Tonight is the first time in three months that I have attended the monthly Saturday night mixer that has been a tradition in Portland for almost ten years. The initial group of about fifty people from fraternity affiliations, support of the football team and college groups of all kinds formed right after graduation from the University of Oregon. Over time we’ve added OSU and PSU members to heckle. We’ve also have dates and spouses that still come after relationships broke up.
I am an original organizing member. The idea was to help us stay in touch and provide friendships as we got lost into the working world.
I missed the last couple of months because of depression and embarrassment. Everyone, except me, knew my wife was screwing around with a couple of guys from the group. When I caught her with one of them in our bed, the entire story came out. I am successful, stupidly trusting and tried to be what she wanted. I was blind, thinking everything was good between us. She left with her lover that night, filed for divorce, sent for her stuff and is now back living with her mother in Ashland. I never liked Ashland, except for the Shakespeare Festival.
Connie and I had dated in college, moved in together when I moved to Portland and we got married two years later. Three years ago, we bought a house, remodeled it and started talking about kids. To me, my brother would say, “You are a dumb ass.” The shoe fit perfectly. Tonight, after three drinks, lots of encouragement, support from old buddies and being horny, a tall thin blonde made eye contact with me, smiled and sat with her body pointing toward me while she played with her hair. I checked to make sure there was not some handsome hunk behind me. She sort of laughed with me. That got my courage up and I went to talk to her.
“I’m Tom Gregory. I haven’t noticed you at our gatherings before.”
“I’ve been coming to them off and on for a couple of years. You always were preoccupied with your wife. We’ve never met. I’m Eve Andrews.”
“You are younger than most of us old farts.”
“I went to college in California, don’t tell anyone. Jerry Handson and I dated a couple of years. I think you and I wound up alone about the same time.”
I ignored her intro. It hurt. Jerry and I had been fraternity brothers. He was one of the two lovers, I knew for sure, that my ex had. Jerry, Eric Taylor and Connie no longer attended these monthly get-to-gathers. Gracefully I said, “I knew you were too pretty to be one of us rain soaked ducks or beavers, what did you study in California?”
“Nursing. I’m a surgical nurse at OHSU now.”
“Pretty, diligent and smart too. Jerry wouldn’t appreciate that combination.”
She was suddenly quiet and looked into her glass.
“Eve, I’m sorry. Please accept my apology. I want to talk to you and learn about you. My sharp words were directed toward Jerry. I still have some sore spots that lash out once in a while.”
“I understand. Jerry and I weren’t working out; I should have put an end to things long ago.”
For the next two hours we talked, laughed and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company. I asked her to go around the corner for coffee and dessert after the party grew stale, leaving only those who wanted to hook up for the night. Over a wonderful pastry and coffee too strong for this late at night, I was starting to think this would only be a single night of pleasant conversation. I had asked questions and learned all about her. Everything was one sided.
It was obvious to her that I was about to cut our evening short. Eve struggled to keep the conversation going, “Jerry pointed you out when we went to our first gathering. He was proud of you; he told me your first book was published while you were still in college.”
“Yes, I write mindless, entertaining stories for the masses. My professors would not be happy with my contribution to society.”
“You write the David Stone mysteries. There are millions of copies out there.”
“Thanks for noticing. My ego has not been in good shape for a while.”
“Jerry showed me some of the Internet sites where your naughty short stories are posted, under different names, of course.”
“Have you read any?”
“We read them together.”
“Great, I’m talking to another woman who I titillated into Jerry’s arms.”
She was quiet, disarmed again by my venomous words. She ventured an honest peace offering, “Your stories got us into the mood. We liked different ones but they gave us some great times. Even with your fantasies, I was not enough for him.”
Her words were perfect to draw out my male instincts to protect her, “My God, Eve, I’m an egghead writer and Jerry is a handsome jock. Dumb too, for letting you get away. You’re sexy and your body reeks of desirable pheromones. Just sitting close to you, makes me nervous like a sixteen year old boy on his first date. If there is any fault, it would be his and not yours.”
“Thank you, Kind Sir.”
“I’m being serious. I mean every word. Forget Jerry, do you remember any of my stories that you liked?”
She did not want to open up. I teased, “I should have asked you that question when we were at the party and you were a little tipsy. Now, your mind is in control and you won’t tell me the truth. I’ll ask you that again next month, if I can entice you to drink something other than late night coffee.”
Her answer gave me a strong surge between my legs, “I don’t remember the titles, but I remember a long story about a mature Dom training his friend’s drug addicted twin daughters and I remember a story about a female boss going home and being controlled by her male employee.”
“Are you attracted to the D/s stories?”
“Jerry said they were stupid.”
“I did not ask you about Jerry. Sit very still and quiet.” I removed one of my shoes and took off the long stretchy over-the-calf sock from my right foot and then put my shoe back on. Her eyes filled with concern and looked around to see if others were watching. It was late. The employees were busy cleaning up. They could close in thirty minutes, at mid-night. There were no other customers. Still we were near the window. I’m sure she felt we were on display for all of Portland. I removed my other shoe to get my second sock.
I stepped behind my beautiful new friend and pulled one of her hands and then the other to tie behind her. I could hear her heart beat. Her neck was flushed. Her breaths were deep causing her lovely full breasts to rise and fall. Her eyes darted about, always glancing back at mine for approval and reassurance. Still behind her, I tied the second stretchy sock around her neck, like a collar, and tucked the ends down the back of her dress.
Her body was throbbing and her eyes told me all I needed to know. “Eve, we both know that you can pull your hands free, but don’t. Be bound for me. Be helpless for me.”
I fed her a bite of the Bavarian cream filling from her pastry, making sure some of it stayed on her lips, “Leave that for me.”
I sat back down but leaned close to her. I licked the cream away and kissed her deeply, pushing my tongue past her lips and teased along her gums. Her eyes were closed. I kept the fantasy going by whispering, “You are wearing my collar; you are mine. Give me your tongue so I can taste your wetness.”
She gave and I took from her. Her neck arched toward me as I pulled away. I hooked a finger into her collar, pulled and whispered again, “Your submission is a great gift. You have me wanting you. Wanting to see your body fly higher and higher as you struggle against your bindings; wanting to taste you and drink the sweet wetness from your womb; wanting to watch your eyes and body convulse in climax on my lips and tongue.”
I stood and put more than enough money on the table to cover our tab. Her eyes questioned me. My throbbing hard tent was inches from her face. “Tonight you can question me about everything except our sex play. In that, you will follow without question.”
I helped her up and carried her coat and purse, so her tied hands and collared neck would be exposed to the world. We made it just outside the door onto the busy lighted street. I leaned into her, sucked her ear lobe and let my breath tickle into her ear as I asked her, “Do you have any idea how much I want you right now?”
Of course, she did not answer. Of course, she knew. We were strangers only a few hours ago, but this was exciting fantasy; she needed to play. I continued to confess to her, “I am mad wanting to push my fingers into your wet pussy. I want to stand right here and lick your slipperiness from my hand. I want to refill my fingers in you and push them between our lips so we can kiss and fight for your taste.”
Eve’s body shuttered. Before it could stop, I stood blocking the world’s view and discretely rolled her left nipple gently between my thumb and forefinger. She held her breath. I kissed her; waited; sucked her exhaling breath deep into my lungs. Our kiss grew hotter. When my demanding touch moved to her other nipple, she licked inside my mouth and filled her body with my exhaling breath. I paused my rolling digits; she waited, perfectly still; she was wondering what I would do next. I tightened my grip just enough to give her a little pain. Eve’s hips pushed forward into mine. Her tongue licked at mine. We kissed hotly for a couple of minutes while she grew accustomed to my tight grip on her nipple. She pushed her breast into my hand and for just a second, I squeezed the nipple hard enough to give her one sharp pain. She moaned and I caught her when her knees did not hold her weight any more.
For that one moment, she would take any direction; if only, we had been alone, in my warm house. I put her coat over her shoulders and began to guide her toward where she had told me she parked her car. As her mind cleared, I knew she felt threatened and feared the rest of the night.
I opened her purse, retrieved her keys with the fob that opened her new Accord. I unlocked her car and backed her tightly against the driver’s door. I reached behind her, untied her hands but held them. I thrust hard into her, literally lifting her. Her body crushed into the car and her eyes were filled with passion and fear, looking deeply into mine. My hips moved so my cock dug into her soft, hot belly.
“Eve, you have stolen my mind and my judgment tonight. I am a dominant, very oral male. My card is tucked under your sub’s collar. At least, you were mine for a little play tonight. I would like to see you again. I do not have your number. You have to decide, if you can risk so much; if you want to see me again; if you want to explore your submission. You have read my stories. When you dream, remember, for your body and your fantasies, they are all true.”
I turned her toward her car but then my body took over from my mind. I pushed her over the hood of her car and thrust hard against her ass. The panting, animal groan from deep in my throat would have to be my apology. “Get into your car, before I take you right here. Can you feel my need?”
Just before I closed her door, I risked a question, “Would you have liked it, if I had taken you a minute ago?”
She needed protection. She needed to be away from my madness. She needed to be away from what had never happened in her life before. She slammed the car door; the doors locked; she cranked the engine. I felt the car go into gear but her foot was on the break. The window eased down about two inches. She shouted one word when the car lurched away, “Yes!”
I wrote and kept my mind from thinking about Eve. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, she did not call. Wednesday night I looked down at my cock after three rum and cokes and talked to it, “Just you and me. How about some porn tonight? Surely you can cum a couple of times and I can sleep most of the night.” He did cum but I did not sleep much.
Thursday morning, I had a delightful, strange email, “I need to impress my boss. Trying to get senior OR nurse position. Seven p.m. Saturday night, will you be my dinner date at my boss’ house? Make me look good as my friend, the famous author. Sorry for not calling. Very confusing night. I’m using you to get a job I should have had a year ago. I’ll understand, if you say “No.”
My answer was short and sweet, “I’ll allow you to use me. When I stand next to you, I’ll try not to drool. Don’t worry; I clean up fine for public consumption. Tell me where.”
I kept looking at our hostess, Mrs. Dr. Raymond Collins. I knew her. All through dinner, I kept trying to place her. Finally, I did. Her extra thirty pounds, her jewelry, her haughty, superior attitude and her command of her dining room had confused me. One suggestive movement toward her maid brought it all back. Mary Heston was an assistant professor at Oregon while I was a student. She had a reputation of getting pretty girls to lick her pussy until she screamed. Word was that she screamed a lot. The girl, who took my virginity in my freshman year, had improved her grade by being a good “Heston licker.” I knew Mrs. Dr. Raymond Collins was a dominant woman but she had not run into me since I matured. She kept all her guests in their lowly places through the well orchestrated dinner, pleasantly referencing our meager accomplishments, compared to her great accomplishment of marrying the now director of surgery of one of the western world’s best university teaching hospitals.
The dinner was breaking up when I had a chance to corner Mrs. Dr. Raymond Collins, “How wonderful to see you again. In Eugene, my first girlfriend used to tend to your dominant demanding basic needs. I think you gave her extra credit because her tongue was so articulate.”
I had never seen a more shocked look. Eve started to race to repair the damage, she feared, I had done. I motioned for her to stay away. She did.
I whispered to our hostess, “Mrs. Collins, as a writer, I hope you will tell me how you’ve changed your nature. Dr. Collins is brilliant but is obviously an unsatisfied submissive. To help you two be happy, should I send you a strap-on for you to stretch his ass? You’d like that, at least for old time’s sake.”
Mary was frozen in her tracks. I helped her, “No one knows, except me. I have a request. Get your man to promote Eve and I’ll send you that strap-on to make him scream and I’ll also make sure you have a discrete female to lick you until you pass out. My card is in the tray on your receiving table.”
Mary Collins called me the next day, “What do you want?”
“Only what I said. Mary, I already have wealth and fame. I want to help a smart, qualified friend, who is caught up in hospital politics. She knows nothing about this. Just do what I asked; I’ll never say another word. I still resent having to hold Janice Simmons when she cried after she had to service you. Fuck your husband hard. He needs it and so do you. Threat him like you did Janice; he will be even more successful for you. I know what I’m talking about and I don’t live in a judgmental glass fish bowl like you and your husband do.”
I had a book tour that started two weeks after the Collins’ dinner party. Eve was scared to death by what she thought I had done. She was told that week that her promotion would be effective in three weeks. I told Mrs. Collins how to get into my house on the days the servants were off. She would have only one servant while at my house; Mitzi is a pure sub who likes a little pain and the taste of a woman. She and Mrs. Collins became great friends. After a couple of years, Mitzi became Mrs. Collin’s personal assistant. I have often imagined Mitzi’s small fist crammed so far up Mary that her forearm was squeezed by Mrs. Dr. Collins’ orgasms. I’ve heard Dr. Collins smiles a lot these days; he has been promoted to head of the hospital, even though, he walks like he has a large butt plug up his ass.
I returned from my book tour. One night stands are not my style and I can’t advertise my dominant ways or oral desires. It would be too easy for some talkative, money grubbing female to take me into the tabloids and hurt my book sales, or even derail my pending first movie based on one of my books. I guess I lied to Mrs. Collins; I too live in a fish bowl. I like Amazon. No book tours or fronts for the public. Electronic book sales are the future. We had worked together so my stories met their criteria for now and the future. I make just as much at $9.99 on-line as I do at $29.95 hardback and a hell of a lot more than $4.95 soft cover off the grocery store racks. I like how they took the lead pushing my tales into foreign translations. I am anxious to hear my first audio release read by a gifted voice. All these thoughts hovered in the back of my mind as I wrote and still had not heard from Eve.
After Eve settled into her new job, I got a simple text, “Did U have anything to do with my promotion?”
I emailed her back and ignored her question, “So wonderful to hear from you after all this time. I miss talking to you and, of course, I miss the promising tease of your enticing body. I truly believe, someday, we will get to explore some of our mutual interests. I’m very happy to hear that you got promoted. My book sales are doing well and I have a new contract too. Would love to have dinner with you but that is your call. I seem to offend you when I only want to please you and have you care about me.”
Text: “I care.”
Text back: “Mexican? Ixtapa, 1 p.m. Sat. So we will be offensive to each other by 5 p.m.”
Text: “See U then.”
I had three strawberry margaritas served to her immediately after she arrived. I had been there for fifteen minutes.
“I told you at the last party that I wanted you tipsy and compliant to my desires.”
“Just what are your desires?”
“I have to taste you first; your wetness will determine my answer.”
Eve was smart; she let that drop and did not try to respond. For two hours, we talked drank and caught up. I invited her, “Meet me at 7:30 next Saturday morning at the Rose Garden. I have to open the gates for the Rose Festival.”
“Why so early?”
“I’m only a minor celebrity. Maybe in a few years, I’ll get to host an evening event.”
She laughed. Her breasts jiggled. She had to be near her period. Her pheromones were driving me crazy. She knew and backed off.
“Can’t Saturday; how about a rain check?”
“I don’t know if I’ve been shot down or delayed. You call it. When you can spend some time with me, call me. I like to go to the zoo, the art museum, movies, restaurants and cook at home. I would like to cook with you. However, I’m going to quit pressuring, teasing and bugging you.”
Eve did not miss the double meaning. I was tired of the chase and the hidden agenda in our possible relationship. I am too open and she is reserved. She must think her desires are taboo. I was happy that I was able to help her career along. However, I was lonely and needed to find someone who could accept my baggage and still want to be with me.
Eve did not attend the next monthly party of our still growing Mudders Booster Club, but the evening gave me Helen. She had been with Don Dillon since I met him three years ago in 2007 at another monthly party. Those had been good days for me; days when I thought I was happily married. I went out onto the large patio of the high-rise hotel’s fifth floor ballroom. We had rented a small section of it for our foray. In the darkness, I heard Don talking angrily at Helen. He was hovering over her small, thin frame. She was sitting, cowering, looking down and her brown mousey hair hung over her face. He was working himself up and getting louder and angrier. I was about to go back inside when I heard him say, “What do I have to do to make you move out, you dependent bitch?” With those words, this muscular, drunk, two-hundred pound man kicked his date under her right thigh just above her knee with all his might. Her body literally lifted off the chaise lounge and she curled in a defensive ball when she landed.
I grabbed Don from behind, “Get out of here before someone calls the cops on you for abuse and you get sued for everything you’re worth.” He spun violently. My words sunk into his slow brain by the time he was facing me. Don threw his drink and stormed past me. I knew Helen would not be able to walk for a while. Lots of years playing baseball with pain from twisted ankles and hyper-extended knees told me that. I stuck my head back into the ballroom and hailed Jack, one of my dearest friends, “Jack, get Helen’s coat, purse and whatever she brought. Don kicked the hell out of her. I’ll carry her through the next vacant section of the ballroom and meet you at the elevators.”
With Jack’s and his wife’s help, I loaded Helen in my car and drove to my place. They followed. Alice helped Helen clean-up and get into some comfortable clothing left behind by my ex. Jack rambled, “I’ve known Don for four years. I knew he was rough and a womanizer but I didn’t think he would go off like that.”
Alice called me when they were ready. I carried Helen back to the den and we all talked by the fire for an hour until Jack and Alice left. Alice’s parting words to Helen and me were, “I’m no nurse, but that leg needs to be checked out by a doctor.” As I walked them to the door, she leaned to put her mouth next to my ear and whispered, “Helen has a lot of bruises, some on her neck.”
Helen is my age but she seemed like a little girl in my arms when I carried her back into the guest bedroom, tucked her in for the night and gave her a vicodin left in one of Connie’s old pill bottles. Fleetingly, I thought about Eve and how her great nursing talents would be helpful tonight.
Helen must have been emotionally exhausted; she had not drunk much the night before but she slept until eleven the next day. I heard her trying to get up to go to the in-suite bathroom with some urgency. Her leg would not hold her weight. She was crying in pain, frustration and heartache. She endured me carrying her, standing her, removing her panties and helping her sit with her badly swollen, bruised leg extended out in front of her. While she did her duties, I called my personal doctor and weekly racquetball partner at home, to beg for an early Monday appointment that would not generate all the looks and paperwork that an emergency room visit would.
Dr. Carter Young and his wife were frequent dinner guests at my house. Carter loved my mysteries and Ann had been a friend of my wife. After x-rays and a CT scan, we went back to see him in his fifth floor office at OHSU, “Helen, you have some badly extended tendons in your knee. I don’t see anything broken and I believe your knee will be all right without surgery. You are light enough that your body will not stress your knee too much while it heals. Healing will take a while. You have a bad bruise. Your knee will be stiff and sore. Try to flex it for exercise but keep most of your weight off it for a couple of weeks.” At that point, Carter asked me to leave for a few minutes. I knew he had to ask her about being abused. I knew, he would do his duty in disclosing whatever he had to by Oregon law.
When I was summoned back, Carter talked to me, “Tom, Helen has no place to go. All her clothing and personal items are at a Mr. Dillon’s house. Do you want me to have our patient services people arrange for a local women’s shelter to house Helen for a while?”
“Until last night, Helen and I had never met. Still, I live in a big house and enjoy company. Helen, until you can work something out, you are welcomed to stay with me. I’ll understand if you tell me that you may feel safer at a shelter.”
Her admission hurt her pride and tears rolled down her cheeks, “I don’t have a job or family nearby. I don’t have much but what I have is at Don’s. You have a beautiful home but I don’t want to be a burden.”
Finally, I put together all the signs and signals. Helen needed strength, to serve and to follow. In her life, she had never found what she needed. Maybe she didn’t even know. However, she had found at least one relationship where a “Lifestyle” pretender abused her. She had stayed and been abused because she had no options and, yet, there was strength, even if it was abusive strength.
“Helen, there is no rush to decide anything today. Come home with me, rest and recover. We’ll get whatever you need and I’ll arrange to get all your things brought over from Don’s.”
She started to say something about how mad he would get but I stopped her before Carter pulled the cops in. “Let me take care of things. Just trust me. If I can’t do it, we’ll try another way.”
Before we left the hospital parking lot, I called Jack, “We need a favor.”
“Get to Don; tell him the situation and that, so far, no reports have been filed against him. However, all the ugly bruise pictures and hospital reports were prepared during her visit today. The gist of it all is, we think, Helen will heal ok. She can’t walk right now and will be staying at my house. Let him know who he is dealing with and that I have an army of overpaid and under worked attorneys at my disposal. I insist that everything that belongs to Helen be delivered to my house today, even if it’s midnight. Everything better be in good shape or it will cost him a fortune.”
Jack started to talk, “That’s really quick, I’m sure he is at work……….”
“His kick was pretty quick too. Our day at the hospital was pretty quick too. I’m pissed. Tell the asshole to expect a few thousand in medical expenses. He does exactly what I said or by tomorrow, he’ll be visited by the police and will be front page news with pictures. I’ll help write the story.”
Helen was very quiet. Jack knew when to be quiet and when to do exactly what I asked.
After ten p.m., a U-Haul van was buzzed through the security gate and two men unloaded eight good sized boxes, a flat screen television and a dressing table into the room where Helen was staying. Don was not one of the delivery men.
I called Jack, “Thanks for the help. I’m sure knowing that she has not lost her things will make Helen feel a little better.” Jack offered to help in any way. I thanked him again.
Helen’s leg was now swollen to the size of one of mine from below her knee into her ass cheek. The entire area was a ugly black bruise. She was in pain, yet she tried to help in the kitchen when I made us breakfast Tuesday morning. Just by co-incidence, Maria, my house keeper and right arm, had just started two weeks’ vacation. I decided to press Helen some.
“Today, I have to write for a while. I want you to be careful and not do too much. Later, I’ll help you get some of your things organized and put up. Tonight, if I get you seated in the large walk-in shower in the master bedroom, do you think you can bathe and wash your hair? I’ll help you with anything you can’t do because of the stiffness and the pain.”
“I’m sure I can bathe, if you can get me seated in the shower.”
“Make sure you take one of the pain pills that Carter gave you about thirty minutes before your bath. That should help with all the moving about.”
Helen wanted to please me. She struggled opening boxes and stacking a few things that she wanted to put into dresser drawers. I guess she had decided to stay for a while.
I put a chair in the large walk-in steam shower. She had a lot more trouble bathing that she thought. I could hear her huffing, puffing and groaning as she tried to stand to wash her backside. We had to get this right from the start. I stripped in front of her. She watched my half hard cock throb. I knelt in front of her, cupping her face to look at me, “Helen, you are a submissive female. I’m a dominant, alpha-male. I have the resources and connections to make things happen that I want to happen. Do you understand that?”
I could see her body recoil from the power I was presenting, point blank, face-to-face. “Tonight, I’m bathing you. You are on opiates; I might have to give you an enema in a few days. Don’t make my job difficult.”
She stared blankly at me and did not answer. I grasped her clit between my thumb and forefinger and I squeezed. She showed no reaction. I squeezed harder. She winced but still did not respond. She was a sub but she was a pain loving sub. I did not expect that. It was a pleasant surprise.
I squeezed even harder, “Are you listening yet.” No response. I twisted her clit; she moaned and said, “Yes.”
“You are free to leave; I will help you. While you are here, you will respond to my questions and try to help me when your health allows it. Do we understand each other?”
She delayed her answer until I twisted her clit again. “Yes.”
We finished her bath that night without further incident. Things started changing inside me that night. I was still filled with hurt from my wife. Eve’s rejection haunted me; I cared about her. Being put down by the likes of Mary Collins reminded me of how I was never good enough as a teenager because my father was and enlisted man and I was not allowed to continue dating an officer’s daughter. I remembered when I was nine and my more affluent relatives made me grovel two or three times, for their amusement, to for a second helping of desert at the family reunion. The soft, sensitive, caring understanding that had been my character for half my life seemed foolish. Clearly, I saw my new role. Clearly, I would help, but clearly, those I helped would satisfy me.
For the next couple of weeks, I flirted with my new persona but was not at ease with it. Maria returned from vacation. She is twenty years older than me. She’s short but outweighs me and is as wide as she is tall. She has four kids. If there is a husband, I’ve never met him. She noticed something was different about me on her first day back. She helped with an almost healed Helen. I had wondered, if Helen was milking her injury.
Just as Maria was arriving for work one morning, I was finishing getting Helen’s breakfast. Maria muttered something. It took me a while to understand. It was something like, “The bitch can do that herself and serve you, you dumbass.”
Privately, I asked Maria about what I had heard. She has been with me long enough to feel comfortable being truthful. “That is about what I said Mr. Gregory. You are a powerful man, but you don’t use your power, you let these cunts walk all over you.” I was angry but I held my tongue. Maria continued, “Women have babies, they are made to endure pain and hardship, to work hard and sacrifice for their men and their families. You do not see that these women are using you.”
I was quiet. My face showed dissatisfaction. Maria folded, “I answered you, Mr. Gregory, because you asked me. I need this job. I’m sorry; I will never voice such a thing again.”
That shook me out of my stupor, “Maria, your job is secure; unless you quit telling me the truth and kicking my ass when I need it. I have a weakness that women know how to take advantage of. You might be my only hope at finding happiness with a woman.”
She looked very self-satisfied and waddled off to begin stripping the beds and cleaning the house. My male mind felt I should apologize to her that there were not cum stains on the sheets, from more than one woman.
I’ve read about people who experienced religious epiphanies. To me they seemed like rhetorical conventions to explain a new phase in a person’s life that may have taken twenty years to develop. But Maria gave me one. One minute, I thought I had to work to earn a woman’s love and caring and I needed to protect her. The next minute, if she did not return my interest, I felt no obligation or desire to pursue her. In my old way of thinking, she still had great value because I made her valuable. In my new way of thinking, she had no value if she did not return my interest and value me. For the first time in my life, I understood my own worth. I am a good man, I am wealthy, I care and I’m a good lover. Why would I devalue that by not demanding the same from my women? This sounds so ridiculous. I’ve been a Dom for subordinate women, but even then my motivation was only to please them. I still want that, more than anything, but now I saw clearly the only path that could lead to my happiness.
I felt a coldness and a sense of value that I had never felt before. I exercised my new power as I poured Helen’s cup of coffee, “Helen, I think your leg is better now. I am not your servant, yet you are taking advantage of me. If you want to stay here for a while, you will have to be worth what you cost me. You’ll have to cater to me and be submissive to me. Otherwise, take thirty days and find another Don Dillon to serve.”
My writing was aggressive, hard edged and productive. About six, Maria stuck her head in and said she was leaving and handed me my messages for the day. The top one was from Eve.
I called her.
“Tom, I haven’t heard from you in a while. How have you been?”
“Book tour, writing and doing the regular stuff, you know the routine. I miss us getting together over dinners and we never did make it to the zoo or anything.”
“You didn’t call.”
“Sweet Thing, I almost begged. I went with you when you asked. I played the fool for you and you rejected my invitations. Maybe you forgot who and what I am. If you want to spend time with me, you have to pursue me at least half as much as I pursue you. I’ve told you how beautiful and fun you are. In response, you have either driven away from me or asked for a rain check. When you have time for me, call me. I’d love to get to know you better. Sorry, I’m repeating myself; I’ve already told you that.”
The telephone was quiet.
“Eve, I know I’ve pissed you off. I’ve also made you important to me. I don’t feel that I’m important to you. I truly wish I did. I have to get back to the keyboard. Please, call me in a few days as a friend or date.”
Even my ex called that week. I met her, in Grant’s Pass. Her life was going downhill. She was gaunt, like she was on meth. She looked pregnant. I always wanted for us to have a family. My blood was cold. We had a pleasant dinner and she wanted to go back to my room. I thought, “What the hell, she’s a great fuck.” We got to the parking lot. I saw a New York Times’ book section on the front seat of her car. It was the edition that contained an article about my new book deal and the pending movie deal. I felt like only a check book again. Like I had done Eve, I pushed her over the hood of her car. This time, I put a lubricated Trojan on, pulled her panties to the side, stared at the Times to stay angry and pushed my cock up her ass. She hated that and screamed at me. I fucked her hard and filled my Trojan. She was screaming at me when I opened the door of her car and handed her the book section. Then she was totally quiet. I drove away.
Helen was still at the house. Over coffee, after dinner, I asked her, “What do you do well enough to help me here?”
I liked her sassy response, “I cook a great breakfast. You can use me anyway you want. I’m a good secretary and a hard worker. You’re right, I’m a sub and I like my partner to be a little rough.”
I literally ripped her blouse and bra off her. Her eyes sparkled. I pushed her back onto the dining room table, grabbed the gusset of her panties and ripped them off her. I knew she was STD free. I had paid for those tests. I licked her until she was soaking wet and ready to cum. “Show me what you can do with your mouth, your tongue and your hands.”
There was no question, Helen was good. I would pay her to stay. When I came, her hands were twisting in opposite directions around the sensitive ridge of my helmet, bathed in her saliva and my pre-cum. She swallowed my offering and pulled my cock for more. She looked at me.
“I fucked my ex earlier. Sorry, there wasn’t more for you. Lie back, stay still and stay quiet.”
She didn’t stay quiet; she didn’t lie still and she certainly didn’t stay dry. She squirted into my mouth and screamed three times before I finger fucked her to sleep and left her on the table.
I wasn’t sure I liked the new me; I showered and got ready for bed that night. Business wise I had been successful but none of my relationships with women had worked out well. Every woman I dated had told me I am a great guy, considerate and giving. My mother must have taught me wrong. Those attributes must be the wrong ones, or at least incomplete.
Helen was much more than a good secretary. She whipped my office, my unsorted stories, my correspondence and my horrible filing into shape in two weeks. Over two months she began to proof read for me. She was indispensable at local book signings. She was often in the background of newspaper photographs. I was asked on camera one day how I kept everything in order. I pulled her forward and gave her all the credit. We had never traveled together, so there weren’t any rampant rumors, yet. In fact, we had not played, sexually teased or had sex since she sucked me off and I finger fucked her into unconsciousness on the dining room table.
The night I gave her credit for keeping me organized, I asked her to visit with me in the den. “Helen, you have become a great asset around here. I would like for you to consider staying and being my secretary. We’ll negotiate a good salary and I’ll expect a lot more from you in terms of interfacing with my editors and answering my mail. Do you want to do that?”
She was blunt, “Will there be more than just work?”
“I believe you know what I need more than I do. But my needs are frequent.”
“What will you do?”
“Anything you want, short of needing hospital trips, broken bones and scars.”
“Do you have a gag reflex?”
“Can you put your feet behind your head?”
“Toys, bondage, some pain, me directing you with another girl, water sports, me taking you in the shower during your period, anal, lots of oral, whatever I want?”
“That’s nine questions? Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes.”
“Will you work out a Dom/sub contract with me that includes your secretarial duties and you living here? And will you sign a non-disclosure agreement?”
“Yes and Yes.”
“If I bring friends, clients or even a woman home will you play any role I tell you and not embarrass me?”
“I’m not fond of the idea of being passed around the guys but if that is what you want from me, then, Yes.”
“I generally do not share my treasures. Do you like the whip and restraints?”
“Go into the master bedroom and pull the large black footlocker out of my closet. Look through it. Come back and tell me, if you find anything that will make you change your mind.”
Helen was gone for about half an hour. She walked back into the den, totally nude, her right hand was pushing a rotating, rabbit vibrator up her cunt; its little ears flopped wildly against her clit which she kept exposed by pulling at the freshly shaved skin above her pussy with her left hand. My favorite cat-of-nine tails was draped around her neck. Her eyes were challenging me to prove something to her that she had never felt, but still, after so many hurts, believed was possible.
I met her in the middle of the floor, “Keep doing exactly what you are doing.” I took her face tenderly in my hands and kissed her softly and passionately. “Give me your tongue.” I sucked hard and swallowed the wetness from her mouth. I grasped both ends of my whip and twisted it. She pulled back and took her tongue from me. I twisted tighter. At first her eyes showed fear but they saw knowing demand in mine. If I kept holding the whip this tight she would strangle. Still she relaxed and gave me her tongue back. “Close your eyes.” I relaxed the whip’s noose around her neck and made love to her mouth with mine until the rabbit began to win.
“Do you agree that your climaxes are mine?”
Her body trembled, tensed and she struggled not to cum.
“Yes, Helen, from now on, you will only cum when I give you permission or you will suffer.”
She moaned into my mouth and started to pull the vibrator out. Her tease was backfiring. I pushed it firmly back into her and tightly grabbed a handful of her hair. I used it to pull her to the nearest blank wall. Sweat was beading on her upper lip and forehead as she struggled not to cum. I stood her three feet from the wall and leaned her forward so only her head touched. Both of her hands were torturing her pussy and she was about ready to fail my only demand of her so far.
“Let me help you keep from cuming.”
A sigh came from her. She expected me to pull her tireless toy away. Instead, I took my favorite toy from around her neck, swung it, letting her feel the wind and hear the rush of the expensive leather lashes. I was deciding where the first blow should land. She could smell the saddle soaped leather. There was so much willing, anxious skin to choose from. Everyone starts with the ass. I started with her ass.
I laced all the tails across both cheeks with my first snapping, stinging blow. Helen cried out and tried to arch forward, away from an expected second set of lashes.
“Helen, I’m surprised. Your lovely body has not felt a cat before.”
I changed my tactics. I swung the cat in circles letting her feel the wind as the leather tips grazed her. She expected the same biting snap of my first blow on her ass. I could see her body tense in anticipation. For the moment, she had forgotten her tingling clit and that her pussy was sucking the rubber cock rotating across her g-spot.
I let only the tips of the cat bite the right side of her waist on one swing. She whimpered but it was a sound of desire. Her body pushed toward where the whip had stung her. A simple flick and my training device changed direction and hit harder across her left thigh. Her hand crammed her toy deeper. She liked the unexpected blow to her leg.
For the next few minutes, I introduced every square inch of her back side to the cat. I am good with it. Her skin was red but there were no welts. Helen’s body asked, no begged, for more and more, of the spinning lashes. Her hips were fucking into her toy but pushing back when they thought they could make the next blow, sting enough to stall her building, needed orgasm. She was moaning. Her knees almost buckled. She was about to cum without permission. She was ready for her first reality check.
Her body spasmed. I swung much harder, extending my arm. All nine lashes whistled through the air, wrapped around her and bit harshly into her breasts. She screamed.
“Do not cum without permission.”
Again, we went through the same scenario for another five minutes. I liked how she thought she had all this figured out. She was staying quiet as she snuck up on her orgasm. To stall her and teach her, hard and fast, I lashed her back, her stomach, her legs and across her breasts again.
Tears rolled down her face. She was in another world. She showed no pain. Her eyes were filled with lust and her body was trembling. I pushed her legs far apart. We started again.
Twice she asked, “Please let me cum.”
I watched juices flow down her thighs, past her knees and almost to her ankles. I stayed quiet but let the cat teach her, her true nature. She actually leaned back to make the lashes hurt but realized she had pulled her head away from the wall. When she leaned forward it thumped heavily and jarringly back into the same spot.
The tireless, rotating, buzzing, battery toy was winning. There would be no stopping her with the whip this time. I knew the vibrating pleasure had become sensititive pain. I knew the stinging pain of the whip had become pleasure. Her wetness had puddled at her feet. I had waited for this moment. She truly wanted to please me but she cried out and her body, against her will, thrust wantonly into the rabbit. I kept the whip spinning but reached around, grasped her hand and pulled the vibrator away. My wrist directed the lashes to cut through the air with all their whistling might, fly up from the floor, between her lovely widely spread thighs and all nine lashes hit her cunt at the same time. Her climax consumed her mind, contorted her face and her hips thrust hard into nothingness toward the wall.
For the first time in her young unfulfilled but abused life, she spiraled one level into sub space. I pushed her roughly against the wall to keep her from falling and I just lashed her back, her ass and her thighs with the cat. She cried out with each stinging blow. Each lash extended her climax; extended it again and extended it still again. Both her hands spread wide to press into the wall on either side of her head. She spiraled deeper. My next blows did not bring any sound from her but her ass arched begging for the whip. I gave her what she wanted until she began to slide down the wall. I caught her. She had wet the wall with nectar from deep in her womb — pulsing nectar that I wanted to drink from her. Her body was cold with evaporating sweat but heat radiated from deep inside her. Her belly was convulsing. I wanted my cock inside her to feel those hard sucking contractions. For tonight my timing was off.
I scooped her up in my arms, thinking she was used up, finished. When I put her into my bed, she was awake and her eyes sparkled. Her legs flared and she reached for me and kept reaching for me with her fingers wiggling for me to hurry while I stripped. She guided my cock into her soaking opening and I thrust with all my weight. We bounced together. She said, “Harder.”
I gave her all my strength but after each thrust, she said, “Harder.” I swear her tiny body opened and took half my body into hers. My cock felt it was in heaven. My balls tightened. She knew. Her legs wrapped around me; her ankles locked my body into hers and her hips tilted so her cervix could suck cum directly from the small mouth on the tip of my cock. I did not feel my slipperiness fill her. She was drinking it deeper into her body, than I could go.
Helen was holding me tight; her body was tense, arched but very still – on the outside. Inside – she had sucked me beyond tenderness into pain. I had to endure. I could not let this tiny creature win. My eyes only saw blackness with lightening streaks and red flashes. For an instant, I knew there was a God wanting us to touch perfection for only a second. When my body could take no more and I relaxed into unconsciousness, Helen collapsed under me.
I’m almost sure, the rest of the night actually happened. But it could have been a wild, wet, fantastic dream. In a few hours, I awoke, still buried deep in Helen’s belly and tried to pull away. She held me tighter than any boa constrictor ever crushed its prey.
“I have to go pee.”
Without thought I started. I continued as I cupped her ass and lifted her tiny body to carry her to the bathroom. I kept filling her and she kept sucking my piss into her body. She was coming alive again. My cock was throbbing, rock hard and I could only get tiny spurts of out of my bladder, even though I felt full with gallons. We got the shower going and I stepped into it with her; she never let me out of her belly. Her arms were around my neck and her legs were locked around my hips. My cock hurt and throbbed and peed inside her.
“Helen, I need to cum. You are too wet and slippery inside for me.”
The angel unwound from my body; stood, looked into my eyes, then turned, bent over, spread her ass cheeks and presented a perfect asshole to me. I quit breathing. I did not want to wake from this dream. I used hand lotion from the sink to squirt inside her and coat my insanity. I was struggling to be gentle. As only a true sub can do, she ordered me, “Do it, hard and fast.”
I thrust; Helen cried out in real pain as I stretched her beyond her prepared limits but I couldn’t care. I needed to cum and kept thrusting, driving her head into the tiled wall; the steam shower pounded into our bodies. I struggled to keep my eyes open amid all the pleasure. I had to watch the beauty of my cock slipping in and out her. Her legs spread even wider to open her cheeks. I hoped she could imagine the sight of her tight ring wrapped around my thrusting hard shaft. I felt her sphincters grab the base of my cock and her insides lick my helmet as I pulled back. My balls tightened. My eyelids closed from pure pleasure when my first rope launched in time with my deepest thrust into her bowels. Her legs tightened to hold my weight as I wrapped my arms around her trying to keep from falling onto the shower’s floor. Our bodies throbbed together and we breathed together, leaning against the wall.
Helen even knelt, washed my cock and sucked the last drops of cum out of my softening shaft. In my lifetime, I had never been more pleased. We went back to bed without drying off, wrapped ourselves with each other and slept until we heard Maria running the vacuum in the living room way after my normal wake up time.
Sometimes communication is perfect without words. Helen’s eyes said she was pleased with me and satisfied beyond anything that had ever happened in her life. My male spirits soared. Her body said, “Thank You” a hundred ways. My oral proclivity forced me to push the covers off both our naked bodies and forcibly open her legs so I could lick her well used, red, swollen pussy. I looked up at her and her expression said she was ready. My cock screamed, “I’m not.” When I shyly looked back into the sparkling eyes housed in her tiny body, she slyly smiled back, letting me know that she accepted my need for a morning break.