story is coming out of the deepest reaches of my subconscious.

Later chapters dwell on this weird aberration to some degree. No one can believe that Lyssa is that naive. However, Lyssa is a strange individual. She actually wants to do Joanna's bidding once she realizes that female secretions don't necessarily taste bad, but finds she needs some way to overcome her inborn resistance and is willing to experience pain to accomplish it.

She knows what it'll take to cross that line. Maybe it is a form of masochism. Changing this aspect would create a warp in what I need to write. I have no idea how to cross this barrier without Lyssa's self-destructive attitude. This is especially true now that Joanna has fallen in love with Lyssa and is not willing to think up ways to break Lyssa's spirit by herself.

Lyssa continues to manifest this weird behavior to everyone's amazement - and horror. She cannot help herself. And remember, she has her own agenda.

I realize that readers will find Lyssa's actions hard to swallow, but I can't change Lyssa's mindset. It is too close to home. Readers will just have to accept this as another of my idiosyncrasies. I am unable to change this aspect of the story.

A year went by with no change in their lives; however, Lyssa was becoming morose. She had been locked up in this house all that time. She wanted -- needed - some outside activity, but Joanna wouldn't let her out. She knew Lyssa would run away, or worse, she would run away and report the situation to the police.

"Jo, we used to have such fun doing things before you took me to be your sex slave. Please, let's do some of those things again."

"Sugary sweetness, how can we go out in public? I know I'd lose you."

"Well, you could handcuff me to you or put a chain on my ankle."

"Wouldn't that be a scandal when people saw that? Think up another way, honey. That won't work."

Weeks went by with Lyssa becoming sadder.

"Jo, I've been looking on the Internet for an idea, I think I've found something that might be the answer. I see where girls have their nipples pierced and have a fine gold chain attached to the nipple rings. We could do that but have the chain come down inside my blouse sleeve to a ring. I wouldn't dare escape with you holding onto that ring. I would be completely under your control and people probably wouldn't notice."

"You are the oddest woman! Only you could dream up a scenario like that. However, you still might find a way to get away once we were out somewhere. There would be times when I would need both hands free like in a restaurant. No, that won't work either."

Just then, Brutus let Joanne know he had to go outside. Joanne attached a heavy leather leash to his collar; Brutus knew that he was to be obedient to whoever held that leather leash. Joanne took him outside. An idea came to her as she walked the dog. She would run it by Lyssa later.

"Lys, maybe your idea could work. I don't like the idea of marring your nipples, but it could be a way. Instead of me holding the ring, it could be attached to Brutus' collar by another chain. Everyone knows Brutus is well trained and even restaurants allow me to bring him with me. You would have to hold the ring connecting you to Brutus, but I doubt that anyone would notice that."

Joanne wouldn't dare use the leather leash for Lyssa to hold.

Joanna didn't want to take Lyssa to a piercing parlor, as she wouldn't be under her control Joanna finally found an online site that sold the paraphernalia that they'd need to pierce Lyssa's nipples.

After much deliberation, tears, and angst, they decided to go through with the plan. Lyssa was eager to do it, as she could be semi-free. She could go into the outside world. Joanna was not so eager as it meant putting needles through those beautiful nipples, and she would have to remove the rings whenever she wanted to suck them.

Lyssa sat on the basement table, where she had had so many gushing orgasms, and watched as Joanna sterilized the needles and rings for the umpteenth time. Strangely, she was not frightened; maybe she was a masochist. The women had read details from the Internet telling how to perform the procedure, but Joanna couldn't be sure she would be able to do it. She sighed deeply from time to time.

The rings that she had gotten from online were stainless steel; however, she replaced them with gold rings from the jewelry store. From the questions that Joanne asked, the woman clerk knew what she planned to do with the rings and made suggestions. Joanna purchased two pair of them. She also bought gold chain that the clerk had shown her. She had paid a small fortune for her purchases.

Joanna approached the girl with a tray containing the needed equipment and set it on the table beside Lyssa. She sat down in one of the dining chairs, took a deep breath and looked Lyssa in the eyes.

"Sugary sweetness, do you still want to go through with this? I'm shaking, and you're sitting there so calmly that you could be expecting me to be caressing your lovely boobs instead of mutilating them. You would show more emotion if I were caressing them."

"Jo, of course I want to go through with the piercing. I'm looking forward to it."

Joanna used a marker pen to put dots where the needles would be inserted. She took one of Lyssa's ripe, succulent breasts in her hand, clamped the nipple with powerps, and picked up the needle with ring attached. She placed the needle point on the dot and breathed deeply. She took the powerps off the nipple.

"Sugar plum, I just can't bring myself to put the needle into your nipple."

"Jo, you found the strength to shove that pole into my vagina and push the catheter into my urethra. You were able to whip me. The clamps you put on my nipples hurt worse than I believe the needle will. Please put the rings in. I am so anticipating going outside this house. Please do it."

Again, Joanna took that sweet breast in her hand, clamped it again, and placed the needle against the dot. She didn't want to take overlong to pierce the nipple, but she didn't want to make a mistake either. Holding her breath and steadying herself, she pushed the needle through the lovely nipple, followed by the gold ring. Lyssa winced, but Joanna had cried out. Not wanting to lose her nerve, Joanna quickly held the Lyssa's other breast, clamped the nipple, pushed the needle through, and seated the ring. She followed up by fastening the rings with gold, ruby covered, balls. The rubies were real and had been drilled to house the gold fastener inside. Joanna was wiped out. Lyssa jumped off the table and went to the mirror.

"Jo, I love them. They're beautiful. My nipples are a little sore, but not too much."

Jo felt like fainting.

"Sugar, I can't expect you to have gone through this ordeal without my doing it, too. You're going to pierce me as well. I bought two more rings for me. I'm ten times as nervous as you were, but I have to do this." "Be gentle with me," she joked.

Joanna's breasts were larger than Lyssa's and sagged just a little. Lyssa had sucked on those nipples every morning upon awakening -- and many other times. It was one thing she heartily enjoyed in this enpowerd lesbian relationship.

"Oh, Jo, no," she cried. "They'll get in the way when I want to suckle."

"I'll take them out at bedtime or any other time you want to suck. Okay?"

"Alright, but I'm not happy about it."

Lyssa proceeded along the same lines that Joanna had in piercing her. She was able to pierce the older woman's larger nipples more easily. She didn't seem to have qualms about pushing the needles through Joanna's flesh. However, Joanna felt a lot of pain as the needles and rings went through her nipples. She felt that she deserved the pain.

They stood side by side in front of the mirror admiring their new body jewelry. Joanna asked the girl if she wanted her belly button pierced, but Lyssa said no. The nipple piercing, although the rings delighted her, had been a means to an end.

A few days later, they attached a short chain between Lyssa's nipple rings. Lyssa waggled her shoulders back and forth causing her now weighted breasts to jiggle and the chain to jingle. She laughed with glee, clapped her hands, and said she was now like Helga. Joanna made a face and shook her head. She thought Lyssa looked like a young and sometimes acted like one. Perhaps it was Lyssa's younglike demeanor that so endeared her to Joanna. She felt overcome with love for the girl. "God's in his heaven; all's right with the world" never had such meaning for her. She now had everything she wanted in life -- except Lyssa's happiness. Her mixed emotions played havoc with her.

"You know, my sugary sweetness, I love seeing you wear the nipple rings and chain. It's very sexy and I like the idea that you're chained to me -- figuratively, of course. We'll practice with Brutus until you're comfortable with the idea that he's chained to your tits, uh, breasts."

Lyssa held one end of the chain to her breasts and let the other end dangle down the sleeve of her blouse until it was within her grasp. Joanna measured how long it would have to be and took it back to the jewelers. She had the jeweler fasten a ring about an inch and a half in diameter on one end, cut the chain to measurement, and add a very small snap fastener to the other end. He showed Joanna how the snap worked. It was a bit complicated. When Joanna left the shop, the woman clerk smiled and nodded at her. Joanna hoped the woman was not a gossip. Actually, it might be an advantage if she were. Everyone would know that Lyssa belonged to her. No. That wouldn't be fair to Lyssa.

She also bought a wide, gold ankle chain for Lyssa; the chain had several linked rubies and a gold plate that would have Joanna's name engraved on it. The anklet would be sent to the house when it was finished. It was to be Lyssa's slave bracelet.

Lyssa was eager to try out the chain. There was a little play in the length of it but still worked out well. They fastened Brutus' chain leash to the ring and Lyssa, holding the ring with two fingers through it, paraded around the house getting used to the setup. The following day, the two women and Brutus walked around the block twice, giving Lyssa her first outing in over a year. She was practically dancing with joy. Brutus kept looking up at her, wondering what the fuss was all about. He and Joanna took this walk every day.

That weekend, the three of them went to a movie house where Joanna was known and Brutus was allowed in with them. Next, they went to a restaurant, and again Brutus was allowed in. Everywhere they went, Brutus was allowed to accompany them. Lyssa wondered how that could be until she recalled that the name of the town was Mackey, the same as Joanna's last name. There had to be a connection.

Joanna was the town celebrity and had been so since she was born to Celia and Ken Mackey, the mister of the previous owner of half the town. The Mackeys no longer owned as much property but still quite a bit; Joanna owned half of that property and what the rest brought in when liquidated after the elder Mackey, his wife, and Celia's parents all died in Mackey's private plane crash when Joanna was very young. No one refused entrance to Joanna and Brutus.

When the ankle bracelet arrived, Lyssa put it on and pranced back and forth in front of the mirror. She loved it; she didn't mind that it marked her as belonging to Joanna. She thought she would always wear it even after she gained her freedom. Maybe her husband wouldn't understand, but she could have the plate with Joanna's name turned, so it couldn't be read. She could have her husband's name engraved on the visible side. Then she would belong to both of them.

Joanna took Lyssa everywhere. She introduced the girl to all her friends whom she had been avoiding for the past year. Joanna took Lyssa to her country club, the best restaurants, museums, and the theater. Brutus was welcomed everywhere. Often he had a seat to himself. Lyssa had never been to such lavish places and was delighted.

All of Joanna's friends welcomed Lyssa and congratulated Joanna on her extraordinary good luck in finding the beautiful girl and having her as a companion. Some of them noted that Lyssa always held Brutus' chain and commented on it but not to Joanna. Joanna was princess in this town. One or two of her more catty friends were jealous. One had the nerve to say out loud in front of a group of ladies that Joanna went around with her male dog and her bitch. She found herself permistera non grata in the town's inner social circles from then on. No one else made that mistake.

One day, as they were having lunch at a sidewalk café, Lyssa looked up to see a familiar face approaching them. She tried to hide by putting the menu in front of her. She didn't want anyone she knew to recognize her.

The woman and her companion came right up to the table and said, "Hi, Joanna, Miss Dawn. How are you?"

Lyssa recognized them as the owners of the private school she had worked for over a year ago. She felt her face burning and wanted to disappear.

"Hi Mom," answered Joanna. "We're fine. Hello Karla. Lyssa, I'd like you to meet my lady, Celia, and my aunt, Karla. Well, Karla's not actually my aunt, but I think of her that way. I've know her since I was an *****."

"Hello, Lyssa," said Karla. "I wondered what happened to you when you didn't apply for a teaching job the following semester. I see that Joanna has been hiding you all this time."

Lyssa stammered something that she was never able to recall. The two older women sat down at the table and the waiter was right there with menus. After fifteen minutes or so, Lyssa was unable to get her tongue under control and able to join the conversation. In fact, she was able to make some suggestions about the school. She immediately turned red and apologized for her temerity. The women laughed, told her not to apologize, and thanked her for the suggestions.

"Lyssa, we appreciate teachers who think outside the box. If you ever get tired of running around with my flower, we'll welcome you back to the school. Some of your students still ask about you. They really like you. We were all impressed with your abilities. In fact, even if you don't get tired of Joanna, we'd welcome you back. Well, Lyssa, Joanna, our lunch break is over. We don't want to set a bad example for the rest of the staff. Lyssa, it's been nice seeing you again. Make this reclusive flower of mine bring you to see us occasionally." Celia and Karla patted Brutus' head and left the café. They said nothing about the chain from the dog's color to Lyssa's sleeve. Lyssa had been using both hands to eat.

Lyssa hit Joanna with the menu and admonished her for not telling about her lady and the school.

"When Dad died, Mom bought the school with money he left her -- us. When I was in my late twenties, Mom and Karla moved into my man's old loft apartment and gave me the house that Mom and Dad had lived in after they were married. Lyssa, you're going to hear all kinds of stories of my man's takeing and womanizing. Unfortunately, except for some embellishment, they are all true. Please don't judge Mom and me by what you hear. However, maybe this apple didn't fall far from the tree. Look how I've treated you. Let's go home. I've had enough for one day."

On the way home, a black cat ran in front of them. Brutus followed it with his eyes but didn't change course. Lyssa gasped and turned ashen. She took a few deep breaths and continued walking with the dog and Joanna.

Arriving home, Lyssa had Joanna unclip the chain from her breasts; she didn't know how to do it herself. When Joanna realized the girl was distraught, she asked Lyssa if she were okay. When Lyssa told her it was the black cat incident that bothered her, Joanna chided her for being superstitious.

"No, Joanna, I'm not superstitious. For the past few months, I've been very comfortable with the chain arrangement, but today --, what if Brutus had chased that cat? He's very strong. I wouldn't have been able to stop him with that little ring. He would have ripped my blouse off and torn my nipples to shreds. I know he's well behaved, but I'll have that vision in my head anyway. We have to find another way to handle this. I can't ask you to trust me because I will escape if I get the chance. I'm sorry, Joanna. I've really enjoyed getting out and going around with you."

After the taste of semi-freedom, little Lyssa began to pace around the house like a lost soul. She pleaded with Joanna to find another way that they could go out together. Their sex life was marginalized by Lyssa's unhappiness at being housebound again. She would cry herself to relax at night and stopped sucking Joanna nipples in the morning. When Joanna licked her vagina, Lyssa's mind was elsewhere and she couldn't orgasm. Joanna stopped asking the girl to perform cunnilingus on her.

Though Lyssa knew that Joanna loved seeing her with the nipple rings and connecting chain, she took them off. Joanna removed her rings, too. The girl was naked around the house, but longed to wear clothes and go out. They were both miserable, but Joanna was stubborn, too, and wouldn't take Lyssa out for fear of losing her.

The next morning, Joanna awoke and not finding Lyssa in bed, went to look for her. Brutus had her pinned to the wall next to the kitchen door. She was wearing a bed sheet wrapped around her and was wearing Joanna's slippers. Both women started to cry.

"Lyssa, you thought up the nipple chains. I would never have imposed them on you if you hadn't volunteered. I can't think of anything that would restrict you, but I'm willing to listen if you come up with an idea. You got the nipple ring thingy from the 'net'. Try to find something else or figure something out. I don't want to keep you pent up in the house, but I honestly can't think of anything."

"I thought of wearing the chain around my waist, but I realized you wouldn't accept that. It would break before it would restrict me. Joanna, I'll shrivel up and die if we can't go out again."

A week later, Lyssa came into Joanna's home office all excited. She had been on the Internet again and thought she had an answer to their dilemma.

"Jo, I googled the nipple ring sites again and found something that might work, but maybe you're too squeamish to follow through. Will you at least listen until I'm finished before you say 'no' out of hand?"

"My sugary sweetness, of course I'll listen to what you have to say. I want to resolve this problem as much as you do. I feel worse than I did before you agreed to be my... How shall I refer to you: My mistress, or do only men have mistresses? I'm probably the 'Mistress' because you're my captive. And no, I don't want you to call me 'Mistress'.

One of my friends asked me if you were my inamorata. I had to look it up in the dictionary. It means a woman with whom you are in love or have an intimate relationship - and that's exactly what you are. My precious inamorata. I even had thoughts of telling my friends that you are my precious inamorata. I love you so much, Lyssa. I'm sorry. I'm babbling because I'm afraid of what you're going to tell me. Okay, I'm listening, what's your new plan?"

"Well, you know how you -- uh --we put the rings in my breasts. I saw, on line, how some women wear rings and things in their pubic lips and..."

"Stop right there, Lyssa. You were right. I don't want to hear this. I ***d your nipples. I'm not going to do that to any other part of your body, especially your puss, uh, genitals. No. I don't want to hear any more." Joanna got up from the computer and rushed into the kitchen. She bent over the counter and wept with guilt at what she was doing to Lyssa. She felt like her life was being ripped apart. She had been so happy a while back and now everything was turning to ashes.

Lyssa followed Joanna into the kitchen.

"Jo, you're going to listen whether you want to or not. If you don't, I'm going to walk out that door naked. At this point, I don't care if Brutus bites me or not. I'll turn my rear toward him and let him bite my bottom. There's a lot of meat there that he can chew on. Maybe he won't go for my throat or abdomen."

Joanna looked at the younglike girl, and half crying and half laughing, she agreed to listen. She could just picture Brutus clinging to Lyssa's round butt cheeks. She would stop crying, start to laugh, and start crying again. Her emotions had her in chaos. She herself had bitten Lyssa's bottom many time in the last few months, gently, but with extreme pleasure and she wanted the chance to do it again.

She ran water over a washcloth, folded it and held it against her eyes. They were red and sore. Blindfolded, she missed the chair she had planned to sit on and found herself sitting on the floor.

Lyssa sat down on the floor beside her and began her explanation. They would put rings through her labia and run the gold chain to Brutus' leash. Lyssa wanted to use the leather leash because she could hold it more easily than the chain leash because it had a heavy plaited handle. If Brutus were to bolt, he would have to drag Lyssa, as there was no way she'd let go of that leash. She wanted Joanna to buy her several skirts with slits up both sides so that she could move the chain from side to side. She thought this was a brilliant idea and wanted to put the plan into action immediately. Joanna brought her down to earth by telling the girl that the 'requirements' would have to be ordered. She reminded Lyssa that she had no inner lips to speak of and the links would have to go through her outer labia. That could be excruciating painful.

She wanted Lyssa to think long and hard about going through that ordeal. The girl would have time to think about it before they purchased the paraphernalia. Joanna could see that Lyssa was emphatic about making this happen, but she was having misgivings even before the plan could be put into action. Firstly, it would be very painful when the rings were inserted; secondly, it would mar that perfect body; thirdly, it might not work. Further, by letting Lyssa use the heavy leather leash, Brutus would be under her control. Joanna wasn't about to tell Lyssa the secret, but if Lyssa tried to walk out, Brutus wouldn't stop her. That leash told him whom to obey.

Possibly, she could have Doctor Janssen do the procedure, but she had her doubts that he would. She also had her doubts that she could go through with the operation. She desperately wanted to please Lyssa and, in so doing, please herself. When Lyssa was happy, she was happy.

Another thought came to her. Karla had been an emergency room nurse before she and Celia opened the school. Could she ask Karla? How would she explain it? Would Karla do it? Joanna fell arelax that night, holding Lyssa in her arms, but with her head spinning with all kinds of negative thoughts. Why wasn't Lyssa just a bit more concerned about the pain she would have to endure? Why was she feeling more apprehensive than Lyssa?

Joanna woke up the next morning with Lyssa sucking her nipple. The girl was so excited that she might be allowed to leave the house again that she couldn't calm down. She even had an orgasm when Joanna licked her vagina. Joanna hadn't told her about Karla, yet. Lyssa expected Joanna to insert the rings as she had in Lyssa's nipples. She danced around the house all day, only stopping long enough to hug Joanna and give her long, sloppy kisses. Joanna loved watching that beautiful waif dance naked. Now, if she found the nerve to ask Karla, and Karla agreed to do it, maybe their lives would be back on track again.

"Lys, I need to discuss the labia rings with you. I don't think I can stick those things in you, but I have an alternate suggestion. My Aunt Karla was a nurse for a number of years, and I'm planning on asking her if she would perform the operation."

"Why are you making such a big deal out of it, Jo? I'm the one who should be apprehensive, but I want to do it, so we can get out and do things again. Don't you want to be able to have fun?"

"Sugary sweetness, I have fun just being with you, but, yes, I was always on the go before you came along and turned me into a recluse. I don't really care anymore if I do anything else but be with you. You're my everything. I'm madly in love with you, darling. I feel about you like my Dad's women felt about him - addicted. Maybe I'm atoning for him. Just agree to let me talk to Karla. Okay?"

"Goody. By the way, how can Karla be your aunt? She looks to be about your age."

"Goody? Goody? How old are you, really? Am I robbing the cradle?

Karla is so drop dead gorgeous that she looks twenty years younger than she really is. She's about fifty-five or fifty-six, about a year younger than my lady. I have pictures of her in her late teens and twenties. She was an absolute knockout. She used to be my dad's mistress. I think that Dad would have eventually married Karla if Mom hadn't gotten pregnant with me; Dad's man made him marry Mom. Mom's very pretty, but she can't compete with Karla. Karla could have any man she wanted, but she was so much in love with Dad that she has never been able to accept another man.

Half the women in this town were smitten with Dad and still carry a torch. He used them, beat them, and treated them like dirt, but they still came back for more. I think his use just made them try harder to make him want them. I'm not being disloyal to Dad. I just know the truth about him. I actually saw how he ***d women because he made me watch. He made me watch when he used Mom, too. Mom told me that he never showed anyone any love and affection. He just used them."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Jo. My life was so different. We didn't have much money, but I was pampered and just about drowned with love from my parents. My life turned upside down when they died. About Karla, if you are quite sure you can't put the rings in my labia, then, yes, I'd agree to have her do it. We have to do it, Jo. We have to or I'll fade away. I must go outside."

"Okay, doll, this is the way I've thought of to break the ice with her. I'll tell her that you are adamant about being pierced, and you plan to have it done at one of those sleazy adult places. I'll say that I'm concerned that you'll get an infection, and I don't know how to stop you. Maybe she'll volunteer. She used to sew up wounds and such when she worked in the ER; there were never enough doctors in our small hospital, and she had to do what they would have normally done. She's not squeamish. She has repaired damage that my man inflicted on his women -- and damage they inflicted on each other. I'll broach the subject; keep your fingers crossed that she 'takes the bait".

"Hello Aunt Karla..."

"Hello, Joanna, whom do you want rubbed out?"

"Wha...what are you talking about?"

"Jo, ever since you were twelve years old, the only times you ever called me Aunt Karla, instead of just Karla, were when you wanted something. Now I know you can't possibly need money; you can't possibly need an abortion; you don't need my permission to get a tattoo; what else could you possibly want besides finding someone to take out a contract on someone you don't like?"

"Er, no, uh, Karla." She laughed, swallowed hard and said, "Well, I just thought. I mean..."

"Jo, why am I the only permister in the world to whom you find it difficult to be direct? Lord knows you're never tongue-tied when you are lashing out at some poor soul in this town. Everyone is afraid to cross your path because you are 'so direct'. Now spit it out. What do you want of me?"

"WellKarla,Lyssawantstogetherpubespiercedatoneofthoseadultpiercingparl orsintown,andI'mafraidshe'llgetaninfectionbutshe'sadamantandIdon'tknow howtostopherandIneedyour advice."

"Jeez Louise, I haven't the slightest clue as to what you just said. Take all the marbles out of your mouth and talk slowly. You don't have to be afraid of what I'll think. Not only do I have a thick, but fantastically gorgeous, skin, but also I've seen and heard it all. Nothing, but nothing, can surprise or shock me. Now, start again. Once more, without gusto."

Joanna told Karla what she had planned to say.

"Jo, you're not asking for advice. You want me to do the honors. Be honest; isn't that the reamister you called me? However, I take it back about never being surprised. What you want me to do is shocking. I guess I hadn't heard everything. And NO, I won't *** that sweet young. We know she won't go to one of those sleazy dives, and there aren't any upscale places like that in Mackey. There are good, clean, health conscious places in large cities that you could take her to if you can't talk her out of doing that to herself. In fact, I'll talk to her and convince her of the insanity of such a thing. When can I come over, sit her down, and scare the bejabbers out of her?"

"It just won't work, Karla. Once she's made up her mind; no one is going to talk her out of it. In the meantime, she's making us both miserable. Why are relationships so damned difficult?...And don't bother trying to answer that. Anyway, I have to go and pull her down off the chandelier. Thanks for listening. Bye."

"Karla, Karla, it's Lyssa. Joanna told me that you wouldn't put the rings in my labia. Please Karla. I know you don't know me very well, but I just have to have this procedure. I'll lie down on the floor and throw a tantrum if I can't have it. I'll beat my hands and head to a pulp. Hmmm, I'm joking, of course; I'm not a young; however, I am contemplating doing it myself if neither you nor Jo will do it. I've read the directions that came with the needles and the rings Jo bought from the jewelry store. Please reconsider, please. I'll never ask you for another favor. Oops. Gotta go. Jo's coming back upstairs."

"Lyssa, you know you're not supposed to use the phone. To whom were you talking?"

"I was... I was just calling 'time' information."

"You needed the time, why? Do you have a hot date?"

"No Joanna," she laughed. "Okay, I was trying to get Karla to reconsider. I'm sorry.'

"Don't be sorry, sugary sweetness. It's okay. What did she say?"

"I hung up before she could say NO again. Oh, Joanna, what am I going to do?"

"What are we going to do, you mean? Remember, I'm just as unhappy as you are."

Morning and Lyssa is suckling. Jo is thinking that she can feel the tug in her womb; this is the closest she'll ever be to having a baby at her breast. This woman young is her precious baby: woman-young-baby all wrapped up in one beautiful package. Joanna is in a state of ecstasy - on cloud nine; someone is knocking at the door, and she comes down to earth. She tells Lyssa to "unsnopple", so she can get dressed and answer the door. Lyssa, keeping her lips tight, pulls off of Jo's nipple making a sucking, slurping, kissing sound. Then she runs to the front door, looks through the 'peephole', and is about to open the door to Celia and Karla; Brutus lets out a low grr; Lyssa takes her hand off the doorknob and backs against the wall. Jo, in a robe, is walking across the entryway, as Celia unlocks the door and the two women walk in. Karla looks at Brutus who has his muzzle practically in Lyssa's loins.

"Well, it appears that you're going to have Brutus bite the holes to put rings in. You don't need us, so we'll go back home." Everyone except Brutus gets the joke, and the women giggle. "Yes, Lyssa, we'll do the procedure. We don't want you to get a sore neck trying to see what you're doing to those cute pubic lips. And they are cute. Why are you naked, by the way? I know you're not working, but why can't Jo, at least, buy you a shorty nightgown or a robe? Where are your clothes? And why do you answer the door naked, but unashamedly?"

Lyssa blushes all the way down to her knees and tries to answer Karla.

"Well, I don't have any clothes; I mean no clothes to speak of; I mean they're all in the laundry; oh, oooh, I like to be naked and Jo likes me to be naked." Lyssa starts to cry. She is concerned that Jo is embarrassed, and she doesn't want to be the cause of that embarrassment.

"Never mind, young," offers Celia. "I can see why Jo wants you naked. I would, too, if you were my lover." Karla punches Celia's arm lightly and hisses: "traitor."

Karla hefts the black medical bag she is carrying and asks where the operating room is. Jo hasn't thought of that and stammers, "Well, not in the basement. That is NOT the place this is going to happen. What about the dining room table? We can put several heavy towels on it and do it there. I mean you can do it there. I'm not even going to watch. I'd just cry and distract you. I want you to have your full attention on what you're doing."

The women get the table and paraphernalia ready, and Jo scoops up Lyssa and places her on the towels. Jo's heart is pumping wildly. You would think it was she who was about to be 'needled'. Karla and Celia scrub up and paint Lyssa's lower lips with an antiseptic. Using a marker pen, Karla puts dots on Lyssa's lips where the needles will enter.

Jo runs down to the basement and sits on a leather chair; then she hears Lyssa scream, so she closes and locks the steel soundproof door to the stairwell; then she puts her fingers in her ears. Tears are flowing down her cheeks. She adores Lyssa and can't stand the thought of her being in pain. She thinks back of impaling the girl on the post; sticking the catheter in her urethra; beating the poor girl with whips; and putting the damned clips on those tender nipples. She remembers how it felt when she pushed needles through those sweet nipples. She is thoroughly ashamed of herself for making the young suffer. Since she was ten years old, she has not cried so frequently. Lyssa has cried a lot, too. Was their relationship going to be based on tearful situations? She hopes not.

Now, Lyssa is suffering more because Joanna won't take her out in public without being chained. Like Brutus. Like a dog. She is unaware that she has been holding her breath until her chest begins to hurt.

She thinks to herself, "Lyssa, my sweet, adorable baby, I'm going to make it up to you. I love you so much. Why do I have to hurt you? Why can't I be a better lover? I'd do anything in the world for you if only you could love me. I'll do anything in the world for you even if you don't love me."

Someone is knocking on the metal door. Jo looks at her watch; its been just under an hour since she left the women upstairs and Lyssa was about to have her pubic lips pierced; could they have finished by now? Nooo. Oh dear lord, Lyssa has died on the 'operating' table. I want to die, too. Please, dear lord, don't let anything happen to my sweet baby. Jo is beside herself with grief."

When she opens the door, Celia and Karla are standing there with grim expressions on their faces.

"What's happened? Is Lyssa okay? What's wrong? You look like something bad has happened. Please let Lyssa be okay"

"Calm down, Jo. Lyssa is fine. A little uncomfortable, but she's fine. She's arelax in your bed. The procedure was really nothing.

We're unhappy about what's been happening to her here in this house. We noticed the holes in her nipples, so we checked her over for other evidence of use. When we turned her over to check her bottom, she knew what we were looking for and said, 'The whip marks faded a long time ago.' Have you been a***ing her? Are you following in your man's footsteps? We want an explanation, a full explanation of what's been going on in this house. If you don't come clean, we'll take Lyssa with us when we leave. We've seen too much use of women in this basement. We won't put up with any more."

Jo stared at them for a few minutes trying to think back at how all this began. She told them about taking Lyssa to be her sex toy, and how she tried to shock the girl into doing her bidding. She told them everything she did to the girl: the post, the beatings, the clamps, and the piercing of Lyssa's nipples. She said the post was her idea to power Lyssa to have sex with her, and that it didn't work. Jo explained that somewhere along the line, she fell in love with the young and wouldn't have hurt her again for the world. She insisted that the beatings and nipple clamps were Lyssa's idea, so that she could salve her conscience in order to perform oral sex on another woman – on Jo. She explained how Lyssa wanted her nipples pierced, so that they could go out in public and how that worked awhile until Lyssa became frightened lest Brutus bolt. She described how Lyssa thought up the labia piercing for the same reamister. She was desperate to have a life outside the house.

Her lady and Karla were skeptical that Lyssa asked for the use and piercing of her own body, but Jo told them to ask Lyssa when Jo wasn't around. She said that Lyssa was a very unusual, strait-laced girl and didn't lie; not even little white lies. Celia and Karla said they would do just that because they still couldn't believe that Lyssa had described how she wanted to be ***d. She evidently wasn't masochistic. She had not gotten any joy from the labia piercing. She had gritted her teeth and cried softly when the needles entered her flesh. She had ****** momentarily when Karla closed the rings.

Karla asked Jo where she bought the gold rings. She was amazed when Jo told her about the local jewelry store. Jo had picked the rings from a fairly large selection. They were gold with a ruby, a real ruby, at the bottom of the ring. They had been expensive; however, Jo wanted nothing cheaper. The woman at the jewelry store had told Jo that they had quite a few requests for nipple and labia rings and so kept the selection.

Karla asked Jo if she had realized that the needles probably caused Lyssa a great deal of pain. Jo went into hysterics. She screamed and pulled her hair. When Karla told Jo how to take care of the piercings with sea salt soaks, Jo was absolutely grief-stricken. She blamed herself for all of Lyssa's suffering.

"Listen, Jo," said Celia. "I understand how badly you wanted – want Lyssa and I don't blame you, but you've *******ped her and imprimistered her against her will. Are you aware that when she eludes your grubby little hands, she will probably report you? You will spend a long time in primister and all your money and status in this town won't protect you. In fact, there are some of your jealous friends who would love to see you in jail.

I can't condone your continued keeping that young woman, but as I said, I do understand. I've seen so many women being used right here in this basement when it was a cold dank 'dungeon', and later when we had it finished and decorated. What you've done is nothing new, but I thought we'd seen the end of using this basement as a *** chamber. I won't try to stop you from keeping Lyssa, even if I could accomplish that, but I repeat, I don't condone it. You must realize that your brush will tar Karla, the school, and me when this comes out. Please think this through.

Let her go, Jo. You know the old adage about letting someone go, and if they love you, they will return. If Lyssa loves you, she will come back to you."

"Oh Mom," Jo cried, "Lyssa is straight and wants a normal family: a husband, youngren, and the white picket fence. She wouldn't return. She has told me that she will not stop trying to escape, but my feelings for her are so great, I cannot let her go. Forgive me, Mom, Karla, for dragging you into my crazy yearning world, but I can't help myself. That girl upstairs is my whole life. I want nothing else. Again, after I tried to shock her into giving me sex, I fell so deep in love with her that I am addicted – obsessed with her. No. I won't let her go."

"Okay, honey, you deserve the life you want. You've been celibate much too long. Yes, We know you haven't had a sexual relationship in the past. Karla and I will just have to roll with the punches. We'll back you all the way, but again, we warn you: This may not play out well. By the way, you've had Lyssa for over a year now. That poor young must be bored out of her mind being cooped up in this house."

"Mom, that 'poor young' has the busiest day you can imagine. She turned twenty-three about six weeks after I took her. She wanted books for a birthday present, and I set up accounts for her at Amazon, a few other online bookstores, and PayPal. There's a steady stream of books coming here and she devours them. We – she subscribes to several magazines like Scientific American, the New England Journal of Medicine, Time, and newspapers like the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, and I don't know what else. She says that she never had the time before to read what she wanted to read. University was fine, but too narrow for her. That 'poor young' is brilliant. You educated me very well, but she can run rings around me. She wants to be a doctor and an engineer. She has dreams of combining those and doing biomedical engineering. When she doesn't have her nose in a book, she's on the Net researching. She has taken pre-med courses, on line.

She spends hours on the exercise equipment. When she's not searching cookbooks for new recipes that she makes, calling them organic chemistry, she's romping around the house with Brutus; they wrestle around on the floor. I swear that dog loves her as much as I do, but he still won't let her leave the house. I would imagine that he's a bit conflicted. She may be housebound, but bored? Unlikely. I'm overwhelmed at the energy she expends. I get tired just watching her. And no, she's not completely naked all the time. She ordered some wraparound towel thingies with Velcro to hold them on. She's sexier than ever with those covering her lower body like a skirt. She dances and prances, and I watch her breasts bobble and I get so horny, I drag her into the bedroom a couple times a day and... Neither of us is bored, Mom. When she turned twenty-four, I took her out to places she wanted to go, like to the library and museums. That's when we met you at the outdoor café."

The women left the basement and went up to Jo and Lyssa's bedroom. The girl remained arelax when Jo lifted the bed covers and looked at Lyssa's pubes. She gasped and dropped the covers. Lyssa's lips were swollen and there were traces of red on them. Karla assured Joanna that everything was fine. The insertions had gone without a hitch.

Karla had squeezed each of the girl's nether lips with Foerster sponge powerps that had an oval opening at the end of each arm. That's when Lyssa screamed at first, but she held her breath after that and toughed out the rest of the ordeal. She was a very good patient. The needles had gone through her pinched lips without too much effort, followed by the rings.

Lyssa had steeled herself for the needles and relaxed after the insertion. However, she had flinched when Karla fastened the rings and fainted for a few seconds. Then she had smiled and said, "That wasn't too bad." But Karla knew it had been very painful. She had not used anything to dull the pain during the procedure, but had given Lyssa a couple of Tylenol with codeine afterwards, and after a few minutes, the girl relaxed and fell arelax. Karla and Celia carried her to the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. They covered her and went to see Jo. The whole procedure took less than an hour.

After telling Jo how to take care of the rings, Karla and Celia left. Jo sat by Lyssa's side until she woke. "It hurt, Jo. It hurt a lot. When Karla wiggled the clamp off the rings, I couldn't bear the pain. I didn't tell her because she was doing her best, and I had tricked her into doing the operation. It still hurts a lot."

Jo, I'd like something to take and maybe something to eat. I'm sorry to be such a baby about this. I swear I won't be any trouble."

"My sugary sweetness, you're no trouble. Think about this: When you feel better, we'll go out on the town. We'll go and do anything you want to do. Karla said you'll be fine tomorrow, Thursday, and this weekend, we'll paint the town red."

Morning and Lyssa was suckling. Jo orgasmed. "I never realized I could come by having my nipples sucked; it was quite an experience. Unfortunately, I soaked the bed. I gushed like you do, darling. My first time."

When Jo scooted down to lick Lyssa, she first licked off the vestiges of red. Before she could lick between the girl's labia, Lyssa made a request: "Jo, pull the rings to the side so that my opening is exposed. Tell me what it looks like."

"Honey, that'll hurt you. I don't want you to have any more pain."

"Jo, it doesn't seem to hurt that much today. It's okay. You won't hurt me. Pull the rings apart, please."

Jo pulled the rings. She started to describe Lyssa's genitals, but Lyssa stopped her and asked for a mirror. She seemed to be very pleased with what she was looking at.

"Jo, my vaginal canal is wide open when you pull the rings. Can you put your tongue in it now?"

"Sugar, I'd put my whole face in you if I could. Your cun – vagina is very inviting. Stop talking and let me tongue fu – lick you." With that, Jo pushed her tongue deep into Lyssa's body. Lyssa lifted her lower torso up into Jo's face and pulled Jo's head closer to her. It took her three minutes to orgasm. She seemed to be always on the verge of orgasm. She had soaked the bed even more; she soaked herself and Jo, too. She laughed a wonderful laugh and jumped out of bed.

"Jo, we have to start getting ready for our outing. Can you get the slit skirts for me? Please, Jo. Now?"

Three hours later, Jo returned with a half dozen skirts of different lengths and types; each one had double slits that reached Lyssa's thighs. Lyssa was ecstatic. While Joanna made lunch, Lyssa used Jo's sewing machine.

"Look Jo, I sewed strong button holes into the junction of each slit and put small, strong rings through the button holes. We can run a chain through the rings in my piercings to the slit rings and connect a short chain from the slit rings to Brutus' heavy leather leash. Oh, Jo, I'm so thrilled that we're going out that I'm walking on air." She felt her days of cabin fever were over. Joanna wasn't too thrilled about Lyssa holding Brutus' control leash.

The next day, Friday, Lyssa was prancing nude around the house with the gold chain through her pubic rings. She had fastened the clips that would normally be snapped on the slit rings, together. The chain dangled about six or seven inches down between her legs. As she danced around, the chain would slide back and forth through the pubic rings. After a while, Lyssa's face reddened, and she stopped dancing.

"Lys, what's the matter, darling? Do the rings hurt?" asked Joanna.

"No, Jo. It's worse than that. The vibration of the moving chain through the rings has brought me close to orgasm. What if that happens while we're out? Oh, Joanna, it might spoil everything. Why can't things ever go right?' Her face clouded up.

"Sweet baby, it's no problem at all. I'll take care of that little situation whenever it pops up. Sit up on the table."

When Lyssa was on the table, Joanna dropped to her knees and bent to Lyssa's loins. Lyssa was already so close to orgasm that she went over the top in minutes.

"Oh, that's so much better, but we can't do that when we're out in public, can we?"

"Doll, we can just go powder our noses. We'll go into a stall and we'll get your rocks off. Sorry, I have a difficult time sticking to your technical terms. I'll give you release as often as you need it. I love doing that little chore for you almost as much as I love you.

Lys, Karla and Mom jumped all over me for torturing and beating you. Lys, I am so sorry I've hurt you in the past. I'll never hurt you again, ever. I love you too much. All I want to do is give you pleasure. Please believe me."

"Jo, I have a confession to make. When you put me on the post, I actually enjoyed it at first. It stirred up all kinds of sexual fantasies that I never had before, and it felt good up inside me. The knob felt good, but that, er, dildo felt better. When you were not around, I would squirm around on the dildo and slide up and down on it, just a couple of inches, but enough to fantasize that it was a man's penis going in and out. I never had an orgasm, but it felt great. I didn't like the catheter up inside me at first. It hurt and scared me. Then, my legs would start to cramp if you left me stuck on the post too long. But my fantasies were delicious; I really enjoyed them. I was a little sad when you stopped putting me on the post. After we go out a few times, I'd like you to put me back 'on the peg', as you call it, sometimes, but for only about twenty minutes each time. That's the longest I can fantasize, feel good, and not start to hurt. Being on the post for a long time is maddening. My legs cramp and my knees feel like they're going to buckle."

"You little scamp. And all that time I thought I was torturing and shocking you to get you to agree to be my sex toy. You played your part very well. I never knew you weren't struggling. I guess you would never have agreed to do my bidding using that ploy. I ought to turn you over my knee and spank your cute little bubble butt, uh, bottom."

"I wouldn't mind that at all, Jo. When you beat my bottom with the whips and straps, the first few strokes were sensuous or is that sensual – I never can remember the difference, but they started to really hurt after about a dozen. I would never have given in with the beatings either. Even though the strokes hurt like the devil, after a while, I would get close to orgasm. The nipple clamps did the trick. Actually, they hurt worse when you took them off. Blood would rush in and it would really hurt. I couldn't bear the clamps, but you know, there was something very sexual about them, too. I just couldn't stand the pain.

Everything you've done to me has given me some sexual pleasure in spite of the pain, even putting the catheter in me. I got a kick out of being able to pee whenever I felt like it, without having to find a toilet, putting paper on the seat, or standing above the seat, trying to keep my panties at half-mast, and my dress pulled up and tucked into my belt, or something, to keep it out of the commode. I felt that having the catheter in me was like having a penis and peeing in a urinal. Men have a lot more freedom peeing than we women have. The catheter made me feel like I'm missing something – a penis. I really wouldn't want one though. I enjoy being a woman. I can't wait until I can go to bed with a man, a special man, my husband.

Jo, you've never done anything to me that I didn't get enjoyment from. After I had no "choice" but to perform cunnilingus, I've enjoyed that, too. First of all, you taste delicious; from that first time you put your finger, wet with your vaginal fluids, in my mouth, I knew I'd enjoy licking you, but I just couldn't overcome my religious beliefs at that time. I love the way your inner flesh feels on my tongue. When your juices start to flow, I get excited, too. When I have my tongue up inside you, I feel that I have complete control over you; you start to quiver, and like a tuning fork, I begin to quiver, too. You are in my power at that point; and when you orgasm, I feel that I have created a masterpiece, a beautiful, musical opus. The juices you pour out then are a delicacy: a rich, savory broth that I can't get enough of. If, and when, you ejaculate, I revel in being able to induce that gush of goodness. I love working that miracle; I love doing that to you – for you.

You must think I'm awful and not like the demure, innocent young I seem to be, but Jo, I am that innocent girl you think I am. It's just that you have awakened something in me that I was not aware of. Through you, I will make a much better sex partner for my husband when I find him so don't feel guilty about what you did. I've enjoyed it all - even the pain. At times, I've even wished I were a lesbian. It's been a lot of fun being with you. I wish I could stay. I care for you, but I need freedom. The one thing I've really hated and can't come to grips with is the loss of my freedom. I absolutely need to be in control of my life; to be able to come and go as I please; to have no restriction of where I am and where I want to be. Jo, you have never done anything to me that I have really disliked, with the exception of keeping me locked up. I can't tolerate captivity. I've hated that, and it's the only thing you've done that I can't forgive you for. I'm very sorry, Jo."

"No, Lys, don't be sorry. I deserve that hate from you."

"Jo, let's not think about that right now. When can we go out and where are we going to go?"

Lyssa was completely unaware that by holding Brutus' leather control leash, she was in absolutely no danger from him. She thought that if she tried to escape, he would tear the rings through her pubic lips. Joanna kept that little secret to herself.

Every day, Joanna, Lyssa, and Brutus went for long walks – Lyssa and Brutus went for long runs. Joanna would run out of steam trying to keep up with them and sit it out, but watching that they didn't go beyond a certain point. She enjoyed watching Lyssa's beautiful legs flash in and out of the slits in her short skirt, but she would call Brutus' name and they'd run back past Joanna in the opposite direction. This could go on for hours. Lyssa was in great shape physically and she and the dog never seemed to get tired; one day, while Joanna was watching them, Lyssa stopped, shivered, and stood stock still for about a minute before she resumed running. She came running back to Joanna, all excited.

"I did it, Jo. I did it," she exclaimed.

"You did what, my sweet young?" asked Joanna.

"I found just the right rhythm of the chain through my labia rings, and the vibration brought me to orgasm. Oh what fun. Now, I can orgasm any time I want. Any time I'm running, that is. I wonder if I can do it when I'm dancing at home? I'm going to try. I can't seem to get enough orgasms. I have to make up for lost time. The only other ones I've ever had are the ones you've given me. My darn upbringing prevented me from masturbating.

Jo, thank you for giving me more freedom. I feel wonderful. Let's go home and make love."

------

Readers, I apologize for taking so long to finish this story. I'll try to hurry it along.

Please – more emails. They are my payment for writing here.

I found information about piercing, nipple and labia rings on the Internet. I cringed at first, but the more I thought about it, the more exciting I found it.

These endnotes are necessary for me to write, but please feel free to ignore them. They may not be critical to the story line, but they are my way of saying "Mea Culpa" for my transgressions on these pages.

By nature and by employment, I have an overwhelming need to explain my actions in detail. I find myself getting heavily into minutia and becoming extremely wordy. My editor is aware of this idiosyncrasy and, through patience, has kept a rein on me. She has pointed out that much extraneous detail is NOT important to this presentation.

If left to my own devices, this story could have easily ended up with five or six hundred pages, a full novel. As it is, it will almost triple my originally intended output of three chapters. Still, a large portion of this story has ended up on the 'cutting room floor'. Don't be concerned; I have used all of the significant goodies. The missing details would have just bored you as this endnote is probably doing.

Another idiosyncrasy you have no doubt recognized by the first or second chapter is my difficulty – almost inability - to use strong sexual, brownieological, or curse words. Although, in order to determine how to write this masterpiece, I've read quite a few stories in Literotica – whew – my face must have turned red and my juices flowed many times.

I try not to be prudish; however, the authors here write far beyond my comfort zone – and those are the female authors. I have yet to read male authors in Literotica. I'm sure their stories will overpower my senses. In my permisteral life, I have been known to use an occasional 'hell', 'damn', or even a rare 'cuckolds brownie!' when something has gone awry, but I never use the F word or, heaven forbid, something stronger. Of course that had to change as I drag my subconscious, libidinous fantasy onto these pages. Like Lyssa in the story, I have to steel myself in order to use strong words and deeds. Although I can use (harsh) medical terms with no difficulty, purely sexual terms and actions do not come easily to my tongue (no pun intended) or pen (keyboard?). When you come across those words in this story, note that they were not easy for me to write.

Joanna took Lyssa everywhere in town. Everyone seemed to be talking about the two beautiful women and the huge dog who went everywhere together. They really were the talk of Mackey. The slit skirts that Lyssa wore and the heavy dog leash attached to those skirts were whispered about also; no one had the nerve to ask the two women about it.

On a warm spring evening, Lyssa's twenty-fifth birthday, Jo took the girl to the ballroom of Jo's country club. Lyssa had her hair in a French twist and was wearing a little eye makeup. Except for lip-gloss, she wore no other makeup. She looked so glamorous and sophisticated that both men and women couldn't keep their eyes off her. She was in her glory.

They sat at a table with two other married couples that Joanna knew well; they were mesmerized by Lyssa's ability to talk on any subject. One of the men, a young doctor, couldn't believe that this lovely young woman could hold her own on any medical subject he brought up, but he kept trying.

When the seven-piece orchestra started playing, most everyone but Jo and Lyssa began dancing. After about half an hour, Lyssa began to fidget; she asked Joanna to take her to the ladies' room. Joanna figured that the girl was sexually aroused, but that was not the case. Lyssa pleaded with Jo to allow her to dance.

"Jo, I swear on my word of honor that I won't try to escape if you unhook me from Brutus. I've never lied to you; you know that. I'll make a pact with you; although I will try to leave when we're on the street and possibly from the house, I don't want to embarrass you in front of any of your friends. You have my word that I'll behave when we are in social situations like this. I swear; I promise on my life. Please let me dance."

"Lys, I do believe you and trust you. I won't hobble you when we're socializing. Actually, I think it'll be better. There is too much gossip about you being tethered to Brutus. Here, I'll unsnap Brutus' leash. I'll hold the leash when we go back to the dance. Do you want me to 'release' you in a sexual way?"

"No, Jo, I'm just eager to dance at the moment. I can't wait to get back in there. Would you mind if I ask people to dance with me? They all know that I belong to you, and I doubt that anyone would ask me."

"Honey lamb, you don't need my permission. Ask anyone you want to dance with you. Ask me, too. I'd love to dance with you."

Back in the ballroom, with Brutus, unleashed, on the floor between Jo and Lyssa, Lyssa asked the young doctor, Andrew, to dance with her. His jaw dropped; he looked at his wife who nodded, and he rose and offered Lyssa his hand. The chatter in the room dwindled as Andrew led Lyssa onto the dance floor and put his arm around her waist.

The music was a foxtrot and Lyssa was able to pick up the steps and even add a few of own though she tried hard to allow Andrew to lead; he was able to give her the lead when she initiated the new steps. At times, Lyssa would press herself against him and then move back into the dance routine. It was evident that he was enjoying himself immensely. When he asked her for a second dance, she declined, telling him that she didn't want to cause any friction with his wife, Cyndi. He smiled, thanked her for her insight and led her back to their table. The room was buzzing again.

Several men stood up, obviously with the intention of asking Lyssa to dance, but she had already asked Joanna. The two danced the slow dance pressed breast to breast as Lyssa was wearing higher heels; Joanna was as ecstatic as Lyssa. When the next dance began, Lyssa asked Cyndi to dance with her. Cyndi was flabbergasted, but after a few seconds, got up to dance with Lyssa. The buzz in the room got louder.

In the next few hours, Lyssa danced with quite a few of the men and some of the women. In some of the faster tempo dances, Lyssa's long skirt would swirl and her legs and thighs were often exposed through the skirt slits. Joanna was proud of her 'lady love', but she was a little apprehensive that the chain through Lyssa's rings would become visible. She mentioned that to Lyssa during an intermission.

Lyssa then told Joanna that the sliding chain had her constantly aroused and on the verge of orgasm. When Joanna suggested that Lyssa go to the ladies' room and pull her panties up tighter against the chain, Lyssa confessed that she wasn't wearing any. She had taken them off earlier in the evening deliberately to allow the chain to slide. Joanna was amused but insisted that the girl go back to the restroom and put her panties back on. Lyssa picked up the small purse that held her panties and left for the ladies' room.

Twenty minutes later, Lyssa had still not returned, and Joanna began to be a bit edgy; she went to the ladies' room and Lyssa wasn't there. Joanna started to cry. Lyssa had left; had lied to her; had gone back on her word. She didn't know what to do. Not only had she lost Lyssa, but she would have to put up a front when she went back to the ballroom. She was close to hysterics. She wondered if Brutus could follow Lyssa's 'trail'. She would go get him and see if he could.

She took out her cell phone, intending on calling Celia and Karla for help, but as she left the restroom, she heard someone say, "No, no, please let me go." She walked quickly to the end of the corridor where there was an alcove next to the elevators to the upper floors. Jonas Aikens had Lyssa up against the corner, one arm stopping her from getting by him and the other hand inside her blouse squeezing and kneading her breast like it was a handful of dough. His face was pushing against the girl's cheek as she was trying to avoid his mouth. Lyssa's face showed extreme consternation.

Joanna still had her cell phone in her hand and took several pictures of Jonas and Lyssa. The flash caused Jonas to jerk his head back away from Lyssa. He turned and saw Joanna with the camera in her hand. She took another picture of his face.

"Jonas, take your hand out of Lyssa's blouse and move away from her. You will go get your wife and leave the premises immediately. Tomorrow, when the desk opens at seven o'clock, you will be there, pay any outstanding bills, and resign your membership. You will never step a foot in this club again, even to play golf. If you fail to do so, a special messenger will deliver the pictures I just took, to your wife. Since it is her money that has allowed you to live the life style you have been so damned accustomed to, I doubt that you would want to give her grounds for divorce. Is that clear?"

Aikens did not answer her, but with an angry frown on his face, he marched back to the ballroom and without explanation, pulled his wife from her seat, and practically dragged her out of the room. Joanna and Lyssa stood in the doorway watching them. It must have been obvious to the others in the room that something had occurred between Jonas and the two women. Knowing that he was a miserable, cheating womanizer, they could guess what must have happened.

Joanna and Lyssa remained for another hour, dancing and trying to enjoy the rest of their evening.

On the way home, Lyssa explained that Jonas had followed her to the ladies' room and waited for her to come out. He had grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the alcove where he attempted to **** her. He was so much stronger than Lyssa that she had a hard time fighting him off. She was so grateful that Jo had found her that she hugged the woman all the way home.

"Jo, I was so frightened that at first I couldn't even speak. That awful man must have thought my silence meant that I consented, and when I kept fighting, that I was just teasing him. You probably heard me when I finally got my voice back. I hate that man."

Joanna decided to wait until Aikens resigned and was embarrassed in having to do so. She figured that word of his actions would travel fast. When she had found that he was trying to **** Lyssa, not just kiss her, she intended to send statements by her and Lyssa, along with the pictures she had taken, to the police. She doubted that anything would be done about the **** attempt because Aikens' wife would no doubt try get the situation hushed up to prevent any further embarrassment. However, since people evidently suspected what had happened, and the police would know, Mrs. Aikens would probably throw the man out of her house. With no visible means of support, he would be powerd to leave town. No one would give him a job or accept him in Mackey. Since he hadn't had the time to actually harm Lyssa, Joanna figured his exile would be sufficient punishment.

When they arrived home with Brutus, Joanna decided to make some hot chocolate. As she was pouring hot water into cups, she spilled some on the floor. She was still stressed out because of Aikins and was not thinking of what she was doing. She took a step back and slipped on the water she had spilled. She fell and twisted her right foot under her. She heard a snap and felt a searing pain in her ankle; it had broken. She had Lyssa call Dr. Janssen, the only doctor in town who made house calls and only to her family.

Unfortunately, Lyssa got his answer machine that informed her that he was out of town and wouldn't return for another week. He had listed the name of a doctor who was standing in for him, but it was two o'clock in the morning. They would have to call 911 for the paramedics. Joanna figured that the hospital emergency room would take a long time to treat her; determine if she had any other injury; and maybe keep her overnight. This was a dilemma. She would be away from the house and Brutus would not keep Lyssa from leaving. Not only did he love Lyssa, but because she had held his heavy leather leash, she too was his master. He would help her, not hinder her. Joanna knew that her blissful state was at an end. Lyssa would leave as she had told Joanna she would many times. Joanna couldn't lock Lyssa in the basement nor would she do so even if she were able.

"Lyssa, I guess this is the end of the road for us. I know you'll leave now that it's possible, and I'll never see you again. Please do one last favor for me. I don't want to leave Brutus alone when I go to jail. Wait until I get back from the hospital. Then, I'll call around to try to find a home for him. On second thought, he loves you and loves being with you. Would you consider taking him with you when you go home? You may as well take my car. I won't be using it where I'm going."

"Yes, Jo, I must go home. We both knew that this day would come. I need my freedom. I really appreciate everything you've done for me. Being here with you these past two years has allowed me to learn what I've always wanted, knowledge that I didn't get in university. I plan to go to engineering school and then medical school, and I desperately want that education. I'm young enough to spend the next several years studying.

You've also taught me a lot about my own sexuality, Jo. I'll miss you, but I have to leave. And yes, I will take Brutus with me. I love him, too."

"Lys, my sugary sweetness, I will ask Mom and Karla to help me set up a trust fund for you, so that you won't have to work while you're in school. Don't say no because I'll do it anyway. That's the least I can do for you. Think of it as payment for the past two years of hardship."

"It was no hardship, Jo," said Lyssa. "I enjoyed every minute of those two years."

Joanna had been kept overnight in hospital in case there were any complications from the broken ankle or other injuries from the fall. Around noon, she was released and came home in a taxi and hobred into the house, using crutches the hospital had given her.

Joanna was glad that she always wore dresses. If she had been wearing jeans or trousers, she wouldn't have been able to get them over the knee-to-toe cast she wore. She had not taken a change of underwear with her when the paramedics carted her off and was wondering how she would remove her soiled panties and take a shower without some help. She thought it made no difference, anyway. Lyssa would report her to the police for *******ping and false imprimisterment and some jail matron would assist her in taking a shower.

Brutus greeted her and walked with her to her favorite chair in the living room. He was so happy to see her that she thought his tail would wag off his body.

Lyssa came in to see her. She had already packed her suitcases and wheeled them to the front door. She went back to where Joanna was sitting and, tearfully, said goodbye.

"I love you, Joanna; please don't hate me for what I have to do."

She kissed Joanna tenderly; then she pulled her suitcases to the car trunk, leaving the house door open. She went back into the house and, going into the bedroom, made a phone call. Then, she loaded the cases and went back for Brutus.

"Come, Brutus," she called.

The huge dog whimpered and looked back at Joanna who sniffled, "Go with Lyssa, boy. She'll look after you from now on. Lyssa, after you get home, think of me once in a while and not too unkindly, please. I did what I did out of love for you. I kept you a primisterer for love. The pain of going to jail won't even come close to that of losing you." Joanna wept, sobbing in her anguish at the prospect of never seeing Lyssa again.

Brutus followed Lyssa to the car and jumped onto the front seat. Lyssa, closed and locked the house door, closed the passenger car door, and entered the driver's side. She sat there for a few minutes almost overcome with emotion. She drove off, trying to steer through a curtain of tears.

After driving toward her hometown for several hours, the beautiful girl realized that she had been driving with her mind in a haze. Lyssa had been thinking of her two years as Joanna's captive. She was angry with herself. How could she possibly have allowed that status to exist without making a change?

She was only about thirty miles from her hometown when she pulled off the road onto the apron of a strip mall. She sat there for almost a half hour before going to a pay phone and calling the Coopers, her tenants. She got back into the car, reached over and hugged Brutus. She kissed the top of his head, started the car and, with a grim, angry scowl distorting her face, headed back in the direction she had come from. She made only one stop on the way back to get gas, use the restroom and let Brutus do his business. Hours later, she pulled up in front of Joanna's house and stomped to the house, leaving Brutus in the front seat with the door open. She was shaking with self-irritation.

Lyssa entered the house, stopped momentarily to look at Joanna who was still sitting in the living room looking beaten and waiting for the police to arrive.

"Did you forget something, honey? You left many hours ago. Did you get home?" Joanna asked.

"Yes, I forgot something," answered Lyssa as she proceeded to the kitchen.

She returns to the living room, her blouse is unbuttoned and hanging loose; she's carrying a large butcher knife. She kneels in front of Joanna, pushes up the woman's dress and pulls the crotch of Joanna's panties away from her body. She raises the knife to Joanna's genitals.

"Oh dear God," thought Joanna, "she's going to stick that knife up inside me."

"Lys, Lyssa, what, what are you going to do?"

"Do? Repeated Lyssa. "Do? I'm going to cut those smelly panties that you've been wearing for the last two days. Then, I'm going to eat your pussy until you've had so many fucking orgasms that you'll plead with me to stop. Then, I'm going to lick and suck every last drop of cunt juice out of your twat. ------ I'm home, Joanna. I am home."

Lyssa cuts the crotch of Joanna's panties and throws the knife to one side; she moves her face up between Joanna's soft thighs and reaches with her tongue. As she starts to lick, she shakes her shoulders back and forth making her braless breasts wobble and the chain between her pierced nipples jingle.

Epilogue:

Ten years have passed. Shortly after returning to Joanna, Lyssa had applied and been accepted at a prestigious engineering school in another state. That September, Joanna, Lyssa, and Brutus took up residency in a large apartment near the institute. While Lyssa was studying, Joanna took care of household and administrative chores, a new career for her. Their sex life kept Lyssa's stress level to a minimum. On long weekends and holidays, they would go back to their home in Mackey.

Joanna insisted that Lyssa take off during summers instead of taking more classes. The summers were spent traveling through Europe and Asia where Lyssa was able to have educational experiences of a different nature. Lyssa has found her new life to be absolute heaven. She can't imagine a better one. Those summer trips went on for many years, whenever Lyssa could get away from her demanding job.

At thirty-five, Lyssa has completed an undergraduate degree and a PhD in engineering, has received an M.D. under a special plan for engineers, and, as a biological engineer, is working on specialized electronic medical equipment. In addition, she writes technical manuals covering that gear. She has reached all of her educational goals and has fulfilled her emotional needs. She no longer looks and acts like a young. She has matured into a sophisticated, beautiful woman who has her peers listening intently as she expounds on technology and more mundane subjects. She is taken very seriously.

She realizes that the three-second insertion of Robert's penis into her virgin vagina is all she will ever have from a man, and she has come to grips with that. However, she and Joanna have become as close as Celia and Karla. Strange, considering three of these women are straight. Lyssa feels that she is not a lesbian, but she has no qualms at fitting into that 'slot' with Joanna. She is in love with Joanna and lusts for her; however, she would not have sex with any other woman -- well, maybe with Karla, who is still sexy and lovely at sixty-five -- but Lyssa has kept those thoughts under wraps. There are times when Lyssa is doing medical research on the Internet, that she shifts to a site that features female models. She gazes at the lush, nude bodies, sighs and returns to her research. However, she still denies that she has moved into that gray bisexual area. She claims that she is highly heterosexual. Joanna has also caught Lyssa watching a round bottom as it happens to pass by, but she only smiles to herself and says nothing.

There have been no restrictions of Lyssa's movements since she returned to Joanna after that woman let Lyssa leave. She 'comes' and goes as she pleases. Occasionally, she wears the nipple and labia rings and the gold chains; however, they are strictly for pleasure now -- hers and Joanna's.

Their wonderful dog, Brutus, has passed away quietly in his relax at the age of sixteen; in his place, there is the sweetest, cutest, most adorable little Rottweiler puppy that loves to romp with Lyssa.

Lately, Lyssa has been planting flowerbeds in their front yard and has surrounded them with white picket fences.

***

Dear readers, I am spent. I am filled with emotion. Tears have been welling up in my eyes as I've been writing the ending to this last chapter. My throat hurts from constant swallowing.

Although I've done additional research, this story must have come from some deep-seated fantasy way back in my subconscious. It could have been the reamister that I found it necessary to turn from writing nonfiction to suddenly needing to write this. It purged my 'system'. I have lived it as I've been writing it. To state a cliché, 'It has been a labor of love.' You can take that in any manner that you wish. I've been known to offer puns gratuitously.

I had left my Literotica biography deliberately devoid of information because I couldn't believe that a few word answers could tell who I am. I let this story do that. I hope you know me now.
I am writing a flashback of When Lyssa met Joanna which I hope to finish in the near future. I hope you have enjoyed WLmJ enough to read the flashback: Joanna's story. The flashback chapters could possibly have been intertwined with the main story, but it would have been confusing. My editor convinced me of that.

WLmJ seems to have triggered strong thoughts of sadism in me. Until now, I hadn't been aware they existed. I have researched Literotica and other Web sites for the mechanism of BDSM and hope you will be shocked, horrified, and aroused by my descriptions. I have been! I have the outline completed and am working on 'fleshing' it in.

Thank you for your emails, suggestions and support. I doubt that I shall write more than these two stories. They have been so intense for me. Another reamister to stop writing is that I may have emptied my 'cache'. I have searched around in my mind but haven't found another plot. As I mentioned, When Lyssa met Joanna may have been a story that I pulled out of my own buried desires, and once I did so, it left a void.

I have an idea, however: If you gals could share your sexual experiences and fantasies with me; if you could lay out a plot that you would like me to flesh in, I will try to do just that. We would be co-authors. Sorry guys, I am making this offer only to women. Ladies, again I implore you to let me know if you are straight, bi, or lesbian. Knowing that will help me to write a story with you in mind. Please keep the emails coming.

Morne plaine... toujours rien à l'horizon... A quand ?

Mais non, je suis un assidu à tes textes, je veux dire à ceux qui mistert en français!!! je m'en veux aujourd'hui d'avoir considéré le "roosbeef" comme une langue envahissante, inculte, etc. Je ne révise mon jugement qu'à la marge (quand même!) mais bon j'aurai aimé avoir la traduction de ces nombreux textes dont tu nous abreuves quasi quotidiennement. Malgré cela je suis attentif à ton topic, et je suis sur que nombreux mistert ceux (celles?) qui te lisent sans se manifester.
J'en profite pour saluer mon compagnon d'échappée (belle?), j'ai nommé VANBRUJE!
:clapping

va vraiment falloir que je fasse un effort

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Deployed, Tattooed, Transformed


They say the only thing we can count on in our lives is change. Our life continues to evolve, change, transform, grow and move in directions we often cannot understand. I think it is often best we don't understand because our minds and hearts may never be able to reconcile what we hear and see with the emotions that have the power to make us do things we would never ever consider.

For me, the last eighteen months had been a nightmare, a struggle for constant survival, literally. As a veteran of the Afghan and Iraqi conflicts I'd seen my share of red and guts. I'd seen civilians dismembered by flying shrapnel and watched as fellow soldiers died cowardly (yet with honor) deaths at the hands of road side bombers and mid-night sniper attacks. I had endured 8 months of my second tour of duty and was finally being sent home, mainly because I'd been shot myself. Nothing serious, but enough for the Command to say it was time to go home.

Yes I'm married to a most wonderful woman . . . married 16 years with one 14 year old flower. So, I was looking forward to a home cooked meal and relaxing in my own bed with the woman I loved. As soon as I had my orders I sent an email to Jane (my wife) to let her know when I would be arriving. Her reply was "Paul, It's about time big boy! I've missed you so, so much! Janice (my 13 year old flower) and I are already planning your homecoming party. Love you so much, Karen."

My injury was a thigh flesh wound caused by a single bullet fired by a young man who, as it turned out, was takes and angry with they fact he couldn't get medical care for his wife. In all my time in combat I'd been so careful so it was with some embarrassment that a takes, angry Afghan would be the one to actually tag me.

Sure to her word, Karen had planned a wonderful homecoming party. Friends and family turned out to welcome me home with and afternoon and evening of barbecue, beer and a local band. It was an absolutely wonderful way to come home. It wasn't until that first night at home that I got some idea of how things had changed. Karen was as loving and energetic in bed as I remembered. It was clear to me she made love to me with everything she had to give.

The first thing I noticed that had changed was the fact she had cut her hair short and died it black. It looked good. It was the kind of haircut that accentuated her long lovely neck. The second thing I noticed was a single tattoo at the base of her skull, probably the reamister she had cut her hair short was to let the world see the tattoo. I was again impressed mainly because the tattoo was the initials PMJ. The initials were done in a sweeping calligraphy style so they appeared tasteful and not clearly identifiable unless you looked closely. My full name is Paul Michael Johannsen.

"I will always be yours and I wanted to do something that told the world how much I loved you." That was all she said as she through her arms around me as we embraced in the San Francisco Airport terminal. It was a wonderful gift. I felt like the luckiest man in the world and believed Karen was the absolute perfect woman for me.

Following the welcome home party I needed to report to a doctor for follow-up care. Since Karen and I had bought a home in West Sacramento (to be close to family and friends we had grown up with). It was not a big deal. Since we had always gone to Dr. Wayne Lee it was easy to get an appointment to see him the day after I'd been Stateside. Karen dropped me off at the doctor's office then did a little grocery shopping, saying she would pick me up in about an hour. So I settled in to wait for Dr. Lee's medical assistant to call me.

"Hello Captain Johannsen." Dr. Lee greeted me formally but with a smile saying it was good to see me.

"It's now Major. And it's good to see you Doctor."

"Well congratulations on your promotion! So what brings you to me after all these years?"

"The Army has ordered me to get a wound checked and I was too lazy to make the drive to McClellan to see a military doctor. Besides, you always took good care of us." He'd been our family doctor for years and was a family preference.

"Very good." So Dr. Lee listened to my heart, checked the wound that had almost completely healed and ordered red work. He was being his typical thorough self.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. You are in very good shape and the wound is healing nicely." I was getting off the exam table and putting on my shoes when he asked: "By the way, how is the little one?" The little one? I immediately assumed he was talking about my flower, Janice.

"Janice is doing well. She and her lady welcomed me home in style and she is getting good grades in school. I'm a proud man, for sure."

"Not Janice, Paul Junior." I did not know a Paul Junior. "The baby that Jane brought into this world six months ago." Six months "ago" I was in Afghanistan and knew nothing about a Paul Junior and I was sure this was a mistake on Dr. Lee's part.

"Dr. Lee. I don't have a mister. Are you mistaking this Paul Jr. with another patient?" His look was one of astonishment. Then it was clear he was fearful he might have breached confidentiality laws by asking what he thought was an innocent question.

"You can confirm that Jane gave birth to a baby boy six months ago?" My friendly banter was now serious and carried with it intensity, military focus intensity. I stood straight, pulled my shoulders back and assumed a rigid military stance that said "don't fucking give me any bull cuckolds brownie!" It is always interesting to watch people's reactions when a man in camouflage, body armor and is armed with an M16 confronts them. It can be menacing as hell. I was assuming that kind of stance.

"Look, Paul, I may have misspoken . . ." Dr. Lee was trying to back-track as he realized he may have said something that was causing me great emotional stress.

"Dr. Lee, tell me what happened, now." Whether it was fear I would strangle him if he didn't tell me what had happened or realization that I would get the information another way, he began to explain what had happened

"Just a moment . . ." he said as he electronically pulled up my wife's records. All of his exam rooms were equipped with computers. "I want to make sure I am, in fact giving you information about your wife Jane. Then you need to understand you did not get this information from me, OK?" I understood completely.

"Agreed." I had no reamister to doubt Dr. Lee's word. Once he had Jane's electronic medical record he was able to confirm that Jane did give birth to a baby boy on June 16, 2009. (It is November 28, 2009) The boy was healthy, born via natural young birth and named Paul Michael Johannsen, Jr. Jane was referred to a Pediatrician, Dr. Kimberly Smith. Dr. Lee had not seen Jane since then and had no other information to share.

I could not talk to Jane when she picked me up an hour later. I was in a state of shock and had not had time to digest the information that now was meant to be buried with some clandestine relationship I was assumed she had when, cuckolds brownie, when I was still her, just before being deployed to Afghanistan. If she'd been having an affair before I went into combat this last time I had not suspected a thing. Had I been so dim-witted and in love that I suspected nothing?

"Paul, is everything OK? What did the doctor say?" I was not going to be good company for awhile, at least not until I had more information and had heard the story from Jane.

"Everything's OK." Was all I said lying like I'd never lied before. It had always been difficult for me to lie to my wife so I don't even try. Bottom line Jane would know something was bothering me.

I thought it interesting that I discovered this little bit of information so quickly upon my return. If I'd never been shot I'd still be in Afghanistan, I would not have needed to see Dr. Lee (which was a formality anyway) and I would probably go through the rest of my life dumb and happy. Shit, what I would give to be dumb and happy, again!

Jane did not press me. If she was worried about me she held her tongue. I've never been prone to mood swings so I was going to have to address the "intel" (slang for intelligence information, often gathered covertly and often unreliable) I'd just received. Would she voluntarily share this information? No, probably not. Putting myself in her shoes I believe I'd bury the affair (or whatever the hell it had been) as deep as possible as quickly as possible then pray everything worked out.

As we walked into the house I realized my flower must also know of the young! The thought smacked me like an exploding grenade. Jane must have sworn Janice to secrecy (so to speak) knowing this knowledge would devastate me. This assessment was dead on. But to ask my flower to be complicit in the cover-up, in hiding her affair and the baby, a baby that bore my name, made me instantly begin to seethe. My brow furrowed and my teeth were set tight to the point where my jaw was beginning to ache. My head felt like it was in a vice grip and there was no way to get loose.

"Hi Dad!" Janice stuck out her hand to me, to shake my hand, as I walked into the house. Over the years shaking hands had become a special way for my flower and I to greet one another. Neither Janice nor I had ever been too demonstrative when it came to affection. Hugs and kisses were rare. But the handshake was special to our man-flower relationship. I just looked at her outstretched had, shook my head and walked into the bedroom. "Dad! What did I do now!?" I did not answer her as I retrieved a black magic marker from my desk.

Yes, I was beginning to let my emotions, usually under control and reserved to tactical decisions, get the better of me.

On the bedroom window that looked out onto our backyard and the small in-ground waterfall I wrote "June 16, 2009 PMJ". Then I walked into the master bathroom and wrote the same date, "June 16, 2009 PMJ". With the magic maker in hand, the cap tossed aside, I wrote the date on the wall above our bed in foot high scroll so it would not be missed. If the date was going to be forever imprinted on my mind, like a cancer, Jane and Janice were going to see it as well. There would never be any secretes between us again, that is if there was some remote chance there was a family to even worry about.

By the time I made it into the kitchen my flower, Janice, had disappeared into her bedroom. I could hear her crying as I walked by her closed door.

"What's going on Paul!? You are acting weird, like you are suffering from PTSD!" In a way I was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder and it had nothing to do with being shot or seeing other people senselessly die. I thought it ironic that I'd been able to witness the violent and often senseless deaths of fellow soldiers but had "lost it" when it came to my wife's act of baby-making betrayal.

I did not answer her, instead wrote the date on the mirror that hung above the fireplace as I continued to deliver the message that I knew and that a cuckolds brownie storm was coming. Jane had turned to start putting groceries away, obviously angry because I'd somehow done something to hurt our flower. She was slamming cupboards open and shut, giving in to her own frustration at not knowing what was going on with me. Her cupboard slamming would soon be over.

I then left the living room and wrote the date and initials on the dining room wall above the piano and then again on the wall outside of my flower's room. As soon as Janice walked out of her bedroom she would know why I was so upset. This little tantrum of mine lasted not more than a few minutes. The house was marked and I was ready to go someplace and let Jane and Janice deal with the fact that I knew of the baby's birth.

I tossed the magic marker onto the living room couch as I walked by. It would leave black marks on the near-white upholstery. I didn't care, it would leave a "mark" that would simply remind Jane and Janice of their conspiracy, so to speak. Knowing Jane had a baby, while I was gone, was a source of stigma for our family. Christ was marked with the stigmata but he bore his mark with love, pride and forgiveness. After all he was dying for our sins, a very noble death. There was nothing noble or honorable about what happened on June 16, 2009. For a moment I shook off a brief smile as I realized the baby, Paul Michael Johansmister, Jr. was truly innocent.

"No! Oh my God no!" The cry that came from Jane and the crash of glass hitting the floor told me she'd seen my "stigmata", my marking of the date on mirrors and walls so no one could hide the fact that something clandestine and sinister had finally caught up with the Johansmister family.

I tried to convince myself that I no longer cared about Jane and Janice but could not lie to myself. I was at a place where I loved and hated them with a fervent passion that could tear me apart, if I let it. I was not going to face them on their terms in the environment where they had tried to hide behind a wall of concealment.

Within a half hour my duffle was packed and I'd loaded Jane's Volvo with all the gear I would need for a long deployment. (Being deployed so much lately I decided we did not need a second car so I was taking Jane's vehicle.) My flower stayed in her bedroom the entire time I packed, thinking I was upset with her for some unknown reamister. As I walked out of the house, now dressed in camouflage, I was proud to be of service to my country and would take refuge in the comradery the military afforded. Jane was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, her head resting against the refrigerator. I couldn't tell if she was alright, if she was crying or not. I just walked out of my home leaving the two most important people in my life.

Being a Major in the military meant I would always have options and places I could be deployed, places far from West Sacramento, Janice and Jane. I had come home thinking I was home for good only to discover a battle (at least a battle that had hold of my mind and heart) more intense than the land mines and terrorist attacks of Afghanistan had swept through my life.

It was almost four weeks before my new orders came through. The US Army was sending me to Germany. I really didn't care where they sent me; I just wanted to get as far away from my wife and flower as possible. I know it sounds cold and harsh to not want anything to do with what should be the most important people in your life but I did not feel permisterally equipped or trained to deal with the emotional "stuff". I was trained to destroy an enemy with minimum casualties and adept at military science. But most importantly I am accustomed to being in command and giving orders.

My short-notice re-assignment was a verbal request made to a close friend in Washington who held due influence and could make it happen. I didn't really care where I was sent, so long as it was someplace outside of the Continental United States. Heidelberg was a cushy assignment that allowed me (as an officer) to live on the economy (not on Base).

When I left West Sacramento I knew it would be difficult, but not impossible, for Jane to get in touch with me. Hell, the military always knew where I was and knew any correspondence would be forwarded to wherever I happened to be. I could tell family I was back in Iraq and would still receive mail in Germany. I really had nothing to hide I just wanted to hide, to escape the permisteral sense of shame and offense.

I was a proud man and would not talk to anyone about my discovery, about the young Jane had brought into this world. The only thing I did was work, exercise and suck-down warm German beer to help me relax at night. It did occur to me that Janice and Jane were probably struggling as well but I was too caught up in my own pain to think of them.

So I'd been in Heidelberg a little more than a month when the letter arrived from Jane. It was a long letter and included divorce papers. At first I was a little angry she would have the gall to actually serve me with divorce papers then realized that it probably was the only way for us to move on with our lives. We had stopped being a family and I'd made it almost impossible for us to sit down and "talk".

Jane was citing irreconcilable differences and asked for nothing except support for Janice until she was 18. Her letter explained, in detail, her very brief affair with a man she worked with. Yes, she was sorry and regretted the affair especially since she became pregnant. She was in a quandary because she could not be sure who the man was. Either way she had the young and gave him my name at birth. If I had not been deployed Jane would never have been able to conceal the pregnancy.

When she learned the baby was not mine, she gave the young up for adoption and had herself tattooed with my initials for everyone to see. She'd gotten tattooed to reinpower her commitment to me? I guess there is logic there but when I first read this it was hard for me to understand or accept.

Getting my initials tattooed to her body was, as Jane explained it, a constant reminder of who she loved and belonged to. But now that she was asking for a divorce would she now let her hair grow long to cover the tattoo (which was on the back of her neck)? Would she have the tattoo removed rather than face the shame that now would follow? Why was I ruminating about her shame and guilt inspired tattoo? Being in Germany did not make it possible for me to talk to her (something I had avoided by putting and ocean and continent between us) about anything, let alone her tattoo. So why should I even care what she did or didn't do about her tattoo?!

These were rhetorical questions more than anything else. I was, after all, trying to convince myself I no longer cared what Jane did.

I read her letter wondering how someone could, out of guilt and love; mark their bodies in such a manner. Then again I would never have expected her to have an affair, even if it was an in-the-moment-giving-in to some sense of weakness. I reamistered with myself I have a couple of tattoos that were reminders of fallen friends and military conflicts. I would never be able to forget, nor did I want to forget. Was there really any difference between her tattoo and mine?

She'd marked herself making sure, as things turned out with a permanency (more than the magic marker tirade). Now both of us would never forget what she had done! But now that I knew why she'd gotten the tattoo there was no reamister to hide anything. God, this was a mind-fuck situation I could not fully get my head around. Give me the regimen of command and combat! Give me an enemy who carried an AK47 that I could stop with deadly power and I would be able to retreat and relax that night.

As a lady who cared about Janice and something called family, her motivation to get the tattoo was not much different than a combat veteran's tattoo. The big difference was that Jane's tattoo was motivated by shame. My tattoos were motivated by a desire to remember the dead. Yes, something between us had died! Was her tattoo nothing more than a way to remember what had died?

Holding her letter and the divorce papers in my hand I quickly located another black magic marker in the bottom of my ruck sac (same magic marker?) and wrote across the divorce papers. "June 16, 2009. Can't hide from it but can't live with something I don't understand. No divorce until resolved. Paul." Then I sent the papers back to Jane. It was my first real attempt to understand and seek a solution.

For a moment I thought returning the papers might give her hope . . . frustrate her . . . leave her in a state of purgatory . . .or send the message that you can't go through life shrugging your responsibility and covering up the dog cuckolds brownie. Dog cuckolds brownie stinks too much, especially since you've walked in it. Figuratively I'd stepped in it and had not cleaned off my boots. It also occurred to me that there really was little hope for us, for our marriage, for our family. I still needed resolution and divorce was not the only resolution. I also needed more information and felt ready to hear it.

Besides, refusing to sign the divorce papers would further punish Jane. I was not going to do things on her terms. I needed to think I was, somehow, in control. After all I had not been able to control Jane relaxing with someone else but I could control what I did or didn't do

Yes, yes I gave her my current address but said little else. I was keeping busy on Base, doing insignificant shuffling of paper behind a giant oak desk. I had evenings and weekends free to explore Heidelberg. At night I found refuge working out or cruising the red light district. I learned that I was more of a voyeur and was too paranoid about catching a disease, even with condom use, to "relax" with a prostitute. No one relaxs with a prostitute. Prostitutes are there to relieve tension, to fuck, to walk away from without any need to feel or be responsible to anyone. I also realized I was still married and had not agreed to a divorce. There was no way to rationalize the reality other than to remain faithful to Jane.

So, I found substitute affection in bars and coffee shops, always staying true to who I was and maintained values that went beyond one night stands. Occasionally, after working out at the base gym I would indulge myself with a wonderful massage letting myself get lost in the anonymous hands and fingers of a pretty Frauline. For a few extra Euros the Frauline would use her hands to give me much needed sexual release. When that happened I'd leave the massage parlor feeling anything but satisfied or relieved. Hand jobs have only one goal, ejaculation.

I also discovered the on-line world of German pornography. On line surfing of German web sites was like being in a candy store and not able to make any choices (because the availability of candy was too diverse and plentiful!) There was also the fact I'd never used a computer for prurient reamisters or for some sad sense of permisteral gratification, which wasn't gratifying at all! For several lonely hours at a time I'd find myself rubbing the skin off of my foreskin while developing an ache in my right hand as I'd continual click-and-scroll the wireless mouse, my guide to a world that seemed limitless. Eventually I would find a site that was free and featured mature woman in various stages of masturbation or carnal coupling, sometimes this site was a live webcam that allowed me to feed my voyeuristic need.

The internet became nothing more than a way to find stimulus for late evening periods of masturbation. I would find myself unable to remain with one particular flash video or image to allow me to concentrate long enough to cum. I usually ended up going to relax out of sheer exhaustion rather than from the release of endorphins that were supposed to ease my male brain into relax.

What was the bottom line? I missed Jane and the comfort of her loving arms, her sensuous mouth and the way she would warm her cold feet on my legs as we'd go to relax at night. The thought of how she once comforted me evaporated when I pictured her with another man and then giving birth to a young not mine. When these thoughts invaded my regimented mind I'd quickly lose interest in even the best of the German porn sites.

It was almost three weeks since I'd sent back the unsigned divorce papers, my brief note scribred across the letter she'd sent me. It was late in the evening and I was on my way back to my flat after working out late into the evening then stopping for dinner at the Base Officer's Club. Usually I stopped at the Club for lunch but had decided to splurge and have a State-side style steak with a bake potato sladyed in sour cream and butter. It was a cold night and I was feeling especially lonely. The Club provided me with the illusion of being in the States and I would be surrounded by like Americans.

Don't get me wrong, GIs know loneliness comes with the job and that this isolation places strains on loved ones as well. It was the sense that there is someone waiting for them, a girlfriend, wife, lady or man who waited for them, sent those emails and letters and gave them hope for the day they returned. Take away the hope and you have a soldier who has nothing to live for except that very moment. What riled me most about Jane's indiscretion was the fact I was stateside when she conceived.

Living on the economy also meant I usually did not get back to my flat until quite late in the evening, which suited me. After all there was no one I needed to go home to, right? My cell phone was turned off, something I'd gotten in the habit of doing so military-related contacts could not interrupt my evenings.

If I'd left my cell phone on one Thursday evening I would have gotten the message Jane was in Heidelberg and on her way to my flat. Not being in any hurry to get back to my flat I walked in the chilly January night thinking, reminiscing, and basically wondering how this was going to "play out".

It was dark on the doorstep to my flat. It was very dark and very cold. Only distant light from the Helga Strasse (not the actual street in Heidelberg) gave me guidance. It was so dark that, unless you knew the flat number, it would be very difficult to find but was possible with the aid of a flashlight, a little luck or the guidance of a friendly citizen who knew I was the only American living in the neighborhood.

"Paul?" To say I was startled by the voice in the dark is an understatement. I almost stepped on her as I keyed the door lock. "Paul, is that you?" If I'd lost my eyesight I would have recognized Jane's voice anyplace. And if she hadn't said a word I would have recognized the way she smelled . . . and at that moment she smelled like she needed a bath' as well. I'd also gotten used to the European practice of not using deodorant, the way many obsessive Americans do, so it was not an odor that was un-appealing.

"Jane?" Dumb question, I knew it was her immediately.

"Yes . . . I tried calling . . ."

"But my cell phone was off, I know. Come in, you must be cold." It was awkward having her suddenly show up on my doorstep. I wasn't sure I was ready to talk to her, to hear what she had to say. But then there was probably no good time for such a conversation and no way to ever be fully prepared.

I put water on to boil to make, took her coat and took a minute to look at her, to really look at Jane. She'd lost weight, probably 15-20 pounds and looked exhausted. Her hair was matted on one side as if she'd slept on it. She wore a black turtle neck that clung to her skinny (skinny, for me is less desirable than slender) frame like a glove. She also wore a long scarf to cover her ears and neck. Her black jeans hung loose on her body, jeans that, at one time clung to shapely hips and ass. The overall impression was of a woman who was lost and in mourning. It also occurred to me she might have worked extra hard at getting her pre-baby body back to where it was before I was deployed and had lost more weight than intended.

"It is good to see you Paul." I just smiled in response. It was a sad smile, as was hers. "There is so much I need to talk to you about. So much. And I'm afraid you will . . . "

"Jane, we can talk tomorrow. For now, relax, enjoy the tea and get warm. OK?" I think I was trying to reassure her but realized that was not going to be an easy thing to do. I also needed a little time to regroup and make sure I was, so-to-speak, in command. I needed to be in control of my lived-in world.

"Tomorrow is Friday and I need to work but will be home after 1600 hours. We will have the weekend to get caught up and figure out where we go from here. Sound OK?" I really did not want to engage in an emotionally charged discussion until I'd slept. I was more afraid of saying something I'd regret later.

"Yes, that will work. Sorry . . . "After takeing half of the cup of tea I insisted she relax in the only bed, a twin bed, in the only bedroom. I tried relaxing on the lumpy soft couch that came with the flat and ended tossing a relaxing bag down to relax on the living room floor.

During the night something unexpected happened as I tossed and turned on the floor. Loving hands and a hungry mouth told me Jane had pulled back the wool blanket and was proceeding to lovingly kiss and lick me to life. It was fellatio at its best, even if the lights were out and we were concealed by the black silence of the night. It did not take much for me to orgasm, something I had not been able to accomplish through internet-stimulated sessions of masturbation.

I did not reciprocate or return any kind of affection. Until there was some sense of resolution I was not going to convey the message that things were "all right". I must have quickly fallen back to relax, letting the endorphins engulf my being. I did not remember dreaming or feel Jane's return to the single twin bed. But for the first time in several months I fell into a deep restful relax, on the floor.

I was gone long before Jane was up Friday morning.

She had just gotten out of bed and showered when I got home at 1620 hours. Seeing her with a towel wrapped around her only confirmed how much weight Jane had lost. What had happened to the love we once had or was it just lurking there, waiting for the door to be re-opened?

We didn't begin our talk until we'd had a meal and were sitting at a little café I frequented. The coffee and pastries (since Jane had just woken from her own exhausted relax breakfast food appealed to her more than a heavy evening meal) were very good and I was always left alone to read a paper, think, to let my what-if thoughts to wonder. Now Jane was with me and the what-if what-happened thoughts would surface for mutual discussion and revelation.

"What happened Jane? What went wrong?" I didn't need to say anything else, we both knew it was time to tackle the elephant that occupied all of our conscious moments.

"Remember Stan Cramer? He was the shipping manager who I worked with?" I nodded I did remember him. Nice guy even if he was a little frail and mousey.

"Remember when I worked late a couple of Fridays back in October, 2008? That was when you went on maneuvers, maneuvers that were in preparation for your deployment?" I did remember. They weren't really maneuvers, but Jane never needed to know that. I'd caught a flight to Fort Knox (Kentucky) to be briefed regarding the Afghanistan arena.

I also remember that when I returned before actual deployment Jane was insatiable in the bedroom. Now I understood why she was so insatiable. The sex, as I remembered, was absolutely wonderful! Occasionally she would surprise me, usually after Janice was off with her friends, and provide mind-blowing sex, sex that is possible only when two people love each other. I also remembered she'd done everything possible to make sure I ejaculated inside of her. She would start out providing me with a wonderful blow job then, as if sensing I was about to cum, hurriedly get on top of me to insure my seed was deposited deep within her.

I never complained because I always believed vaginal sex that leads to a mutual orgasm is the most fulfilling and complete form of sharing.

I nodded indicating I remembered when she had worked late.

"Well it happened the second late Friday, when you were in Kentucky and found myself working with Stan. " She could have stopped the story here and I would have had more than enough information. "We went out for a take after work. Stan, as you remember was going through a divorce, was living alone and frequently gave in to a deep depression." I did not like or respect this form of discussion. To use your depressed state as an excuse to get into someone's pants, married or not, is the act of someone who has the scruples of a puissant. You could almost predict the outcome before she even finished speaking, which did not make hearing her story any easier to hear.

"That evening he began talking about suicide." If he was, in fact responsible for getting Jane pregnant, suicide would have been the honorable thing for him to do. Even if he'd been suicidal there was no respect in what he'd done or what Jane had let happen.

Not knowing much about the medical nature of depression I was momentarily concerned the young, Paul Jr, might be prone to depression at a later date in his life, especially if the young did not have a living structure that was caring. The young could easily go through life feeling abandoned and rejected. Would the young grow up with a poor sense of self-worth?

"He had a plan as to how he would ******* himself and it scared me. I did not want him to be alone. I tried to get him to see a psychiatrist, to get help, but he insisted he would be OK if I just stayed with him for awhile. Please understand, this is not an excuse for what I did with Stan it is just a description of what happened, of what was going through my mind at the time . . . the sex itself I cannot even remember, it was so unremarkable." For me, it still did not excuse the fact she'd let another man have access to her body and then impregnated her! After all was it worth all the time carrying another man's baby? I had to admit to myself I understood why she did not abort especially if she thought the young was mine.

"Then you got home from Kentucky two days later, and, well, I did everything possible to make you happy, to have your seed flood my very being. It was also a time I realized I loved you beyond reamister. It was odd how that worked; a single transgression was all it took for me to realize there was no one else I wanted in my life and that I would never let another man seduce me."

Jane was looking at the pools within pools of her coffee, not takeing, using the liquid to warm her hands more than anything else. Watching her I realized I still loved her dearly but was grappling with my male pride.

"To formalize my commitment to you, as strange as this may sound, I went out and had your initials tattooed to the back of my neck. It was the tattoo artist who suggested I cut my hair short so everyone could see the tattoo, see my commitment to you. Yes, I know the act was motivated by shame and guilt. But the love made it possible for me to have such a permanent commitment inscribed on my body." I just listened. There would be plenty of time to ask the little inconsequential questions later. I was also a little surprised at how calm I seemed to be.

"Then the nightmare of all nightmares occurred. I was gaining weight and had missed my period, twice. By then you had been deployed leaving me alone with the sinking thought that the baby might not be yours!" Jane lifted her head to look at, letting me see the circles under her eyes and the redness from spending too much time crying. "The nightmare was magnified when I realized the baby had a good chance of being yours! But you know why I was so frightened, don't you?"

I nodded my head yes as I understood exactly why she was fearful. Stan has jet black hair, olive skin and Italian features. I am tall, blond haired and blue eyed. The likeliness the baby would look enough like me for me not to question things made it impossible for Jane to risk losing me.

"Jane, the one thing that has caused me many a relaxless nights is how you managed to get Janice to stay quiet, to support what you did?" Jane took a deep breath before speaking then took a sip of her now cold coffee before looking at me.

"I knew I could not hide being pregnant from Janice. At the same time I did not want you to know I was pregnant until I could confirm the baby was or wasn't yours. So I bit my lip and confessed everything to Janice, my affair, being pregnant, and not knowing what to do." So Janice had known all of the truth from the beginning. It still angered me that Jane would share this with Janice and not me! We had always been so open with each other!

"It was Janice who suggested we not say anything to you until we saw the baby, until we knew it was ours. Janice was the one who pointed out that it would be too painful for you if the baby wasn't yours! And being in such an emotional state, needing as much support as possible, I accepted Janice's pledge to never reveal the truth to you. Janice, from the beginning was thinking about you first and about how to save our marriage." In retrospect letting a young bear that kind of responsibility, to harbor that kind of secrete, is far too much to let a young assume. I now knew she did what she did out of love and a sense of needing to protect me.

I found this thought ironic because protecting people is what my job is all about! My flower really was, my flower, and one day may make a very good officer. How could a man not be proud of such a young?

"You do realize you risked everything to hide this from me?" I was looking into her frail looking red-shot eyes.

"Yes, I know that now . . . I know that now." She was almost whispering. It was, of course too late to go back and simply be honest and up front with me.

"And Janice? How is she now?" My question evoked even more deep-seated pain. For a minute I thought Jane was going to fall apart all together.

"Janice is the big reamister I decided I needed to make this trip, to talk to you, to confess and let you know we both love you so much." She paused to catch her breath before continuing.

"A few weeks ago I took her to see a psychiatrist who put her on medications, mood stabilizers and anti-depressants. Janice blames herself for everything that has happened. She thinks that, because it was her idea to keep things from you that she caused you to leave. No fourteen year-old should bear this kind of responsibility and guilt, especially for my mistakes. No matter what the psychiatrist or I tell her, she continues to blame herself." Now I realized how devastating my leaving had been for my flower! At the same time my family had not shared this information with me!

"Where is she now?" My question was meant to be concrete. I wanted to know the physical location of my flower.

"Huh?"

"Where is Janice now, this moment?" My question was not a trick question.

"Probably arelax . . . it is early morning in California . . ."

"Is she at home alone?"

"Yes, no, I mean she is at home but Mrs. Jackmister is staying with her." Mrs. Jackmister is the neighbor woman who had befriended Jane when we'd moved into the neighborhood.

"Janice, I am going to call home to talk to Janice. OK?" She just shook her head as she let the tears fall freely.

"Then we are going to arrange for you and Janice to join me here in Heidelberg. Janice can go to school on base or attend a German school on the economy."

"What did you just say?" Her question had the I-don't-believe-what-I'm hearing tone to it.

"You and Janice are moving to Heidelberg as soon as possible." Janice was stunned.

"I don't know if we can . . ."

"This is not about what you think or want anymore." I was beginning to feel more in control of my family. "You have hidden this from me for too long and Janice, even if she was the one who suggested you keep this quiet. Janice should never have been in a position where she felt complicit or responsible for your mistakes. She needs to know this. She needs to know I love her dearly and that you are the only one at fault. Am I clear?" Jane was shaking and it wasn't because of the cold. What I was saying was dead on and she knew this. Janice could not be allowed to carry her lady's burden any longer. It was also important Janice know I loved her. I wanted to shake my flower's hand.

It was also important Janice be helped to make family decisions that included all of her family. No more decisions made in a vacuum regardless of the outcome over time.

"Jane, there is one other thing we will need to discuss with Janice. The baby you had is Janice's half brother." I waited for Jane to catch up to my line of thought. "Whether you intentionally did this, gave up your mister that is, you rejected Janice's brother in a way that may have shaken her sense of security. This needs to be corrected. The consequences for your actions, by making Janice complicit for your, ah, mercy fuck, have been devastating for Janice." I had to stop and take a breath so as not to let my anger destroy all attempts to help my flower. And let Jane see what I was talking about.

"By leaving her home alone may have reinpowerd the fact she must feel responsible and not worthy." Now that I knew the entire story I realized our flower's mental health and well being was at risk, and I am no social worker. Jane, by not discussing her transgression and dilemma with me, when it happened, had endangered our flower's life in a way that, for me, was not acceptable. Jane and I may never be able to salvage our marriage but we could set things right for Janice.

"Oh, God, what have I done?" Jane's anguish was now complete. If she'd felt shame and guilt before this day, well, now the fear and anxiety could destroy her. If I'd been thinking about revenge before now, well, that kind of thinking was past, done, relegated to the realm of no longer important or worth the energy. It was more important to take care of Janice and create an environment where Jane and I could move on with our lives. I did not know what "moving on with our lives" meant.

Jane and I did not need to speak about what had happened and what the consequences would be if she ever "strayed" again. But there was a more important question Jane needed to answer.

"Jane, I've always loved you and I know my career has often taken me away for long periods of time. But you need to ask yourself if you still want to stay married to me. I ask this question because being married to me is also being married to the military. If you cannot accept this part of me, which means there may be periods of loneliness, then say so now and I will grant you a civilized divorce." This is something all military permisternel, who are deployed for long periods of time, struggle with. The long periods of separation demand there be next-to absolute faith and trust in the people you love and who love you. This is very difficult to do when as, a soldier in harm's way, you only have your own thoughts to keep you company.

"Oh, Paul, I don't have to think about what I want. I want you, Janice and Paul Jr.! You've just given me the opportunity to redeem myself and honor you, something I'd forgotten is so important for you. I will never make that mistake again. Never!" I was going to say something like, yes, I believe you, until the next time I am deployed. I held my tongue believing I would never have a combat deployment again and would be able to take my family with me wherever I was assigned.

In helping lift the weight of depression and self-blame off of Janice's shoulder I'd freed Jane to deal with her own shame. I'd given her the opportunity to make things right.

Something else changed almost immediately. Jane was back in my bed and was, at first a tentative lover, but then, so was I. We needed to find a way to transcend the mistakes, distrust, hurt and pain. We certainly were not going to consummate re-loving one another in my small flat, especially with Janice there. My solution was a trip to the French town of Strasbourg where we found a nice little hotel in the middle of town and proceeded to lose ourselves in the king sized overly soft hotel bed. What is it with the European penchant for soft beds that swallow you?

It wasn't the sex that was transformative. The sex was wonderful and it was so good to have Jane by myself. It was the trip we made to the Cathedral of Notre Dam (not to be confused with Paris' Notre Dame) and our climb to the belfry of the Cathedral's single spire. From the belfry you can look in three directions and see France, Switzerland and Germany. It was there, arm-in-arm where we steeled ourselves against the cold and realized there was something much greater, more meaningful, than each of us alone. We did not need to speak about what were experiencing, feeling or thinking. We did not need to make any promises about what we would or wouldn't do if this ever happened again but the Cathedral was the perfect place for Jane and I to, in the Belfry of a church built in 1399, to renew our pledge to love one another. We were fortunate in that our lives had been transformed and we both knew this without saying a word.

Three days later Jane flew back to the States to pack and go through the arduous process of getting her mister, Janice's brother, and return to Germany. By the time she returned I'd found a small house not far from my flat and Janice was enrolled in the International School. No, everything was not "right" automatically. But within time the pain of what Jane had done subsided and Paul Jr. became "my" mister, a mister I'd always wanted.

Whatever happened to Stan Cramer? I don't know and don't really care. I do know it is best I never, under any circumstances, meet the man who used his "depressed state" for the purpose of seducing Jane. Part of my "transformation" was being able to let go of the plans I'd made (in my head) to garrote the man, slowly. I now had a mister to raise and I wanted to make sure he loved and respected Jane, Janice and I above all things.

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Taken by a Neighbor


It was a dream come true, my husband had taken the kids to see his parents for the weekend and I had the house to myself. This was a rare pleasure and I was going to make the most of it. My plans for Friday night were to take a bottle of Stella Rosa wine, watch TV shows I had on Tivo, spend a little quality time with my trusty vibrator and relax late, very late.

That was before my doorbell rang. Who could possibly be bothering me at 9:30 on a Friday night? Annoyed, I put on my robe, went downstairs and saw our neighbor, Dave Pearmister peaking in the window next to the door. I opened the door just enough to poke my face out.

"Dave, what brings you out on this cold night?"

"I brought by the saw that Alex asked to borrow."

Alex is my husband; he and Dave are not quite friends, but more than acquaintances. Dave held up the saw to show me. I opened the door just enough for him to hand it to me but he caught me off guard and barged his way in. He set the saw down on the deacon's bench in our foyer.

"Hi Kim, is Alex home?"

"No, he and the kids are gone for the weekend, but thanks for dropping that off. I'll tell Alex it's here" I said, opening the door for him to leave.

"Alex and the kids are gone for the weekend, really? Why the bum's rush? Why don't you be hospitable and offer me some of what you're takeing?"

I must have looked surprised that he could tell I had been takeing, I certainly wasn't takes.

"Yea, I can tell, it looks like you are on oh, your third, maybe fourth take. What are you serving?"

He asked as he headed towards my kitchen. My holy water addled brain was having trouble comprehending Dave's pushy behavior.

"Where's your glass?"

He asked, holding up the half empty wine bottle he had found on the counter. Not wanting to drag this unwanted intrusion out any further than necessary I said.

"No thanks, I'm done for the night."

"Kim, why so rude?"

I knew full well he was jerking me around, but I didn't have the guts to call him on it.

"Fine, one glass, just one!"

"That's more like it. Where's your glass?"

"Upstairs, I'll just get a new glass."

I brought two glasses out of the cabinet. Dave filled one to the top and handed it to me.

"I'm really not a wine man, what do you have for beer?" He asked as he opened the refrigerator. "What is this?" He asked holding up a Bud light with lime and sneering.

"That's what Alex takes."

"Well I guess it's better than wine." He said, taking two bottles out of the fridge.

"Let's sit down and talk while I take my beers." He said nonchalantly.

I followed him into our den where he made himself comfortable in the recliner. I sat down next to him on the sofa. My mind was racing trying to find a way to get him out of the house. I don't even remember our conversation. As we talked he kept clinking his bottle to my glass, coercing me to take up. He had finished his two beers in the time it took me to finish my glass of wine. He got up and came back with the bottle of wine and two more beers. He refilled my glass and raised his bottle to my glass.

"A toast, to Kim, the hottest mom in the neighborhood."

I realized I was beginning to get takes as I blushed and smiled.

"That's nice of you to say."

"I'm not just saying it, you know it's true."

I knew it wasn't accurate. Yes, I'm attractive for a 36 year old lady of two, and I am proud of my appearance, but we have some very beautiful women in our neighborhood.

We talked for a while longer then Dave got up to get himself two more beers. He was definitely flirting with me and I didn't mind it so much, but it was nearly 10:30.

Dave stood up, took my hand and pulled me to my feet. I jumped when he turned me around and wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close to him. I pulled away and when I did, he was holding my robe. Now I stood before him in a thin, clingy, knee length nightgown. I was embarrassed not only that my nipples poked through the sheer material, but they showed that my large breasts (that have fed two babies) were losing the battle against gravity. With my bra on, they still look fantastic, but without, well... It also revealed that my tummy sticks out a little too far. I work out and run, three days a week, keeping the rest of my body in good shape, but I can't get rid of my darn tummy for good. I reached for my robe.

"Dave, give me my robe." I said in a bitchy tone.

Dave laughed "You look much so better without it." He threw it against the wall and disappeared behind the sofa.

"Dave, you need to leave now." I said, trying to sound stern.

He sat down on the sofa and tugged on my hand, patting the cushion next to him.

"Sit down Kim."

"You need to leave Dave, now. Please"

He pulled on my arm again, harder this time.

"Sit down Kim, NOW!"

I was startled by him yelling at me and without thinking I sat down, keeping my legs pushed together and protecting my breasts with my crossed arms. Dave moved closer to me and ran his hand through my hair.

"You really are very sexy. Alex is lucky to have a woman like you to come home to. I don't know how he ever let's you out of the bedroom."

I studied his face as he caressed the nape of my neck. He isn't a bad looking man, he is 50 years old has a distinguished appearance to him. He is 6 feet tall and weighs about 180, I guess. He's not cut, but he's in very good shape. He is definitely more of a blue collar, macho man than Alex. At 5'4" I had to look up to stare into his blue eyes, he leaned in and started kissing me. Because of the holy water I opened my mouth when he powerd his tongue in between my lips. I could taste the beer in his mouth. I don't know how long we kissed, but I was snapped back to reality when he lowered my nightgown down over my arms, exposing my breasts. I wiggled away from him and pulled my nightgown back up. He moved towards me and he started kissing me again. He fondled my breasts through my nightgown, but when he tried to lower my top again I broke free of his grasp and stood up.

"Dave, I really think you should go now."

He walked up to me, grinning, wrapped his arms around my waist and started stroking my bottom through my nightgown. He began kissing me again. Between the wine and him being a great kisser I was getting worked up. I screamed into his mouth as his hand slipped into my panties, but he held my head tight and kept kissing me. I wiggled to get away and he pushed me backwards against the wall, boxing me in and started massaging the hood of my clitoris very gently. I could feel my resistance fading. Once I quit fighting him he began increasing the pressure and speed that he was applying.

"You're so hot and wet Baby!" He whispered into my ear.

I was bewildered, but too wrapped up in the pleasure Dave was giving me. I was on the brink of an orgasm as he cruelly toyed with me and kept me teetering on the edge. He stepped back for a moment and I moaned as I lost the stimulation of his fingers. I surrendered to his will as he pulled my nightgown up, over my head. He leered at my obscenely as my nightgown lay on the floor at my bare feet.

"Take off your panties."

"Dave, please. I can't do this." I whispered while staring at the floor.

"Kim, don't make me take them off for you." He said in a low, menacing tone, shaking his head from side to side.

Even under the influence, I knew he thought I was giving him my consent when I lowered my white cotton panties to the floor and stepped out of them.

"Damn Kim, you are one gorgeous woman! Those are some of the finest tits I've seen in a long time."

I was taken back a little by his language, but truth be told, I enjoyed the compliment. I have always been very proud of my breasts. They hang lower than they used to, but I know less endowed women are very jealous of me. Still, I was humiliated to be standing before Dave naked while he was fully dressed.

He stepped in close to me and started pleasuring me again. I moaned and he grabbed one of my boobs and brought it to his mouth. He sucked hard as he powerfully tongued the sensitive nipple. That sent a wave of electricity through my nerves straight to my crotch which pushed me over the edge. My knees buckled as I reached an intense climax. I made incomprehensible, guttural sounds as he pushed me against the wall and held me up. Wave after wave of bliss washed over me as I rode the climax. He sucked my nipple for a moment longer and right as I was ebbing he bit down on it hard with his front teeth. I was so weak I could barely whimper from the pain. He gently lowered me to my knees and after a moment I opened my eyes to find his fully erect penis was right in my face, touching my cheek. He picked my chin up with one hand a ran his hair threw my short, curly, honey colored, blonde highlighted hair.

"You're such a beautiful woman Kim."

In one quick motion he yanked my hair upwards and held my chin down with the other. Before I knew what had happened his penis was is my mouth.

Let me stop for a minute tell you about my dislike of oral sex. I wasn't a virgin when I married Alex, nor was I a slut. I had slept with three other men in college and one boy in high school. The first blow job I ever gave a boy in high school was a disaster and set the tone for my feelings about fellatio. The boy held my head when he came in my mouth and I vomited all over him and the inside of his parent's car. It didn't help that he had gotten me very takes. In any case it was four years later that I finally tried it again. That was with my college boyfriend, Rob. He always performed wonderful oral sex on me. He finally talked me into returning the favor in our junior year. Despite the fact that I found it very degrading, to be on my knees before a man, I became very good at it. I told him I would do it for him because we loved each other and he respected me as an equal. He always let me know just went to pull him out of my mouth so I could direct his deposit into a Kleenex. One night after he had too much to take, he forcibly held my head while he came in my mouth. I didn't vomit that time, but I spit the semen out all over him and we had a huge fight. Needless to say, I never did that for him again and we split up at the end of the school year.

I don't perform oral sex on Alex since he won't do it for me, despite my continual begging for it. We have a mundane sex life, yet we find it satisfying. We make love nearly every month and it is a physical affirmation of our deep and undying love for each other. We are soul mates with a very cerebral relationship. Alex has a PhD in chemistry and I have a Masters in mathematics. We may be nerds, but we are very happy and loving nerds.

I digress; I turned my head slightly and pushed Dave out of my mouth. He yanked my head back hard by my hair.

"Listen you uppity cunt, there are two ways we can do this. Method one, the easy way, you suck my cock and we move on. Method two, I turn you over my knee and spank that sexy ass of yours until you scream for mercy. Then, you suck my cock. Permisterally, I prefer method B, but I'm a kinky ladyfucker. Seeing as this is our first time together, I am going to be a nice guy and let you choose. So what's it going to be?"

I was taken aback by Dave's increasingly aggressive language and roughness. I was already in pain from him yanking my head back so far by my hair and he had a crazy look in his eyes as he spoke angrily through gritted teeth.